CHAPTER 1: A PLAGUE OF DRAKES

Sic, filii, scite tibi vi sacramentum

Erit praemium sanguine sanctum

Erit praemium sanguine sanctum absconditum!

Vel venio hūmānitās tendo pendēre-

Sanguine sanctum!

[So, you imposed the sacrament upon the children-

There will be a price from the Holy Blood

There will be a price the Holy Blood keeps secret!

So (that) humanity tends to depend upon-

The Holy Blood!]

Laurence, the First Vicar's Theme- Bloodborne

" THE DRAGON IS A DRAGON IS A DRAGON AS A DRAGON IS. HE is not merciful. HE IS NOT MERCIFUL.

O SAINTED MOTHER OF THE DRAGON EMPIRE, YOUR CHILDREN SHALL YET CURSE YOUR NAME.

SHE HATH BROUGHT UPON US A PLAGUE OF DRAKES, A SCOURGE OF BEASTLY BLOOD."

The Dragon's Madness, fragment iv

"Take him." Jauffre urged, again.

"I…." His dear friend and former colleague stood framed in the doorway, the flickering light from the cheery fireplace spilling past his silhouette and casting strange shadows that jumped and flickered across their faces. One hand gripped white-knuckled at the wooden door frame, and the other wound it's way slowly to clutch at the faint scar that ran across the man's throat. The bundle in his arms was growing heavy. He shifted the child's weight impatiently and tried again.

"Jules, please-"

"Jauffre." the former battlemage rasped out, his Nordic accent made thick with terror. "What you're giving me… This is not-"

"This is- I understand the sentiment behind this and appreciate it, truly I do- but- one of- one of His children?" The other shuddered. "Of that bloodline? So far from the capitol and those who could watch it better? Has our lord finally lost his mind at last- I cannot- cannot raise it, Jauffre. Not here. Does he know what he's asking of me?"

The other peered hopelessly at him. "Had I not performed my duties admirably? Have I displeased him so direly in my service that this is-"

"Displeased? By the Blood, no, Jules." Jauffre interrupted, brow furrowing in confusion.

What in the names of all the Divines had gotten into him? He'd never seen the mage to be so unnerved, not even after the Simulacrum, fresh from the horrors of the Deadlands had the man ever appeared even slightly rattled, but now this… this behavior was new, bordering near on unhinged. He felt a momentary sliver of doubt in their lord's choice of fosters take hold, but squashed it firmly. If Uriel said Jules was the only man capable of raising his son, then Jules it was.

Now if only he could convince the man himself of that fact.

"How could he be displeased? Without your efforts, the Simulacrum might have gone on much longer and Uriel might never have escaped from Tharn's clutches. No, this is an honor, my friend- he values your service. Akatosh's beard, Jules, he insisted you were the only one he could trust with this." he said, soothingly, and apparently that was the wrong thing to say because the Nord only flinched and withdrew further into his home with a low groan.

"I do wish you wouldn't say that."

Jauffre blinked. The bundle in his arms stirred for the first time, and he glanced down for a moment, worried that the babe might finally give voice to his discomfort and start crying. Instead the child remained steadfastly silent, much as he had for most of the journey from the capitol.

Blue eyes peered curiously up at him, catching the light in an odd way that made them almost seem to glow. Those eyes… Even now, they looked so much like Uriel's.

He fought back the urge to shudder.

He returned his attention to his shaken friend, frowning.

"Wish I wouldn't say what?"

The man shook his head vehemently, lips pressed together in a thin line, eyes wide with terror. "What, Jules? You wish I wouldn't say what?" he prodded again. "That he trusts you? What?"

"That… name. Not here, not with… one of the Blood in your arms, you fool."

"Akatosh!? Why, Jules? Wh-"

In lieu of answering, the other man merely shook his head and repeated his earlier declaration.

"I cannot take him. He cannot be my son. I- my wife and I, we cannot raise him-"

"Jules, you're no Emperor, that's true, but gods above man, don't compare yourself to Uriel! You and I both know that anything would be better for the lad than that, you'll be fine-"

"I am not speaking out of mere petty fears of my own inadequacy here, Jauffre- but the inadequacy of protection… for both his and these people's sake."

"I..what are you saying, Jules? If you're worried about someone attempting to use the child against him, or being attacked- This is Bruma, Jules, Cloud Ruler is just down the road, you'll have Blades agents practically crawling up your backside from the moment I leave- if anything, this is safer for him than living in the heart of the Imperial City."

