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pengiesama · 6 years

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Pharos of My Soul (Fic, Sorey/Mikleo, Dragon/Fantasy AU) (Chapter 4/7)

Title: Pharos of My Soul (Chapter 4 of 7) Series: Tales of Zestiria Pairing: Sorey/Mikleo

Summary: Prince Sorey had always longed for freedom, adventure, and fairytale romance. But that was not something that a prince of the realm was destined for. He had resigned himself to an arranged marriage for the good of his kingdom, and those fairytale dreams would stay locked away in his heart for good.

And then his wedding got crashed by a man-eating dragon.

CHAPTER FOUR:

Sorey and Mikleo's relationship grows, and Rose makes a deal.

(CONTENT WARNING: mpreg, xenophilia, and generally weird biology.)

Link: AO3

This is a joint collaboration between me, Ali (@eachainn), and Nami (@shamingcows)! Ali and I wrote a dual AU very loosely based on the 2015 Russian movie “He’s a Dragon”. Ali’s version is available here, and my version is available here.

Updates weekly on Wednesdays!

Read on Tumblr!

“My love!” Sorey announced. He moved in a colorful swirl of robes and a jangling confusion of jewelry, and twirled his way over to where Mikleo was reviewing his lessons. “Before, I was naught but the thief of Baghdad, but now, I am a prince! Follow me, darling; follow me to the ends of the earth--”

Mikleo plucked his hand from Sorey’s grip before Sorey could kiss his way up his arm. He was a dedicated scholar, and was already progressing quickly after only a handful of lessons.

“Your recitation could use some work,” he said. “And must you rifle through my clothing collection?”

“That I must.” Sorey adjusted the jeweled turban atop his head – it wasn’t as extravagant as his wedding headdress, but it was a fitting piece for seduction. He lounged across the silk bedding, chin on his hand. He hoisted one leg up into air alluringly. “It’s important for your studies. Don’t you think acting out the books helped you?”

Mikleo flushed and looked away. His long lovely fingers drummed on the spine of the book he was reading.

“It was…marginally useful. I could have done well enough without, considering.”

Sorey had gotten hold of his fingers again. He had been bewitched by those drumming digits, and he lavished kisses upon each one as he continued to entreat him.

“Follow me, darling; follow me now to the ends of the earth…”

Perhaps it was simply redundant to ask. These isles, with their mists and towering ruined spires, could pass for the ends of the earth, Sorey supposed. They were remote, secluded; a haven, a heaven that Sorey’s heart had always searched for. And the company was simply sublime.

“Honestly. If you’re so attached to headwear, I have less ostentatious pieces.”

As regards headwear, Mikleo was, in fact, referring to his collection of racy underwear, which he seemed to think were hats with handy horn-holes. This was a charming misunderstanding indeed, and one that filled Sorey’s heart to the brim. But seeing Mikleo wearing racy underwear on his head made Sorey long to see him wearing it in a more traditional fashion. Sorey had tried to suggest this, but Mikleo had just looked at him like he was the insane one. What purpose do they serve under my trousers? They’d simply get in the way, Mikleo said. They frame my horns quite well, thank you.

Ah, but thinking of Mikleo wearing those panties on his lovely legs had gotten Sorey into a certain mood.

“Mikleo,” Sorey purred. He sat up and pinned Mikleo into the blankets. Mikleo arched an eyebrow at him, but made no move to throw him off. “I was wondering. Maybe we should make really, really sure that you’re definitely pregnant, a few more times--”

Mikleo grumbled and squirmed away from Sorey just enough to wiggle into a sitting position, placing Sorey’s head right in his lap. This was a compromise, he supposed. He basked in the heavenly softness of Mikleo’s thighs and the silken trousers under his cheek.

“I was certain immediately that I was with child, when I took you on that altar,” Mikleo said. “Do humans really not know from the start?”

That was something Sorey could not say for certain, not possessing the appropriate parts himself. He leaned up and kissed Mikleo’s tummy in apology. The feather on his turban tickled Mikleo’s skin and made him squeak.

Sorey was a bride-groom, a father-to-be, and a scholar and tutor. Falling derelict in any of these responsibilities would simply not do.

