Spring 1812,  Longbourn Estate, Hertfordshire

Plain old Mary Collins, Mary Bennet as was, was not the heroine type. Ignored by her father, neglected by her mother, and too dull to entertain her sisters, she was the forgotten middle sister, destined to be an old maid, caretaker to nieces and nephews, perhaps the old and infirm, maintained on the charity of family who probably would not have wanted her there had they not the obligation.

Certainly the life every young woman dreamt of.

Then elder sister Elizabeth refused Mr. Collins, ran away to the Gardiners, was whisked off the Rosings Park, became betrothed to Mr. Darcy in front of the entire Dragon Conclave, and was named the Dragon Sage. The stuff of fairy stories.

To be sure, Mary could hardly complain. While she was not even an afterthought throughout Elizabeth’s adventures, in the end, Mary somehow ended up with all she ever wanted and more than she ever expected: a betrothal to Mr. Collins, heir to the estate, her mother’s place as mistress of Longbourn estate, a dragon Friend in fluffy pink fairy dragon Heather, and recognition as Longbourn’s Keeper.

For the first several months, she pinched herself every morning, trying to believe that it was not some sort of fever dream, but really her life. Things like this did not happen to plain, dull, practical girls. And yet, it seemed like perhaps they did.

 ***

The mirror proclaimed Mary the same girl she had always been, even as she adjusted the fancy lace mobcap over her hair. Plain straight brown hair without even curls to frame her face. Dull brown eyes, not fine eyes like Elizabeth or pretty blue like Jane and Kitty. A straight, sharp nose which would someday make her look severe. But to have earned that cap by marriage and not by aging into spinsterhood! In that she would invest a little—a very little—vanity. Granted, it was an odd sort of trophy. One she certainly would never boast of out loud, but since there had been a time, not long ago, she was certain of spinsterhood, it was one of her very personal, private joys. She straightened the lace lappet beside her face.

Caring for Longbourn, the cranky estate wyvern, though, did not qualify as a joy. The taciturn, petulant creature still resented her for not being Elizabeth, and nothing seemed to please him. Mary did not scratch him correctly. She did not brush him vigorously enough. She did not know by the tone of his voice whether he wanted mutton or muntjac. He was a far mor demanding taskmaster than ever Mr. Collins could be, even on his worst days.

What did it take to please a temperamental dragon?

On Monday mornings Mary met with Mrs. Hill, the housekeeper, to go over the menus and plan the shopping. Then she went to Longbourn’s lair to review Keep business. This week they needed to compile the monthly report required by the Blue Order.  Chatter, Mr. Collins’ assigned translator, would demand it first thing on Saturday morning and proceed to scold until she received it.  Annoying, but effective.

It seemed she was naturally a demanding sort and being assigned to manage someone as profoundly dragon deaf and Mr. Collins only made that trait more pronounced. Naturally, Longbourn did not like her either.

This was going to be a very long day.

Mary packed her basket with Longbourn’s favorite brush and a jar of hide oil made according to the receipt Elizabeth’s assured was his favorite, and bid Mr. Collins and Chatter goodbye. They were deep in something not quite a conversation but not quite an argument over a philosophical that Mary neither understood nor cared to understand. It was nice he had someone else to discuss such matters with so she did not have to feign interest in them.

Fresh morning air, laden with the perfumes of grass and white clover flowers that carpeted the nearby sheep fields embraced her, encouraging her to drink deeply of their sweetness and her momentary freedom. The walk between the house and the dragon lair was hers alone. With no demands, no expectations, she could simply enjoy the solitude.

Sheep bleated their greetings to her as Heather, her fairy dragon friend, flew dizzying circles overhead, twittering in the spring sunshine. Wild fairy dragons from the local harem sang back, but stayed in the trees out of sight. They would probably have made an appearance if Elizabeth had been there. But not everyone could enjoy the favor with dragons that the Dragon Sage did.

Jealousy was unbecoming. Something she ought to remember and be grateful for all that she did have.