"You still don't understand, do you? This is not a child, Jauffre- it is a death sentence-" the former mage choked off with a frustrated cry, hiding his face against the doorframe. Jauffre withdrew in bewilderment, hugging the child closer to his chest unconsciously.

Jules was silent for a moment and then, he lifted his head, staring at the Grandmaster with a haunted look on his face, before stepping back out of the doorway. " Fine. Come in, quickly."

"You have served our master faithfully in all accounts, have you not, Jauffre? And your duties as Grandmaster mean you are privy to ...more of...the Truth than most men, yes? You've read the annals in Cloud Ruler, the histories-"

"Those are old tales, ancient history!" Jauffre said hurriedly as he settled into the chair, readjusting the still silent bundle in his arms, dismissing the implication with a shake of his head. He stared at Jules anew, and then insisted. "Those days are long past."

"And yet the Dragonguard still exists, does it not?" Jules laughed, grim and hollow, sinking into the chair opposite him. "How old were you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"How old were you when Pelagius died? Do you remember it?"

"I…. no older than 19, I suppose- I was still training in Cloud Ruler at the time, so no, but he… Jules what are you on about? Emperor Pelagius died of illness in his bed, I fail to see how that is relevant-"

"Yes, oh, he died of a 'sickness' alright-" Jules leaned forward with a wild look in his eyes. His eyes jumped from shadow to shadow, wary and watchful, as though he expected ...something to melt out of the dark corners of the room at any moment. He continued in a low, hushed tone. "The same that haunts all their line-"

"No!" Jauffre barked sharply, recoiling in alarm. Such talk was bordering on treason. "Jules, it was an ordinary illness, the healers confirmed it, Uriel stood by his bedside as the man took his final breaths, for Divines' sakes, it wasn't-"

"If it had been... that, which it wasn't-" he insisted, trying to ignore the uncanny way the child in his arms still stared at him. "Surely someone would have noticed- we would have been called for. I- we, the Blades would have known-"

"You were still training in Cloud Ruler, remember, Jauffre? You weren't there. You were only a recruit then, and they don't even tell most senior Blades about… that. You weren't there." Jules said with a grim laugh, that wild, haunted look still in his eyes. "I was. Uriel stood by his deathbed, yes- but only after the man was well and truly dead, and not without more Dragonguard than you could shake a stick at flanking him."

"I…" Jauffre gaped at him.

"And what of Calaxes, eh?"

"Tharn... had him killed?"

"Oh aye, only good thing that damn traitor ever did, though he got a mite more than he'd bargained for with that one, I think. Arrogant fool had already driven you and the other Dragonguard into hiding by the time he realized ole' Calaxes was planning on making himself a problem, you see, and so things got messy and Tharn, being the buffoon that he was, botched the cleanup pretty badly-"

"Jules, are you suggesting that Calaxes ...succumbed-"

"I'm not sure, to be honest, but it seems a tad more likely than his 'stumbling backwards into a brazier during the attack' doesn't it? Ever taken a real good look at the braziers in the Temple?

I have, and let me tell you, those pillars are a good five feet above the average height of a man, couldn't 'stumble' into one if you tried. Certainly explains the decision to cremate the man- or whatever was left of him, anyways- don't ya think?"

Jules was silent for a moment, and then he snorted.

"Did Uriel a favor either way, he probably would've had the Dragonguard on him not long after he returned anyways. Calaxes worried Uriel, you see- our lord was convinced that he'd grow to be the type who'd succumb quickly. Religious zealotry and boundless ambition, aye, he'd have been just the type of fool enough to listen-"

"Listen? Listen to what? To who?"

"Who do you think?" Jules muttered cryptically, which in no way answered the question. "You may be closer than most men will ever have the chance to be to the royal family, Jauffre, but you were not as close as I- you didn't see what I saw. You may have learned bits and pieces, aye- but those were the merest table-scraps of knowledge necessary for you to do your duty as Grandmaster of Blades, of the Dragonguard. Jauffre, my friend, all of that is nothing compared to what I saw in the Deadlands during the Simulacrum. "

"What are you talking about, Jules?" Jauffre felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Not even in the Annals of the Dragonguard did they dare speak wholly of it, and I daren't to say so out loud but... They- Uriel is a good lord, a just lord, and a kindly one- he cares, you see- cares for his people, those who serve him, and thank the gods for that much. We needn't fear him but- the Dragon-blooded, they are not like us, Jauffre. They aren't hu-"

He broke off as Martin stirred again, and wiggled impatiently in Jauffre's arms. Blue eyes turned curiously towards the other man, and Jules fell abruptly silent, staring back at the baby with an almost stricken expression on his face. The babe fought against the swaddling, and then two tiny, chubby hands stretched out, reaching imploringly for the other man. Jules swallowed, and then a strange look passed over his face, and he held out his hands to Jauffre.