He would serve Mikleo to the ends of the earth and beyond.

“‘Anemone,’” Sorey said.

Mikleo batted at the feather on Sorey’s turban. “Excuse me?”

“For a girl. ‘Anemone’ is a great name, I think.” Sorey sighed dreamily and kissed Mikleo’s stomach again. “Or maybe something a bit more old-fashioned, if you’d prefer. We could look through some of the Ancient Avarost books here and find something you like.”

Mikleo rolled his eyes and returned to his book.

“Quite bold of you to assume my tastes,” Mikleo said. “Take off that hat if you insist on keeping your head on me. The feather tickles.”

Presented with a choice between style and keeping his head on Mikleo’s heavenly thighs, Sorey did the only logical thing. He whipped off his turban, and revealed a second, smaller turban underneath. Mikleo yanked it off his head irritably and tossed it across the room.

“‘Mikleo’ is an Ancient Avarost-era name,” Sorey noted, now bereft of headwear. “Did you pick it out yourself?”

At that, Mikleo went quiet. Sorey’s heart had been soaring just a few moments ago, but now, it dropped out of his chest – he’d clearly stumbled upon a sensitive subject. There was a secret, shameful part of him that thrilled at the idea of learning more about Mikleo. But he would not compromise this beautiful afternoon and their togetherness to satisfy his gluttony for knowledge; for more of Mikleo. Sorey covered Mikleo’s hand in his own, gently.

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me--”

“My mother named me,” Mikleo said.

Now, Sorey was a well-read young man, and quite knowledgeable about his kingdom’s history. He was aware of the legends of the heroic dragon-slayer that avenged the sacrificed brides. Mikleo’s tension, and the grief written in the line of his mouth, told him the rest. Sorey was able to put the pieces together, but that knowledge did not tell him how to react to such a dreadful conclusion. Silence seemed to stretch out for eternity, and Sorey felt more apart than he had from Mikleo than he had been since they met. He had brought Mikleo heartache, and this was, perhaps, even more dreadful.

“What was she like?” Sorey asked, after a long moment.

Mikleo stared at the pages of his book.

“Caring, and strong,” he said quietly. “Devoted. And that is what led to her death.”

Sorey couldn’t even begin to imagine what it was like to lose someone so dear, and to such a violent end. Sorey continued to hold Mikleo’s hand, and did not look away from him. He had prodded Mikleo into this conversation, and he owed it to him to hear it out to the end.

“She always insisted we had a duty to protect your kingdom,” Mikleo continued. “You provided us with a yearly sacrifice, and in return, we were obliged to maintain the veil of mist. Had she simply left your kingdom to be savaged and overthrown by invaders, she would still be alive.

“She named me and raised me and cared for me. And protected your kingdom, until your hero killed her. I read the books your kingdom wrote on the ‘legend,’ saw the illustrations,” Mikleo laughed hollowly. “The artists never did get her right. Honestly, leather wings. Do they think we are bats?”

Mikleo’s lovely feathered wings were the dark blue of twilight, and seemed to shimmer in the sun, like light on water. The idea that people had been so misinformed about the true nature of things for so long: of the kingdom’s history, of Mikleo’s mother’s service, of the beauty of dragons…it rankled Sorey. Sorey reached out to stroke the feathers of Mikleo’s wings with his knuckles.

“Mikleo. We can tell everyone what really happened,” Sorey said. The idea had taken hold, and he sat up, drawing Mikleo to sit on his lap as he spoke aloud. “We can – we can write our own book, and get it published. People will be happy to know the truth, we just have to tell them.”

Sorey’s mind raced. Once the baby was born and they were settled on the island, he could get a letter to his parents, somehow. He’d tell them about his love for Mikleo, tell them that he was safe and sound and a proud husband and father. He’d tell them to commission the finest artist in the kingdom to draw for their book, and then he’d craft some epic poetry for the introduction, and help Mikleo with his handwriting, and Rose would surely help them publish and distribute the final product, and—

Mikleo shook his head and gave a rueful little smile. He rested his head against Sorey’s shoulder, and his tail curled around Sorey’s leg; keeping him there, close.

“What I know is this: humans like a good story more than they like the truth.”