She paused in the shadows of the ancient hardwood sentinels standing watch over the entry to the woods. Foreboding gathering around her carried on the scents of loam and dragon musk. Hardly an unnatural feeling considering a monster really did live in those woods. Being well acquainted with that monster diluted the anxiety only slightly, as did knowing he was obligated by Blue Order charter not to allow any harm to come to her.

Although when reminded about the monthly report, he would probably revert to his usual monstrous displays of temper. He had avoided submitting those reports when Papa was in charge of Longbourn, with Papa’s approbation. Why should the burden be enforced now? 

Indeed why? Could it be that with Mr. Collins as a dragon-deaf master of the estate and her alone holding the role of Keeper, none of them could afford any irregularities the Order might hold against them.

She gritted her teeth and swatted at errant branch aside. Despite all its irregularities, Longbourn would prove itself a proper dragon estate. Somehow.

Each step drew her farther into the dark wood, quiet, even peaceful—since few creatures dared brave the ire of the apex predator that lived within. It might have been a pleasant retreat from the bustle of the house and the frequent company that Mr. Collins liked to keep—men of the village calling upon him at all hours asking for his advice. Who knew that he might become well-respected and somewhat sensible in the time away from Lady Catherine’s influence over him and his parish near Rosings Park? Or that his respectability would come with such a price?

A hillside, really more like a small cliff slowly revealed itself in the midst of the imposing trees, draped by a curtain of thick vines that obscured the lair’s entrance. The bare ground in before it was scratched and scraped, as though Longbourn had been dustbathing quite vigorously. More than usual.

That was odd. What had Elizabeth told her about that? Scale mites, perhaps?

“Laird Longbourn! Laird Longbourn.” She called through cupped hands. What chance that today he would not keep her waiting a quarter of an hour or more? Even if he did, it would be all right. Today she had come prepared with a book to read whilst she waited.

“Shall I try to find him?” Heather landed on her shoulder and rubbed her fluffy pink head against Mary’s cheek, twittering a song intended to ease anxious souls. Fairy dragons were good at that.

“I am in no humor to wait upon him. If you want to do so, then I would appreciate it.” Why could Longbourn not be more like Heather?

Or at least be a little less cross?

Heather zipped behind the curtain of overgrowth.

Perhaps it was an appropriate time to survey the lair now, too. It was not too soon to begin upon maintenance in preparation for winter. The almanack tucked in her basket was already warning of a particularly wet, cold, and dreary season; three descriptions that Longbourn particularly disliked.

But who to do the work? The Clearys, who let the second largest farm on the estate might do, that family all heard dragons. But they would have to carefully plan around the spring plantings—

Heather burst out from the vines, screeching. She hovered in front of Mary’s face. “Something is wrong! Something is wrong!”

“What do you mean?”

“Longbourn is not well. You must come! You must come!” Heather zipped back into the lair.

Heavens above! What did she know about dragon ailments? That was Elizabeth’s role, not hers. Longbourn barely tolerated her brushing and oiling his hide. But Sir Edward the Lord Physician to Dragons was only three hours away, in London. They could send for him. She could go for him herself—

Wait, no, first she needed to know what was wrong before worrying about who to consult.

She slapped vines away as they tried to keep her out. There, the old bucket which contained torches and a fire making kit. Thankfully he had not gotten rid of that. Longbourn did not like the ‘clutter’ in his way, but as many times as she had to go into the lair to find him, she insisted on available torches for her own convenience. Something, of course, that Elizabeth never did.

“Hurry!” Heather zigzaged back and forth over her head.

She struck a spark and lit the torch. There was a knack to it she had picked up over the last year. “Take me to him.”

Yellow-orange flames cut through the darkness with a vague tallowy sort of smell. The tunnel ahead, large enough for Longbourn, easily accommodated Mary, her basket and torch. The high walls leaned inward above her until they touched overhead, giving the dark space a rather smothering feeling only enhanced by the smoke and powerful dragon musk in the air. Irregular walls reached out and snagged her skirts; errant floor stones tried to trip her and toss her into random piles of dirt..

Odd. Longbourn did not usually tolerate untidiness. For all his grumpiness, he tended to be fastidious.

