Every Thorn Has Its Rose

A/N
The official histories tell us that the first female "captain" of a Longwing was a maidservant to Queen Elizabeth I, and that the discovery that Longwings preferred women was a lucky break. Unfortunately, this is just a bit of royal propaganda. The reality was somewhat less flattering to the Aerial Corps, and quite a bit more chaotic as well. This is a prequel to the novels. Rated K+, just to be safe.

o

England needed this dragon.

English breeders had been working for a hundred years or more to come up with an answer to the French, Spanish, and Turkish fire-breathers. They had cross-bred British, French, and Russian dragons in the hope of creating a good-sized beast with the ability to spit poison in meaningful quantities. At last, they had succeeded... they hoped. The size of this egg showed that they'd achieved the "good-sized" part of their task. As for the rest, that would be known only after the dragon had hatched. That event was probably hours, perhaps minutes away.

No one was taking any chances. They had erected a special barn near the Pen Y Fan breeding grounds so the egg could be incubated without being carried a long distance, and so the young dragon could not escape by accident. Two small furnaces, each manned by different ground-crewmen, ensured a steady flow of heat in that barn. No less than four likely young captains were housed in a small barracks nearby, ready to dash for the barn at a moment's notice if the egg showed signs of hatching. And, as of very early this morning, it was emphatically showing those signs.

The four would-be captains, Tufnel, St. Hubbins, Smalls, and Shrimpton, were standing in a loose square around the egg, sweating profusely from the furnaces' heat. Tufnel was the Corps' first choice to be the new dragon's captain. He was an experienced lieutenant who had served with distinction on Caveatemptorus. St. Hubbins was considered too flippant, and the other two too inexperienced, but the Admiral was taking no chances. He wanted to be sure the dragon chose a captain, even if that captain wasn't his primary choice. The candidates weren't considering those niceties; they were completely focused on the egg. Its occupant was methodically breaking through the shell from within, working its way around the circumference with sharp, precise blows.

"Has it got an egg-tooth?" Tufnel wondered out loud. He had been involved in the day-to-day handling of his father's estate before being assigned to the Corps, and he was quite familiar with how chickens hatched.

"He's got something hard and sharp," St. Hubbins nodded. "Nobody knows for sure what he's got."

"I think we're about to find out," Smalls exclaimed. The shell shivered from one more blow, cracked all around, and fell aside in two equal halves.

"I'll give him full marks for style," St. Hubbins said quietly, but no one paid any attention. They were all staring at the new dragon.

He was a gorgeous shade of blue, with black and white markings on the edges of his wings and a hint of orange at the tips, and two prominent tusk-like teeth projecting from the sides of his mouth. He seemed disoriented for a moment; then he shook his head and looked around at the men staring at him.

"Is something wrong?" At the first sound of the dragon's voice, they all realized that "he" was actually a "she." That was good for the breeding program, and was no hardship for the Corps. They just had to adjust their pronouns when they addressed the dragonet.

"No, nothing is wrong," Shrimpton said quickly. "We have never seen a dragon like you before."

"Oh," she said. "So I am special, then?"

"Yes, very special," Tufnel replied. He picked up the harness, whose size had been determined by pure guesswork. "May I place this on you, and then get you something to eat?"

"Hey!" Smalls exclaimed. "Who made you her captain?"

"She looked at me first," Tufnel retorted.

"But she's closest to me!" St. Hubbins interjected. The rivalry among the four men had simmered below the surface while they waited for the egg to hatch; now it was about to boil over. They all wanted her. Badly.

"Gentlemen, please," the dragon said smoothly. "There is no reason to fight. None of you is going to be my captain."

"What?" all four of them burst out.

"I am special, so I am looking for someone special to be my friend," she explained as she climbed out of the shell and looked around. "You all seem like nice men, but you do not have what I am looking for."

"May I ask what you're looking for?" Shrimpton wondered.

The dragon looked thoughtful. "I cannot say. I am still rather new here. But I will know my captain when I see him, and he is not here. I need to go look for him."

"Oh, but you mustn't do that!" Tufnel exclaimed.

"There is no need to shout, young man," the dragon scolded him. "I can hear quite well. Now, will one of you let me out of this structure so I can find my captain?"