Were Rose in a better state of mind, she likely would have been more interested in her surroundings. It was a pirate ship, after all, that sank her boat and dragged her out of the water, and Rose was a merchant by trade who had lost her fair share of shipments to pirate activity. It was a golden opportunity to gather intel on their movements in the area, or to do some swashbuckling of her own and commandeer the ship to continue her search for the prince.

However, as it was, there was a ghost haunting her. Rose feared no dragon, no high-seas criminal, no dangerous business venture. Rose did fear ghosts. Real bad.

“SALT! GIVE ME A BELL AND A BOOK AND A CANDLE AND SALT!” screamed Rose. She thrashed in the grip of her captors desperately, trying to get loose.

“Swallowed too much seawater?” asked the woman pirate that appeared to be the crew’s leader. “Only a rude guest starts making demands the moment they step in the door.”

The woman’s golden eyes were like a falcon’s, predatory and fierce, large and lovely. Her jet black hair was in a braid that trailed down her back; its length rivalling Sorey’s. Her clothing did little to hide her impressive figure, in the sense that there was little hiding of it going on. Rose had heard of pirate captains that lit their own beards aflame to terrify their victims during raids, so maybe the ensemble was meant to distract or unnerve her captives. Maybe she just liked feeling the fresh sea breeze on her nethers. But alas, it was not a time to be thinking about ladies’ nethers, and that was a sentiment that broke Rose’s heart. This haunting thing was very inconvenient indeed.

The ghost hovered in Rose’s field of vision, trying to catch her eye. No one but Rose appeared to be aware of her. “I beg of you, please remain calm!” she cried. “These scoundrels could mean you harm!”

“PISS OFF, GHOST!” howled Rose.

Before Rose could properly land a roundhouse kick to the head of one of the pirates trying to hold her down and make her cunning escape overboard, she felt a gentle little tug to her trouser leg. Shaking like a leaf, she slowly turned her head to look, expecting another terrible specter bent on dragging her to the depths of hell itself.

Instead, she saw a tiny little cloaked boy, holding out his fist for Rose.

“Phi,” the woman pirate asked, low and dangerous. “What are you doing?”

The cloaked boy turned to look at the woman, confusion plain on his face. Underneath the hood of his cloak, Rose could distinctly see the outline of little nubbed horns, and the glint of white scales on his jaw and neck.

“…she asked for salt,” he said quietly. “I went to the kitchen and got some for her.”

Rose did not get where she was today by not taking opportunities as they arose.

“THROW THE SALT AT THE GHOST!” she screamed.

The cloaked boy nearly jumped out of his skin at the sudden volume. He blindly flung the contents of his fist in front of him, missing the ghost entirely. Rose dissolved into shrieking, sloppy tears, and went slack in the hold of her captors.

“Phi. Go back to Eizen and the pups,” said the woman pirate.

The boy, Phi, twiddled his fingers and shifted his weight from foot to foot.

“…she asked for a book too,” he said. “Can I bring her that later--”

“Phi,” the woman said sternly, pointing her finger firmly to a door on the ship.

Phi sulkily trudged over to the door, and stared balefully at the woman before he shut it behind him.

The woman grumbled, marched over to Rose, and forced her head up to look at her with a hand in her hair.

“I am the captain of this ship, Velvet Crowe,” she said. “And you are going to explain what you were doing in the middle of the sea in a fishing skipper, screaming about ghosts.”

Rose collected herself. She closed her eyes. She desperately tried to ignore the ghost stroking her hair and offering tips on deep breathing exercises. And she began to explain the situation – the disrupted wedding, the dragon, the kidnapped prince.

It seemed naïve and stupid to collaborate with pirates, but Rose was short on allies, and equally short on a vessel to get around now that her fishing skipper was in pieces. A gang of greedy pirates were sure to offer assistance when there was a royal bounty on the head of the dragon. And if they were tempted by the opportunity to ransom off the prince and his fiancée, well, they’d have to deal with the might of Midgand’s navy, and more presently, the business end of Rose’s knife.

However, as Rose finished her tale, Velvet did not seem to be moved. In fact, she simply rose a critical eyebrow.