Á low moan rumbled through the tunnel, vibrating through her core. The sound of a very large someone in a very great deal of discomfort.

“That is him! You hear! Something is quite wrong.” Heather buzzed ahead. “She is here! I have brought her! Mary will make you well. She can fix anything.”

The tunnel opened into a large room, perhaps twenty feet long and as many wide and high, walls and floor worn smooth with use. 

In the middle of the chamber, Longbourn lay on his back, writhing like a dog in the dirt. “Make it stop! Make it stop!”

Mary set her basket near the passage opening and hurried to Longbourn’s side. “What is wrong?”

“Make it stop!” He flapped his wings against the stone floor and thumped his tail as he looked up at her, toothy mouth half-open and eyes wide and a little wild.

“Make what stop? I cannot help you unless you tell me what is wrong.” She dodged a fluttering wing tip.

“Elizabeth would know.”

Once more on this subject. “I am not Elizabeth. Tell me what is wrong.”

“I want her! She would know what to do.”

“She is at Pemberley. It would take days to get her here.” Mary stood and stepped back until she reached the wall, then leaned against it.

“I want her.” His tail thumped hard enough to feel through her half-boots.

“Fine, then I will send for her. But you will have no relief, no help from me or anyone else until she arrives. That will take days.”

He rolled over to his right side and stared at her, a tiny glimmer in his eye. “You can help?”

“Only if you tell me what is wrong.”

He snorted and turned his back to her. “I do not want you! I want Elizabeth.”

“She is married and Keeper to another dragon. You cannot have her.” She stomped to him, planting her foot near his snout. Not respectful to be sure, but who could blame her?

“Get out. You are awful, and I do not want you. Get out.” His bellow rang off the stone walls, reverberating in her ears, through her bones..

She scooped up her basket and all but ran back the way she came, but tripped over a stone on the tunnel floor. “Dragon bones and fire!” She hissed as she landed heavily on her hip, the torch skittering out of her hand and out of reach.

“Are you all right?” Heather landed just next to her, wings still fluttering.

Mary closed her eyes for a moment. “My ankle, it is turned, at the very least. Perhaps worse.” The rest of the pains were probably, hopefully, just scrapes and bruises and nothing to be too concerned about.

“Get up, get up. Come with me.” Heather launched and hovered a foot off the ground.

Mary pushed herself up to sit, squeezing her eyes shut as vertigo threatened and breakfast threatened to come up. Bless it all, she had hit her head too! A few deep breaths, throbbing subsided a mite and the world stopped spinning, like a child’s top. She drew her knees up and tested her foot on the ground. Perhaps.

She pulled herself up along the coarse stone wall, the cold penetrated through her fingers and flowed through her bones. Standing with most of her weight on one foot, she bit her upper lip and sucked in a deep breath through her teeth. One step, just one step. Certainly, she could manage that.

Great merciful heavens! What a shame that ladies were not permitted language that better matched the sharp, screaming pain. “I might be able to get out of the lair, but there is no way I can make it home. I need help. The Clearly farm is the closest place. Go there, please.”

Heather landed on her shoulder and cuddled into the side of her neck with tickly feather-scales that smelt of flowers. “I do not want to leave you. You are hurt.”

“No harm is going to come to me in Longbourn’s lair.” At least no more than had already befallen her. “I cannot get back unless you help me.”

Heather flew in circles over Mary’s head. After three complete, she hovered near Mary’s nose. “I will return with help.” She whizzed down the passage.

Mary pressed her back against the tunnel wall, panting. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead, sold and sickly. She had to get to out of the lair. Longbourn would tolerate none but his Keeper in his lair, and her just barely.

One thing at a time, just one thing. First get the torch, then sort out the rest.

Three, perhaps four steps away, the torch still burned on the dirty stone floor in the middle of the passage. Thank heavens for that! No way she could not walk across the tunnel without the support of the wall, but perhaps she could crawl. Entirely undignified, humiliating, and unbefitting her station, but it was the only practical answer. She slid down the wall.