"...Give him to me."

"They aren't what?" he pressed, and then blinked at the other's abrupt change of heart. "I thought you said-"

"No, it's too dangerous for you to know, shouldn't have said anything. Just forget it. Doesn't matter now anyways." Jules said firmly, and then insisted again. "Give him to me, Jauffre."

Jauffre stared at him. Unnerved by the intensity and suddenness with which he'd changed his mind, he stood from his seat, stepping back around the chair, turning to shield Martin from Jules protectively.

"You needn't worry, Jauffre, I'll not harm him- not sure I could, anyhow- I'll look after the boy. Here, give him here- Go and tell our master that I'll see his orders carried out, as always. Go on."

The former bodyguard of the Emperor looked down at the babe in his arms.

"Don't you worry, Uriel, I'll look after your son for you."

Blue eyes stared evenly back up at him and Jules fought off the rolling wave of nausea that he'd only felt before when under the gaze of the Emperor. The notice-me-not charms would need redoing, and soon- as they were now, they were only just barely hiding the unnerving looking slit pupils.

For once, Jules was thankful for the remoteness of his lands' location- the distance from the city might have been irksome before, but now it was a boon. Not even he was sure there was a notice-me-not or illusion powerful enough to disguise the magicka rolling off of the babe in his arms in waves. He smiled despite himself, and absently cooed at the baby, murmuring to himself as he readjusted the swaddling.

He did his best to ignore the way the child stared up at him with those ice-blue dragon-eyes in unabashed fascination.

His smile faltered, and turned grim, and he added under his breath as he went to wake his wife, tucking the child against his shoulder in the crook of one arm. "Even if it kills me."

Delighted, the baby broke the silence at last, erupting into a stream of babbling laughter, one chubby hand winding in his hair and giving an experimental tug.

"THEY are not like US, we who are mortal and frail- THEY are born of HIS Blood, halfbreed becoming-gods, PALEBLOODED ADA- but clumsily imprisoned in mortal flesh, unsightly and monstrous in the face of THEIR FATHER-CREATOR-ARBITER."

The Dragon's Madness, fragment i

"My lord." Jauffre lingered hesitantly in the doorway, eyeing the tightly drawn curtains of the study with a faint unease. The scarring on his right leg itched, and he resisted the urge to scratch at it. His lord was in a mood, so it seemed.

"Ah, Jauffre, you've returned. Good, good." He frowned at the distracted, harried tone of his liege-lord's voice, the dimly lit room, the mirror, looking very out of place in the center of the room. The chair before it, with it's back set to the desk and the royal seated at it.

A strange and nonsensical arrangement to those lacking insight, to be sure. Yet, to those who served in close quarters with the Dragonborn bloodline, such accommodations were seen for the kindness that they were.

More troubling to Jauffre, however, was the fact that they had become increasingly necessary.

A hasty, momentary glance at the man himself confirmed his suspicions and Jauffre immediately recoiled, wincing, years of training and self-discipline the only things keeping him upright.

Man, he thought shaking the afterimages from his eyes, was a poor choice of words.

He shuddered at the disorienting blur of scales and teeth, and the white-hot suggestion of flames that danced on the edges of his comprehension. The way they crowded bewilderingly behind the unassuming, ill-fitting illusion-shape of a man would have sent any lesser man reeling. If they could even see it, that is.

Not many could.

Jauffre was one of the unlucky few. And, apparently, so was Jules. He grimaced.

Uriel looked up, and he quickly redirected his gaze elsewhere. Meeting the royal Dragonborn's eyes was difficult even for the senior members of the Dragonguard on the best of days, and all signs clearly said that this was far from the best of days.

"Well?" Uriel said, and his voice, through somewhat raspy and hoarse- like a man who'd just gotten over an illness, or perhaps breathed in too much smoke- still carried that undeniable aura of command. "You have a report to make, don't you? Come in."