“So. You held a wedding on the same day as an ancient sacrificial festival. Dressed up this prince just like one of said sacrifices. Sang a song that used to summon a dragon to collect said sacrifices. And were then surprised when a dragon showed up and plucked him away.”

Rose shifted uncomfortably. The ghost girl made a concerned noise.

“She does rather have a point,” said the ghost.

“No she doesn’t! It wasn’t my idea to hold the wedding on that day!” Rose shot back defensively. She then snapped her mouth shut, and hastily looked away from the ghost. If she ignored her, maybe she’d leave.

Velvet waited for Rose to be done talking to no one, and then continued.

“Do you know what dragons do with the humans they capture?” Velvet asked almost casually. “I’m sure it’s not hard to guess. Your prince is probably being digested as we speak.”

Rose knew it was a pretty likely scenario. She just didn’t want to face it. Sorey was so young, and such a good kid.

“I’d say that’s quitter talk, and not something I expect of a pirate of your stature, Miss Crowe,” Rose replied. “Plus, are we just supposed to let that overgrown lizard get away with snatching up whoever it pleases--”

“Dragons have to eat,” Velvet said with a shrug. “Do you think humans need to be revenged on for the meat they hunt, as well?”

Rose was quiet, and could almost take comfort in the ghostly fingers stroking her hair.

“Sorey was—is a good kid, and has a long life ahead of him,” Rose began. “I’ve read the old legends – that the kingdom enjoys prosperity because of that dragon nest. But Sorey didn’t go into this wedding expecting to be made a sacrifice for the kingdom’s greater good. We made an awful, stupid mistake and I just want to make it as right as I can. I want to race to wherever that dragon is hiding and do everything I can as long as there’s the slightest chance Sorey is still alive.”

Rose meant every word. It was quite embarrassing to spill one’s soul to a pirate and her crew. But something in her words seemed to touch Velvet. Her grip on Rose’s hair loosened, and those falcon eyes had a look of grief in them. She stood, and thought.

“That dragon’s roost is magical,” Velvet said. “It moves around as it pleases, whenever it pleases. And you’ll never find it, or make land on it, unless that prince of yours is still alive to guide you to it. Even if he is, unless he actually loves you, we’ll be wandering these waters for months with nothing to show for it.”

Well, that was an issue. Sorey had a kind heart, and was full of love for everyone. But she knew that he didn’t actually love love her. Rose could only pray that the sort of general positive feeling Sorey felt for the world in general was enough of a beacon to guide them to the island in time.

“…but, if we’re not going to be able to take that kind of direct route,” Velvet continued, as if reading Rose’s expression. “We might have an ace or two in the hole. Our ship’s navigator is rather unique, and he might be convinced to help.”

“Bet I can help you twist his arm,” Rose said with a smirk. “You’ll hopefully be impressed by my negotiation skills, Miss Crowe.”

Velvet scoffed and turned to walk away, to the door where the boy Phi went.

“I doubt it, Miss Sparrowfeather.”

Hmm. Rose laughed to herself as she was escorted along with Velvet by the crew. So much for travelling incognito.

It was not as though Sorey did not realize the danger he was in. It was not as though Sorey did not miss the people he’d left behind. It was not as though Sorey intended to hurt them by throwing himself whole into this new life he’d been spirited into.

But, by god, he’d been given a taste of a life that he’d always pined for. Freedom, adventure, and – most notably – love.

There was a waterfall on the island. The water from the cave springs bubbled up and spilled over into an opening in the cave systems, and then spilled over once more, tumbling down the mountainside in a scintillating rainbow spray. The waterfall fed a shallow lake that was perfect for bathing – the mineral spring-water was clear and warm, and the fresh scent of it filled the humid air as it poured from the mountain’s heights.

Sorey would have been impressed enough if this was a natural wonder of the island, but this was a man-made feat. Or rather, a dragon-made one. Over the course of many years, Mikleo – through clever tricks of engineering and good old-fashioned elbow grease – had carefully re-routed the spring-water’s natural path through the mountain’s cave system to create the waterfall, and likewise had dug and filled the lake that it fed. It was a marvel, and Mikleo had only mentioned to him that he’d been the one to make it when Sorey had started going on about his geological theories on how it had formed. He needed something to occupy his mind and hands with, he had said. And, as he rather enjoyed baths, it seemed a worthwhile endeavor.

