“Impressive.”

...Mother smells wrong. 

He starts to wriggle.

Oh, no.

“Miss Eloise,” he says calmly. “I think you should probably leave now.”

She doesn’t want to.

“We will take care of him,” he reminds her kindly. “The wizard is right. Get home to your family before they notice your absence.”

…

She nods. “I will see you at tonight’s ball, alright?”

Eloise leaves, taking one last look inside at Edmund as Talen leads her out.

He stares after her. 

And then goes completely wild.

He slams into the heavy oak door like a cannonball, sharp little claws gouging scratches in the wood - squeaks and tries to blow something that just strips the varnish off. 

And when he can't get through, he begins to throw a tantrum. 

He grabs the child by its wings - those hold up its bodyweight, surely safe to grab - and pulls it away. "Lord Ophel- do you- have any ideas-"

The sound of harp-strings. 

The elf parts his lips, and he sings a sweet lullaby in his own tongue.

There are tears in Ambrose’s eyes and he doesn’t even realise it. There has to be magic in that song.

He kind of feels like curling up and taking a nap.

He staggers back, growling.

But he does sit down. 

He retreats into the back corner of the room, covering his head with his too-short-stubby-wings, peeking out.

He blinks. 

Yawns hugely. 

Tries very hard to stay awake. 

"How did you do that."

Gods. He- gods. All the stories they tell about the elves are true. 

“Good boy. There’s a good dragon,” he mutters helpfully, petting the dragon in a bid to make it even sleepier. He is yawning.

Ophel does not stop until the dragon is asleep.

When it finally slumbers for the first time in its life, the elf plucks his final note. A gentle snoring comes from the direction of the Court Wizard, who lies slumped next to the dragon.

Ophel stands, and presses a finger to his lips. He wraps up both of them with a blanket. Eloise left her cloak here – that is good. The dragon can have that.

And he quietly leaves the room, gesturing for Voltur to do the same.

“A simple lullaby. I used to sing my siblings to sleep.”

He sternly orders his suddenly-heavy limbs to behave. 

The dragon is curled up, twitching occasionally. It's... a strange sight. It's strong, already, considering it is newborn - and yet so very small, so very helpless, when one day if it lives it will make whole armies tremble. 

"That was... impressive." His voice is oddly subdued. 

She is perfectly alert, thank you. She will lock this room and then post the spare key under the door in case the Court Wizard wakes up. 

"...I did not know you had siblings. I thought children were rare among the elves."

He smiles faintly. “My parents were enthusiasts. I am the eldest of three.”

There is a kind of sadness there, thinly veiled.

“What is the protocol for when the little dragon awakens? I need not remind you of the ball tonight.”

He smiles a little too. "I see. I suppose you must have enough, in the end, between you all."

"As for protocol," the word is not familiar but he ploughs on, "I have no idea. Happily, my Court Wizard is present to contain the situation."

He actually laughs. 

“You cannot leave it all to the poor boy. Perhaps your housekeeper can keep an eye on the dragon in our absence. Karen, her name was?”

She still simply looks blankly at him. 

It's quite creepy. 

"Talen. Yes - if you would, Talen, please monitor the creature. You know what to do in case of any emergency."

Lords above, what is this woman?

“Very good,” he says softly, his gaze lingering on Voltur.

He forces himself to take a step back. “I shall see you later, then?”

He bows stiffly. "Until the ball, Lord Ophel."

He turns on his heel, and manages not to look back.