"I... I"m sorry, my lady, but we can't do that," Smalls stammered, trying not to lose control of the situation. "If you leave here unharnessed, you'll go feral, and we can't have that."

The dragon drew herself up to her full height, which wasn't much yet, but she still looked powerful and dignified. "Go feral? I have no such intention! No respectable dragon would do such a thing. But I must find my captain, and inasmuch as he is not here, he must be outside somewhere." She looked around again. "I smell something good. Will one of you please provide me with some food before I go? I am very hungry."

"We'll do that," Tufnel replied, "as soon as you accept the harness. Please. It's the way these things are done."

"But if I wear that, I will be confined within this building and I cannot find my captain," the dragon reasoned. "I just hatched, and already things are becoming difficult! Let me think." She blinked her yellow-orange eyes several times. "If I stay in here, I can eat, but my captain is not here. If I leave, I can search for my captain, but I cannot eat. Or perhaps I can! There must be food outside somewhere. That settles it. I must go." She faced the door and, without hesitation, fired three quick spurts of acid from her side-teeth. Every man in the building threw himself to the floor in a panic, convinced that the dragon had gone out of control. But her wrath and her acid were aimed solely at the hinges of the door. Those hinges dissolved within seconds with a ghastly hissing noise. The door dropped an inch straight down to the floor, then slowly fell outward and landed flat, allowing the pale Welsh sunlight into the barn.

"That is much better," the dragon said contentedly as she stepped outside, oblivious to the consternation she was leaving behind her. She looked all around, stretched out to her full length, and flapped her wings experimentally. Smalls, who was closest to the door, couldn't help but notice that her wings were extraordinarily long for her size. Perhaps she'd grow into them as she got larger. But that was the least of their worries. Their main concern was to keep this priceless dragon from escaping into the wild. But how?

She noticed a commotion off to her left. A herd of cows had just been brought in to feed the breeding-ground dragons. They'd gotten one whiff of the newly-hatched dragon and scattered in a bovine panic. No one was left on the road but the milkmaid who had been driving them. She stood alone, confused and afraid that she'd be blamed for this. The dragon gazed intently at her for several seconds, then turned back to the men clustered around the entrance to the barn.

"That is not my captain, either," she said matter-of-factly, "but that is closer to who I am looking for. Can you bring me more people like that one?"

The hopeful captains were totally taken aback. "Uhh... no," Tufnel finally managed to say. "That's a lady."

"Oh, is that what they are called?" the dragon replied. "I had not heard that word before. Why can you not bring me more ladies?"

"Well... it just isn't done!" Tufnel stammered. "Ladies can't serve in the military, so they can't be a dragon's captain. It's as simple as that."

"Really?" the dragon purred dangerously. "Well, you do not seem to understand my position, so let me explain myself. I do not care a bit for your military rules. Either you bring me more of these 'ladies' so I can find my captain, or I will go out looking for them myself! It is as simple as that."

Within minutes, every man who could be spared had been ordered to ride or run for the nearest village and find any woman who was willing to talk to a dragon face-to-face. No one harbored any illusions about one of those women becoming the dragon's captain, of course. They just had to sweet-talk the reptile and keep her from flying away until the men could persuade her to accept the harness, and then choose a proper captain from among the assembled candidates. In the meantime, they kept the dragon appeased by offering her bites of freshly chopped meat, which she greedily accepted. They lured her back into the barn and kept feeding her until she put her head down next to her bloated belly and fell asleep.

By the time she awoke, it was after lunch time, and the men from the breeding-ground staff had returned with all the women they could find. All three of them.

The vast majority of the women in the nearby villages were married with children, and were in no way disposed to abandon home and hearth just to talk to an acid-spitting dragon. The few who were not so encumbered were not an inspiring lot. There was Josie Pye, a woman who made her living by being of easy virtue; she had little to do at this time of day, and was willing to try anything that might expose her to a wider clientele. There was Minnie Mae Barry, the miller's youngest daughter, who was (to put it politely) not the sharpest knife in the drawer. And there was Rose Smalls.