Oh! Ow! Heavens above! Even bearing weight on the uninjured foot it was worse than expected. What else had she managed to injure? She wiped her face on her sleeve.

Blood.

There was blood on her sleeve. No doubt from when she had hit her head. Lovely just lovely.

It changed nothing, she still needed the torch.

How was she going to hold on to it and pull herself up along the wall? And how was she to walk with the torch in hand when she needed both hands to support herself?

“Pendragon’s Bones! I wish I never agreed to be a Keeper.” Blasted stones were hard on the hands and knees.

The heat of the torch kissed her face. At least it was bright and warm and friendly. Her only ally in this stone dungeon. Perhaps if she pushed it forward ahead of her and she crawled—

Talons scraped stone and a tail scraped behind. Truly. He would have to come now?

“Leave me alone. I have had enough problems of my own right now and cannot deal with you. Go, shoo. I will be out of your way as soon as I am able.” She shoved the torch forward and crawled, slow and awkward, after it. Her gown was not going to survive this encounter, and there was no money in the budget for another.

Another joy.

“If you are in such a hurry, get up and walk, or run away from me. You seem in quite a hurry to leave me.” Longbourn’s head loomed over her, breathing fetid breath hard against her back.

Hand, hand. Knee, knee. A little closer to the outside. “What do you expect? You are horrid, selfish and impossible to please. Why would I want to linger with such a creature?”

“Elizabeth did not think that of me.”

“You think so? I believe she was quite clear in telling you exactly that. She thought you might have listened and would treat me differently. Clearly she was wrong about you.” She shoved the torch forward and crawled to meet it.

“She said no such things.”

“Then you are a liar or delusional.” The torch was in reach again. Three deep breaths, and she shoved it forward.

It rolled and bounced against the wall and sputtered out.

“Dragon’s blood!” She blinked hard against the burning in her eyes. “Just leave me alone!”

“You are hurt?” He sniffed her head to toe, pausing long over her injured ankle.

“It does not matter to you. Just leave me alone, and I will be out of your lair as soon as I can manage.”

“But you are hurt.”

“Why do you care? I am not Elizabeth, and I never will be. I am sorry you cannot make peace with that. I have done everything I possibly can to satisfy you only to fail at every turn. I cannot do any more, and I do not want to hear any more about it. Leave me alone. The sooner you do, the sooner I will crawl out of here.”

Scratchy talons along the ground. Had he crawled up beside her? “You cannot walk. How will you get home?”

“Heather is bringing help. Do not worry, they will not disturb your lair. They will wait for me outside, at the hillside.”

“But you cannot—”

“I am entirely aware of the thousands of things I cannot do to please you, including, at the moment, walking out of here. But I cannot change any of those things. If only you will be patient, I will leave your lair.”

“She asked me to be patient.” He grumbled and snorted.

Mary sniffed and dragged herself forward. “It was good advice.”

“Dragons are not patient.”

“So, I have noticed.”

“You do not like me.”

“Nor do you like me.” She glowered over her shoulder into the darkness. “You remind me of that every time I come. Over and over again. I am tired of it and do not want to hear it again.”

“But I miss her.”

“Then write her a letter. Tell her all that you complain to me about. Perhaps she can arrange a more satisfactory Keeper for you.”

More talons scraping, like a child scuffing his feet. “I cannot write.”

“If it will stop your complaining, I will write it for you.”

“And she will write back?” A sound like his tail sweeping the floor and a hopeful note in his voice.

“She is a faithful correspondent.”

“You will read her letters to me?”

“If you wish.”

“Just once?” Acrid dragon breath encompassed her face. He must be very close.

“Whenever I come to call, if you want.”

Longbourn snuffled her shoulder, almost like a friendly dog. An enormous one, but friendly. How very strange. “I would like that very much.”

“Then if you are satisfied, why do you not go back in your den and allow me the dignity of crawling out of here without an audience to laugh at me.” Her throat tightened, and she squeezed her eyes shut, chest aching. No, he would not have the pleasure of seeing—or hearing, or smelling, what ever it was that dragons did in the dark—her tears.

