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1.
The ocean can be endless. Without boundary, even. But the minds of men long for shores, and borders. They often seek definition where none could be found, and squabble over the invisible lines lay in reality as compared to a map.
Lothar isn’t like most men, Khadgar finds, not even in comparison to the variation he was used to (travelling men tended to thrive in the thresholds, on the shores or borders, and would grow more and more despondent the longer they spent in the thick of any one place, be it the open sea or monotony of a single country).
He doesn’t know how they got to the subject. He remembers how the night began; with the torches lit against the twilight, Lothar propped against Larial’s bulk where she dominates the main deck between the fore and the main. He’s at work oiling the individual leather cuffs that make up his armor and riding gear. He’s a strange sight during these times, wearing a thin cotton shirt too airy for his lean build, with his hair and beard loose and wavy, nearly four times the volume it is when braided. Khadgar’s eyes wander to him far too often, but he can’t help it. Lothar’s like a cat fluffed up after a bath, or a bird puffed up before settling for the night.
“What are you looking at, boy?” Lothar asks, barely raising his voice at all and without taking his eyes off a cuff he’s inspecting.
“You.” Khadgar replies, seeing no use in denial once acknowledged. He’s sitting on the portside railing, hanging toward the stern, attempting to lean beyond the glow of the torches to catch the first star of the evening when not otherwise preoccupied. “Larial’s naming is apt, and yet she isn’t the only one who’s like a lion.”
This earns him a short chuckle, the equivalent of a full-bodied laugh off any normal passenger, and the conversation continues from there. It continues until the torches were snuffed to make way for the nearly-full moon. They lay on their backs on the main deck, Lothar because he never strayed farther than three yards from Larial at any given moment, and Khadgar because Lothar’s whisper carried only so far. Above them, the sky is clear and lit with thousands of stars.
“I could get lost up there.” Lothar says at one point.
“Why would you want to do that?”
“It reminds me,” Lothar responds, his profile angled so the moonlight silvered his irises and highlighted the point of cheekbone, “that the world is vast enough to bury any sorrow.”
Khadgar isn’t really sure what to say to that at first. He knows he’s staring again, eyes fixed on the other’s face as if he could parse the history such a statement implied. Lothar’s eyes are always piercing, but now, here in the moonlight, they glowed with some empyreal fire. Khadgar has to swallow before he can find his voice again. “It’s a good way to get lost.”
They’re no less beautiful filled with mirth. “Is that such a bad thing to want?”
The sea rocks the deck under them back and forth. It would be easy to feel adrift, if Khadgar wasn’t connected to the sea the way he was. It would be easy, he thinks, to drift away with this man and his dragon. But even as he’s tempted, he knows Lothar is speaking of a past desire. They both know there’s no escaping their current duty. “No. It isn’t.”
2.
The day blusters by, wind tossing water high. Minutes before the winds started, Larial’s head perks up, her nostrils flaring. Lothar appears a second later, as if called by some invisible signal, and, just before scrambling up Larial’s side, calls back,
“You better find somewhere to hang on!”
“Hang on- What? Where are you going?” Larial’s knees buckle, the muscle bunching, like she’s about to take off in a hurry. Khadgar feels the frigate under him, the water around it, and blanches at the energy about to be expended on him. “Don’t launch-!”
But it’s too late, and it takes a good deal of energy to prevent the ship from capsizing, and even then Khadgar’s bobbing uncontrollably for a few minutes yet. Lothar’s whoop of joy dampens his irritation. Above, he watches as the dragon and rider are caught by the wind and launched so high that even with her golden wings flared, they appeared to be the size of a seabird. The figure hangs in the sky for a few minutes still, then thins, wings withdrawn, growing from a speck to one great arrowhead, to creature that could eclipse the sun. Just as it seems they’re going to hit the water, her wings snap out, Lothar appears over her head, and they pull up from their dive, her tail whipping the surface of the waves aft of where Khadgar watches, sending a wide spray over the deck and soaking Khadgar to the skin.
“Keep up!” He hears Lothar call over his own spluttering. “You know, if you can.”
“Keep up,” Khadgar says to himself, under his breath, the challenge rising in his veins as his power shines from his eyes. “I’ll show you keep up.”
Already the blue energy thrums through the ship, shining from between the cracks in the grain of the wood, out of the weave of the sailcloth, and from the twist of the ropes. He can feel the wind now, could visualize the shape as it pushed past, and with a flick of his wrist the sails unfurl and the ship lurches forward. He climbs up from the main deck to the foredeck, planting himself behind the bowsprit. His truant passenger is ahead, but not by much, and not for long.
Khadgar has always wanted to do something like this, to let loose and push himself, to feel the water part effortlessly for his passage and the air race to keep up. In minutes, he glides past Lothar, shrugging as he does when the dragon rider turns head to stare, unable to stave off a smirk.
The wind eats his laughter, but isn't quite enough to drown out Larial’s powerful wing beats as she strives to catch up. They weave around each other, enjoying the jubilation only speed and motion can create.
It's all in good nature, and yet Khadgar doesn't forget the initial splash, nor the taunt, so when Larial goes to land, and Khadgar tilts right, then left when she attempts again. She roars a single frustrated note, and Khadgar sees Lothar sit up, as if he’s calculating, then hunch down. Larial shoots forward until she has a good lead on the ship, then turn abruptly so she flies directly at the ship, turning only when about to drive into the masts.
The black figure of her rider launches from her back, and Khadgar has just enough time to step back when Lothar tackles him to the deck. They roll several feet, just barely missing the foremast, until Khadgar finds himself pinned to the deck, the wind- and weather-hardened leather of Lothar’s chest piece digging into his breastbone, the ridges of his leg armor pinching his inner thighs. He's sore all over from the tumble, and Lothar isn't doing much better, by the way he struggles to prop himself on a forearm to pull off his helmet. But once they get their breath back, and make eye contact, the laughter bursts out, and Lothar finds the energy to roll off.