Rose was Lt. Smalls' older sister. She had moved to this village to help look after her brother, because she had nothing else to do with her life. Plain of face and sharp of tongue, her chances of finding a husband were small, and grew smaller each time she uprooted her life to follow her brother's postings in the Corps. Her father had spent her dowry on bourbon until the bourbon killed him, and her mother had sailed away for a new life in Canada years ago. She had no prospects in life at all. But she had often seen the dragons flying overhead, especially the ones on which her brother served as flight crew, and unlike most civilians, she was not afraid of them. This might be her best chance to meet one of the great creatures face-to-face and appease her curiosity about them.

They were led into the barn with many warnings not to be afraid, along with encouragements to keep the dragon talking and urge her to accept one of the proffered captains. Minnie Mae needed the warnings, while Josie needed the encouragements (she was focusing on the captains instead of on the dragon). Rose went in last. "Put in a good word for me," her brother whispered as she passed him.

The dragon swept her head along the line of women. Minnie Mae quailed and nearly fainted when the still-bloody muzzle passed near her. "No," the dragon said. She glanced quickly at Josie and repeated, "No." Then she gazed at Rose, who gazed right back at her. They locked eyes in silence for several seconds.

At last, the dragon turned to face the men, irritated. "Why did you not bring this one to me at the beginning?"

"Ladies can't be a dragon's captain," St. Hubbins tried to explain.

"Why not?" the dragon asked.

"It just isn't done!"

"Well, it is going to be done now," the dragon announced. She turned back to Rose. "Will you be my captain? I would like it if you would."

Rose had to gather her thoughts. The captains did their best to cut her off. "Ladies can't be captains!" Shrimpton protested. "You have to choose a man! Like me!"

"No, like me!" Tufnel cut in.

"The Admiralty will die of apoplexy at the thought," St. Hubbins commented. He'd already given up hope of being chosen by this eccentric dragon, and was trying to view the whole situation dispassionately.

"Sister, please don't do this to me," Smalls whispered.

Rose ignored them all. "There may be difficulties. For one thing, I have no training in how to be a captain."

The dragon snorted. "If those men can learn how it is done, then I am sure you can, too! What other difficulties are there?"

"Well... it will be hard for me to ride you in a skirt. I don't think I can ride a dragon side-saddle."

"That is easy!" the dragon replied. "You need to get rid of that silly, frilly garment and wear something sensible! Something like what the men are wearing."

"Oh, now see here!" Smalls burst out. "You can't be putting a lady in a man's uniform!"

The dragon swung her head around to stare at Smalls and flicked her tongue out at him. "It will become a lady's uniform if a lady wears it, will it not?"

Rose considered the matter. She was handy enough as a seamstress; the technicalities of the problem would be easy to solve. "It might take some letting-out here and there, but I'm sure I could make a uniform fit. I've washed and mended enough of my brother's uniforms over the years; I'm quite familiar with how they're made."

"But think of the complications when you're in the field!" Shrimpton argued. "You'll have to have your own necessary pit wherever you go! Some poor sod will have to dig one just for you!"

Rose wheeled to glare at him. "I am quite capable of using the standard necessary pit," she snapped, "and the first man who makes an unwanted comment will go into that necessary pit, head-first!"

"She means it," Smalls whispered to St. Hubbins, who nodded.

Rose turned back to the dragon. "I'm supposed to ask you to wear the harness. Will you accept it from me?"

"Are you my captain?" the dragon asked pointedly.

Now that was a question for the ages.

If she agreed, she would become the primary friend, guide, and commander to a creature that would weigh fourteen or fifteen tons by the time she was full-grown. She would become part of the Aviator Corps, a heretofore male-only organization that would resent her presence at every turn. Men would serve as her flight crew and ground crew, and would not take kindly to being ordered about by a lady. If war broke out, she would be in the front lines of aerial combat. Her brother would never forgive her for usurping his best chance at advancement.

She glanced back at the dragon, who was offering her a life and a friendship. She had no life, few friends, and no prospects as it was. Her brother had led her to believe that this was a special dragon with a promising future. That seemed like a fine star to hitch her wagon to. If she declined, what else would she do with her life?