“I will help you out.” Somehow, he edged a wing underneath her. “Climb on my back?” He lifted her with his wing, and she slid to his back, spinal bumps poking her ribs like cobblestones on the street.

How cold he was, but powerful, even more than she had realized. She probably should protest the affront to his dignity this must be.

“Put your arms around my neck. I have been told I lumber when I walk.”

She threw her arms around him and pressed her face tight to his cold scaly neck. The scales were smoother than she would have expected, more alive, if that made any sense. Not hard and crusty as they appeared. Powerful dragon musk, and something else, something uniquely his own, filled her nose. Not entirely unpleasant, a little familiar, and friendly even.

Why was he doing this? There seemed no malice in his tone or actions. And it was not as if she did not need the help. Perhaps he just wanted her out of his presence as fast as possible, and this was the best way to accomplish it.

He had to twist and duck through the passage as he lumbered—yes that was a good word for it. He was not clumsy exactly, but large and heavy and strong. How different that made the passage feel than when she had walked it on her own. Somehow now it was small and confining, even a little dreary. Was that how he saw it?

What would it be like it live in such a place, so dark, and alone? Was that one of the things that Elizabeth understood, why she could bring him comfort so effectively? Was that why he missed her so?

“It is just a little farther.” His body rumbled as he spoke.

Even his voice was powerful. Was it frustrating to obey the constraints of Blue Order law when he could easily take what he wanted?

Wan light painted the rock walls in weary shadows, growing brighter with each ponderous step.

“Hold tight so the vines do not dislodge you.” He ducked low as prickly vines scraped over his back and hers, tangling in her mobcap. “There now, you can sit on the rock, yes? It will be sufficient?”

She peeked around his shoulder. The clearing was exactly how she had left it. “Yes, that would be very kind of you.”

Three steps to the flat rock and he crouched, then laid himself flat on the ground, wings slightly extended. “Take your time sliding off.”

She drew a deep breath. He was right, her instinct was to hurry. How exactly did one dismount a dragon’s back?

Slowly, and awkwardly, with one’s skirt catching along his scales.

Finally, her foot touched the ground close enough to her makeshift seat that she managed to sit without placing any weight on her injured ankle.

He glanced about the clearing and sat back on his haunches. “No one is here for you.”

“I imagine it will take some time for help to arrive, especially if they bring a donkey cart for me. It is still early in the day. There is plenty of time for them to arrive before dark.”

 He sighed, a great, deep draconic sigh, his face forming into something of a frown. Not an angry one, but a pensive one. “I do not like it.”

She winced, pray, not another temper tantrum. “I do not like it very well either, but there is little to be done for it.”

“It is not safe to sit alone while injured. That makes one smell like prey. I do not like you smelling like prey.”

“I have only turned my ankle. It is not a dangerous injury, only painful and inconvenient.” Very painful and very inconvenient.

“Injured prey attracts predators.” He lifted his head slightly and scanned the clearing, peering deep into the woods and he edged closer to her rock.

“But I am not…”

He turned to look at her, nearly nose to nose.

Oh!

Cold little dragon-foot chills raced down her spine. Was that how he saw her, how dragons saw men, as prey?

Well, that put a very different light on so many things.

“Those coming for you? They are Blue Order?”

“We would not allow anyone else so close to your lair.”

He nodded slowly. “Then, I will wait here with you instead of watching from the lair. None should see my Keeper as convenient prey.”

Politeness seemed to require a protest, but those were the manners of men. Would it not be insulting to refuse his protections… Protections! He wanted to protect her!

Merciful heavens! Is that what Elizabeth meant by thinking like a dragon? “Thank you, I would like that very much.”

He stretched out on the ground, his square head nearly touching her knee.

“Do your scales itch? It that what was bothering you?”

His brow ridges rose and he stared at her wide-eyed as he nodded.

“If you can bring my basked, I brough you oil for your hide. The kind you like best. I will put it on your back while we wait if you like.” Perhaps that had been a stupid thing to say. He never liked the way she oiled his scales.

He raised his head, turning it this way and that, wrinkling his brow as though he was thinking very hard. “I will bring the brush, too.”