The Dragonborn's mouth twisted in a grotesque approximation of a smile, and with a mirthful snort that sent a shower of sparks and smoke gusting across the desk in billowing clouds, he added. "Don't worry, I won't keep you for long."

Jauffre stepped forward, feet carrying him further into the darkened room almost on their own, regardless of his sudden wishes to be anywhere but there at the moment.

He took his customary place in the chair, eyeing the reflection of the man behind him in the mirror with no small amount of concern.

The enchantments on the mirror held… mostly.

There was no disguising the too-vivid blue of the other's eyes, nor the curling wisps of smoke and flickering embers that trailed out of his mouth with each breath. The air around him shimmered with heat. If one closed their eyes and ignored the constant, oppressive illusion magic that saturated the air and demanded your attention with every breath, Jauffre thought, one could almost pretend they were sitting with their back to a fireplace.

The thought was amusing, until the 'fireplace' moved, betraying the far more discomforting truth of reality with the grinding, metallic whine of scale-on-scale and a gust of hot wind blasted across his back.

Jauffre, as surreptitiously as he could, scooted the chair forward, and then returned his gaze to the mirror.

His king looked… tired.

Whether that was the intended effect Uriel wished to come across, Jauffre could not say for sure. Given the brief glimpse of his earlier state, he could hazard that he likely wasn't all that far off the mark.

"Jules accepted my request, then, I take it?" Uriel inquired after a moment, in that self-assured yet detached tone that all but said he already knew what the answer would be.

As if there had ever been any alternative, Jauffre mused.

"Aye, he did, Uriel. B-" a heartbeat of hesitation, and then he fell silent. Jules was, despite his faults, a good man. A good friend.

The scratching of the quill stopped.

"But what?" He felt the weight of the other's stare settle on his back. A flurry of embers fluttered out of the Dragonborn's mouth as he spoke, and the reflection in the mirror rippled.

Jauffre eyed it worriedly. The enchantments laid into it were costly and complicated to the extreme. Since Ria's death, Tharn's betrayal and subsequent demise- and Jules' retirement- someone capable of replicating them would be hard to find indeed, should Uriel shatter yet another mirror.

He wasn't sure which worried him more- the idea of being showered in debris should the mirror break, or being caught in the growing inferno at his back.

Though it was far better than the alternative- not even he, nor Jules or even the Champion would dare make a report facing Uriel- sitting here in this chair, when the Emperor was like this, took a certain kind of courage.

But even he was not bold or foolish enough to attempt to lie to the Dragonborn.

"He did so, but not without expressing a great deal of ...alarming concerns, my lord." He admitted after a moment. He frowned disapprovingly at the mirror. "Things that are known only to your kin and the Dragonguard."

"Bea," the blue-eyed boy with too-sharp teeth asked his not-sister one day when he was nine and she was seven. "Why do you think Da' is scared of me?"

Beatrice paused to squint up at her brother where he sat perched atop the oxcart. Too quickly, she blurted out. "He isn't scared of you, Marty."

Marty smiled indulgently down at her, fading notice-me-nots rendering the gap-toothed smile as a blurred suggestion of too many teeth in a way that had her wincing and scrubbing at her eyes with the palm of one hand.

She looked back up after a moment, and he took pity on her, rolling over onto his back to stare at the rafters of the family barn.

"You're lying." he pointed out calmly, with the same amount of certainty as though he'd just noted that the sky was blue, or the chill of late autumn in the air.

"It's okay though, I don't mind. Da's just scared cause he's not sure how to protect all of us, and he doesn't like it when I know things, cause kids aren't supposed to just know stuff."

"Yeah. Maybe."

Blue eyes unlike either of their parents' turned to stare inquisitively at Bea. "...Are you scared of me, Bea?"

"No." She said flatly, lobbing a handful of hay at him. "You're kinda weird sometimes, an' I don't like you when you're being a brat and hoarding all the blankets, but you don't scare me."

"Like all FIRST SPIRITS, THE DRAGON yearns for one thing- a REFLECTION, a CONTINUATION, a SHED-SKIN SOUL-OF-SOULS, an IDEAL CHILD of HIS Blood- and HE will accept nothing less than PERFECTION.

PRAY THAT THEY NEVER REACH IT.

ON THAT DAY-

OUR WORLD WILL DIE."

The Dragon's Madness, fragment i