"Yes, I will be your captain," Rose decided. Smalls turned away with an incoherent moan.

"Very well," the dragon nodded, and lowered her head. Rose pulled the harness over her head and down onto her neck, and fastened the buckles around her body, one by one. The harness was slightly oversized. If the stories she'd heard about young dragons were true, then this dragon would probably grow into her harness within a day or two.

The dragon wriggled so she could feel where the straps lay on her. "That is decently comfortable," she decided. "But I am hungry again."

"Then we'll get you some more food, umm... what should I call you?"

The dragon looked thoughtful. "I do not know my name. Will you give me a sensible name?"

Rose had no idea at all how to handle that one. She turned to the four disappointed non-captains. "How do I name a dragon?" she whispered to them.

"Call her whatever you want," Tufnel said flatly.

"It's customary to give a dragon a Latin name," St. Hubbins suggested.

"I was going to call her Gladius," Shrimpton said. "It means 'sword.' But that's a male name."

"You got yourself into this thorny problem, sister," Smalls muttered. "Now get yourself out of it."

"It's a thorny problem, all right," Rose had to admit. She glanced back at the dragon, hoping for inspiration. "Your side teeth look a bit like thorns," she decided, "and you have quite a prickly personality. Not that that's a bad thing." She turned back to St. Hubbins. "What's the Latin word for 'thorn'?"

The young man was their designated expert on Latin. "Spina," he said after a moment.

Rose turned back to the dragon. "May I call you Spina?"

"You may," the dragon decided. "That is a nice, short, sensible name. I will accept it. While we are talking about names, can you tell me what kind of dragon I am?"

Rose had no idea how to answer that one, either. "Gentlemen, can one of you tell me what kind of dragon she is?"

They gave a collective shrug. "She's the first of her kind," St. Hubbins explained. "No one has picked out a name yet. You get the privilege of naming her species, too."

"Call her a Spitter," Tufnel suggested. "It fits."

The dragon considered that. "Spina the Spitter? I am afraid I would spit by accident, just trying to pronounce that. Can you call me something a little less vicious-sounding?"

"Blue Beauty," Shrimpton said.

"Azure Attacker." That was St. Hubbins' suggestion.

"Cerulean Corsair," offered Tufnel.

"Longwing," mumbled Smalls.

"Longwing?" Tufnel scoffed. "How unoriginal!"

"That sounds totally inane!" Shrimpton threw in.

"I like it," Spina decided. "It is not as pretentious as the others. I am a Longwing. Spina, the Longwing. Spina, the very first Longwing. Yes, those names will do nicely. Thank you. Now, you promised me some more food?"

Rose looked to where the breeding-ground crew waited with a freshly-carved cow. "Yes, I see some food for you right over there." The dragon followed her eagerly toward the beef.

"Sister, I should warn you," Smalls said. "Dragons are really messy eaters."

"They can't be worse than you were as a child," she smiled. Soon she was popping chunks of meat into Spina's mouth as fast as her hands could move. The four disappointed young men saw that their presence was no longer required here. One by one, they slipped out the door. Smalls was the last to go; he waited until the feeding was finished and Spina fell asleep with her head in Rose's lap. The woman wasn't bothered by the gore at all. She was looking down at the new dragon with a surprisingly tender expression he'd never seen on her face before.

"Nicely done, sister," he sighed as he left.

Yes, the Admiralty was going to die of apoplexy when they learned about this. But, after some of their more mindless edicts and decisions, maybe a little apoplexy would be good for them. He'd missed the chance of a lifetime, through no fault of his own. But England had her poison-spitting dragon, and his sister seemed truly happy for the first time in years.

"Most people would hate to sit on a thorn," he mused. "Rose will sit on her Thorn every day, and she'll like it. Life is strange."

o

A/N
I wrote this story because the idea popped into my head one day and wouldn't go away. I wrote it in one afternoon, during spare moments at work; that's what happens when an idea won't leave me alone. As I write this, I'm halfway through "Victory of Eagles," so there may be some things about Longwings that I don't know yet; be merciful in your reviews if I messed something up. This is my first contribution to the Temeraire fandom (I'm mostly a "How to Train Your Dragon" devotee); I hope you liked it.