When Sorey thought he couldn’t fall any more in love with Mikleo, Mikleo just brought out something else to dazzle and fascinate him. Sorey had been so full of questions, so desperate to hear Mikleo explain every detail of his process, that their reading lessons had gotten sorely off-track that evening. Mikleo was such a fast learner – Sorey often found him reviewing the book they’d studied the night before, quietly reading aloud to himself with a fluency and understanding that once had been beyond his grasp; living alone and un-tutored so many years. Sorey suspected he was only being polite, now; listening to Sorey read to him for hours on end. Sorey appreciated Mikleo humoring him. He appreciated Mikleo indulging him.

Mikleo emerged from the lake, spring-water dripping down his pale skin in rivulets that glimmered in the sunlight. His wings glittered as he spread them wide; flicking them dry and sending rainbow mist glinting through the air.

He appreciated Mikleo in general.

Mikleo pushed his hair back from his eyes and squinted over at where Sorey perched on a rock, cross-legged.

“Done washing already?” Mikleo asked dubiously. He walked over to Sorey, gloriously naked, hands on his hips. His tail swish-swished behind him in the water as he went, to compensate for his rapidly changing balance. “I hope you cleaned your wound.”

He already had a tiny bump from their baby, and Sorey was more than a little bit overwhelmed with how cute it was. Serving Mikleo, keeping him sated, was a duty and a pleasure; he felt honored to be allowed to tend to him and touch him.

(Tasting him, however, would have to be worked up to. Mikleo had kicked him in the head out of surprise when Sorey tried to lick into him one evening. Mikleo’s legs were as powerful as they were beautiful. Sorey was glad Mikleo’s wound had healed enough to prove this statement, even though it’d earned him quite the bump on the skull.)

He’d already peppered Mikleo with so many questions about dragon biology, and Mikleo had answered most of them after being plied with kisses. (Perhaps he would have told him without the kisses, but the idea of not kissing Mikleo had not occurred to Sorey.) The egg – or eggs – would be laid after a few weeks, and then Mikleo would tend to them in the nest until they hatched a few months later. The babies – puppies, Mikleo kept calling them (so cute) – would stay in dragon form for a few years, growing big and strong until the protection of their parents. Then they could try their claws at managing a human form.

Egg. Eggs. Plural, potentially. Sorey daydreamed about twins, triplets. A whole little nursery to read bedtime stories to. Sorey would have to think up more baby names. He was compiling a list and planned on presenting it to Mikleo once he had worked on it for a few more weeks. It was a project that required intense and careful consideration.

“I did,” Sorey promised. “I just wanted to get out and dry off my hair.”

Mikleo nodded, and made a considering noise. Sorey’s hair coiled around him on the rock, and very nearly dipped right back into the lake. Weeks of hard work on the island, of gathering and hunting for food, of dragging things from Mikleo’s hoard of shipwreck treasures, had done wonders for Sorey’s spirit and zest for life, but had taken its toll on his hair. It was ragged and uneven and tangled – the sloppy, messy braid he yanked it into in the mornings was a far cry from the elaborate styles his mother and his servants did for him. Sorey had been close, many times, to just chopping it off and being done with it – one could only endure getting oneself tangled up in a bush so many times before one’s patience ran thin – but every time, his hopeless heart stopped him.

He was supposed to wait for his wedding night. He was supposed to cut it off with his spouse in the wedding suite, and burn it with a great deal of drama, and with a bucket of water nearby just in case the drama turned more literal. And then he and his spouse would fall upon each other with passion in their breasts and fire in their loins and hopefully not a fire in the suite and so on. It was supposed to be very meaningful, and a symbol of starting a new life together. He couldn’t just throw that all away just so he didn’t get caught on branches anymore. Maybe he really was too much of a romantic for his own good.

“Do you want me to cut it off for you?” Mikleo asked, casually.

Sorey nearly fell off his perch and back into the lake, wherein his hair would weigh him down and condemn him to a watery grave. Or something. His cheeks burned hot, and his heart thudded hard with desperate excitement. Did Mikleo just ask to—

…but Sorey sighed, and pushed the feeling down. Mikleo didn’t mean it that way. Mikleo did understand the general concept of weddings and marriage, but didn’t know about specific human wedding traditions – that much was obvious, considering their whole relationship was founded on said lack of understanding. He was just trying to be helpful.