Larial lands heavy, and though it's not nearly as much force as when she took off, Khadgar doesn't have the energy to correct the pitch or the buoy, and ocean water splashes on deck, soaking his back and prompting another round of laughter.
He doesn't think he's ever been happier.
3.
Lothar, armorless but with hair still braided, watches with intensity Khadgar has never known before. Not unprompted, either, as Khadgar runs a dampened rag over the dragon’s salt-caked scales. She'd been itching, and Lothar was taking too long removing his own armor, when Khadgar braced approaching her again. She hadn't snapped at him as she usually did, but for a moment she'd held him off with predatory stare, dangerously still, before her discomfort got the better of her and she exposed the worst of the grime.
“She’d probably let you ride her,” Lothar says, thoughtful, as Larial issued a low trill under Khadgar’s ministrations.
“That would be an honor.”
“You should. Next time we fly.” Lothar says, now approaching. He scratches under her neck, and she issues another, contented trill, stretching out to give him better access. Khadgar can feel the muscle contract under his hand, just as he could feel Lothar’s warmth pressing into his shoulder.
“I can't.”
“Afraid of heights?”
Khadgar laughs, but it's darkened slightly. “No. I can't leave the ship. I'm bound to it.” Larial stops trilling. Next to him, Lothar has gone still. When Khadgar looks up, he's caught immediately by the puzzled expression. “You don't know? Here.” He pulls up his sleeve, revealing the jagged white scar of his binding mark. “See this? There's another mark like it on the figurehead. It lets the ship tap into my magic, and allows me to control the ship with that magic, but it means I can never leave the ship.”
The furrow in Lothar’s brow no longer indicates confusion, if the tightness around his mouth means anything. “What if the ship is set afire?”
Khadgar lets his eyes fall back on Larial’s scales, and he starts again on the salt he sees wedged in between. “Well, it's a good thing a ship is naturally surrounded by water.”
“And if it sinks?”
“I'd have to be unconscious,” Khadgar says flatly.
“If you are?” Lothar presses.
Stubborn ass. Khadgar shoots him a look. “Assuming I’m not already dead, I drown with it.”
“And this is permanent?” Lothar looks like he may be sick.
“Until I die or the king releases me. And even then,” Khadgar shrugs, too jerky to be casual, “no one knows. So far only death has been observed.”
“Llane did this to you.” Finally, not a question. Not an easy statement, either, but one Khadgar can get away with making a noise in affirmation.
Larial grumbles, shaking her side at them for attention, and Lothar, finally, drops the subject.
4.
“What are you?” Lothar asks, causing Khadgar to jump. He hadn't heard the rider approach. He allows the blue light to fade from his eyes, and shrugs.
“Currently? A shipwright. Who happens to be the ship as well.” His eyes light back up, and the blue glow returns to the section of the hull he's repairing.
“Do you feel everything?” Lothar asks, carefully. His mind must be on the gouges Larial leaves on the deck.
“Sort of. It's not painful, though. It's just knowledge, I can access it whenever I need to.” Under his hand, the wood warps back to a tight seal.
“Light. How did they catch you?”
“Catch. Me?”
“You don't come from the sea?”
Khadgar turns to look at him. “I'm from Lordaeron.” And when Lothar’s face drops, Khadgar laughs. “Did you think I was a mermaid?”
“No.” But he’s just defensive enough Khadgar only laughs harder. “I ride dragons , alright? So what if that means I'm open minded about old stories.”
“Alright, alright, I'll stop.” Khadgar says, making an effort to breathe and even his tone. “I'm a man. Promise. I had parents and everything, I was just born with, well, whatever this,” he holds up a hand filled with blue light between them, “is.” The look on Lothar’s face, the slight expectation, causes Khadgar to grin. He can't help it. “Mermaid,” he repeats, chuckling.
Lothar rolls his eyes. “Be like that. I'll be up in deck with the dragon.”
5.
Khadgar can feel the shore, though it'll remain out of sight for a day or so yet. They've almost returned, and the knowledge that soon they’ll face Llane and his fleet, and soon they’ll have to search for Callan in earnest, quiets all conversation.
And yet, what bond between them remains.
There's hardly a moment in their daily routine where one doesn't have eyes on the other, whether it's Khadgar watching Lothar and Larial fish for their dinner, or Lothar watching Khadgar adjust their course, they watch each other without words.
When evening comes, and they've eaten their fill, and there's nothing left to do but unwind, Larial extends her wing for Lothar to lay under. Then stops, leaving Lothar exposed. Khadgar hears him sigh. “It's cold tonight.”
It wasn't, no more so than it had been any other night, and Khadgar feels his heart rate kick up. “Yeah,” he says, licking dry lips.
Lothar turns his head where he lies, blue eyes cutting away any doubt as to what he's offering. “Boy, come here.”
Feeling as though he's walking in someone else's body, Khadgar complies, crawling under Larial’s wing into the warmth of shared body heat. Lothar props himself up on an elbow, turning his body so Khadgar can lie next to him. Lothar's hands are calloused on Khadgar’s cheek, his body warm and solid as he adjusts himself over Khadgar. And, as Larial’s wing extends fully and the darkness is complete, his lips are warm and soft on Khadgar's own, sweet enough for Khadgar to part his for a better taste. Lothar’s mouth is hot and wet, and, as their bodies wind tighter together, Khadgar lets himself get lost. Just for a moment. Adrift on the waves, rocking back and forth.
Lothar was right. It was not a bad thing. To want.