“It’s fine,” Sorey assured him. “I think I still look pretty good, don’t you?”

“You look a mess,” Mikleo said bluntly. “But fine. Know that I won’t come help you if you accidentally hang yourself off a branch with that rat’s nest on your head.”

“Know that my heart will guide me back to you no matter what the trial,” Sorey replied, leaning forward to snatch Mikleo by the waist and drag him in. He rested his cheek on Mikleo’s stomach, and sighed happily.

Mikleo’s fingers slid into his hair.

“Why are you so intent on staying here?” he murmured. “Was your life with humans truly that wretched?”

“…no,” Sorey said against Mikleo’s skin. “I love my parents, and they’re probably worried about me.”

“You’ll see them again. Once your wound heals and you can make the voyage safely. I’ll even fly above your boat to help guide you.”

Sorey’s arms wrapped tighter around Mikleo. Mikleo sighed.

“You don’t plan on leaving, do you?”

Sorey’s eyes slid shut.

“They don’t need me. They don’t need a prince that can’t lead, a prince that no one respects. And they know it too – that’s why they were going to marry me off to someone who actually knows what she’s doing. My mom and dad can just pass the crown to her and everything will be fine.”

“Marry?” Mikleo said, with no small bit of surprise. “You were engaged?”

Sorey nodded, and looked up at Mikleo’s shocked expression. “Yeah. You grabbed me from my wedding, actually.”

“I did what?”

Sorey laughed in delight, and almost helplessly – the atmosphere here, and the company, was simply too heavenly to stay sad for long. He hauled Mikleo in to sit on his lap on his perch, and Mikleo’s tail curled around his calf on reflex.

“An arranged marriage, don’t worry. I don’t dress that fancy every day,” he said. “But I know why you’re probably confused. Over the centuries, the sacrificial rites slowly merged with wedding rites – it’s really a fascinating anthropological journey if you want to hear about it. I’ve been amending my theories on it ever since I met you.”

Mikleo gaped at him like a fish. “You – your kingdom merged…”

Mikleo paused, but then got a thoughtful look on his face.

“…though I suppose it follows a certain sort of logic,” he granted. “After all, I’ve read that human societies often associate mating with marriage. And we of course take humans to mate with when we do not simply eat them. While I was not certain that this ever became common knowledge among your kind, perhaps word of the general process got out somehow, and worked its way into your cultural rites.”

“That’s exactly what I was thinking!” Sorey eagerly said. “You’re probably not the first dragon to spare someone, y’know? So that person comes back, tells their story, and it becomes a popular book, or play, or something – it then starts getting integrated into the cultural consciousness until we’re where we are now.”

“Yes, yes,” Mikleo continued. “Perhaps if there were marriage records dating back a few centuries, we could pinpoint when the change started to take place…”

Mikleo paused before he got too off-track, and slanted a look at Sorey.

“Is that why you keep calling me your ‘bride’? The fact that I hijacked your wedding and mated with you?”

“…well, yes, but I also love you a whole bunch,” Sorey explained.

“Ah,” Mikleo said airily. “I thought you were simply being peculiar, as always.”

He would like to have a proper wedding to Mikleo, too. In front of everyone he loved, under the midday sun; Mikleo pulling in his barge and kissing him in front of the cheering crowds. Then during their wedding feast, they’d sneak off, overcome with love and passion for each other, and Mikleo would trim off Sorey’s locks in their wedding suite before they fell atop the bed and made love until the sun rose.

Mikleo butted his forehead against Sorey’s, interrupting Sorey’s reverie. A small smile tugged on the corner of his mouth.

“If you’d like to tell me more about your theory, lie back so this bride of yours can to tend to your wound. And maybe do something with your hair.”

Though perhaps that kind of thing would be redundant, considering.

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#sormik #soremiku #suremiku #soymilk #sorey/mikleo #tales of zestiria #i guess this is my personal tales of zestiria tag now #a tenderly crafted fanfiction

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