A Dragon, a Gargoyle, and a Faery Steal the Show, page 4
“That sounds about right.”
Aiden smiled. “Well, we weren’t exactly expecting anything less. And what exactly is the problem with the cottages?”
The gargoyle sighed but was glad the dragon seemed to have put the signing-in incident behind them. “Nothing really. They’re just a bit of a walk. I like staying in the castle. Drink too much OJ, no problem! Stagger up to your room. Need a late night snack? No problem, head down to the kitchen. Meet a nice girl?-” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and Aiden rolled his eyes.
“Point taken. Well, let’s do the best with what we have, shall we?”
Loch turned to his friend and really looked. The stress lines around Aiden’s eyes were smoothing out some, and the dragon let out a woosh of air mingled with dark smoke.
“Sorry, A, I know I can be a gobshite. I was so busy being offended I didn’t think about how it might feel being in your shoes.”
The dragon cracked a smile. “Since that was a rare moment indeed, I’ll take your apology and probably need one or ten more before this week is over.”
Loch laughed. “You might be right, partner.”
The cottages were in fact quite luxurious. Theirs was a two-bedroom en suite with a full kitchen, comfortable sitting room, and a small library. Loch raised a brow when he caught Aiden perusing the titles before even inspecting his room. The dragon grimaced an apology and hurried into the first bedroom, lugging his suitcase behind him.
“This is very nice,” the dragon’s voice came floating out.
Loch’s room was in shades of grey and blue, nice and calming. The pillows were patterned with cranberries, as was the border on the lamp. He liked it very much. Dumping his belongings on the bed, he checked the kitchen and was pleased to see it was stocked with all the basic comforts of home, Barry’s, Lyons, and Bewley’s tea (better safe than sorry), plus a nice selection of biscuits and basic pantry items for making late night snacks.
Loch grabbed a pack of bourbon crèmes and mowed through them before Aiden came out of his room. The dragon had changed from his comfortable traveling clothes to a pair of stylish navy slacks and a white button down.
“I see you decided to forgo the Argyle, then,” Loch said with a grin.
“I’m saving that for after dinner activities,” Aiden replied, and gestured around at the cottage. “This is nice, Torloch. I don’t know what you were going on about.”
“You’re right,” the gargoyle said. “I think it might be because there are no grumpy old women badgering me. And it's quiet over here, which I didn’t realize could be an advantage.”
“Well, we’d better run, or all the food might be gone,” Aiden said.
“Heaven forbid,” Loch said with a gasp.
In moments, they were headed back to the castle at something a little faster than a leisurely pace, though the dragon was still taking in the trees and the sound of songbirds. Loch finally put the horrible arrival experience to rest and felt an excitement bubble up. He elbowed Aiden and grinned.
“Despite our bumpy start, I still think this is going to be craic.”
“Only time will tell,” Aiden replied as they entered the castle once more.
Loch led Aiden through the main hall, up the stairs and into a massive banquet room. He stopped, allowing the dragon a few moments to take in the magnificent sight. Both side walls were lined with two rows of tables almost bending from their heavy loads. The scents in the room were a cacophony of foods, and Loch couldn’t wait to dig in.
“Will the queen be here?” Aiden asked as his eyes moved across the room.
Loch looked thoughtful. “No, probably not. They’re not the type to sit on an ivory throne, locked in a tower, but she probably just wants to let everyone have a good time, relax, enjoy themselves. You might see her here and there, maybe watching the games from a tent somewhere, but I don’t think you’ll have to stand on ceremony or anything.”
He spotted his parents near the beginning of the tables on the right side, chatting with a couple of gargoyle families, empty plates in their hands. He moved toward them, Aiden at his side. As they approached, Loch pressed his lips together when he saw Latriona Higgins next to her father. She wore a fashionable dress in a shade of blue that brought out the color of her eyes, and her pale hair was done up in a fetching pattern of braids and curls entwined with pearls and flowers. She held a glass of champagne and orange juice and looked thoroughly bored with the entire affair.
“Betch warning,” he whispered to Aiden, then turned and put a big smile on his face.
Latriona’s eyes lit up when the pair stepped forward. Introductions were cordial, and Loch watched Aiden store the information away even as he replied as a true gentleman would. Becky and Bart Higgins and their daughter Latriona. Helen and Seamus Sheehan, their two sons not present. Loch liked the Sheehans’. The Higgins, unfortunately, only the male side. Poor schmuck.
“Torrrloch,” Latriona whined, rolling her ‘r’ in a way that was probably supposed to be sophisticated, and Loch was pretty sure she thought she was being pouty or seductive.
“Miss Latriona, how are you?” Before she could answer with something inane, Loch waved to his friend, conveniently forgetting that he had just been introduced a moment ago. “This is my friend Aiden Moss. Aiden, Miss Latriona.”
She gave Aiden a once over, her eyebrow raised.
“So, this is the dragon you brought to a gargoyle coronation. Tell me, Torloch, what possessed you to do such an…unusual thing?” Her face flashed into a sneer before her father turned to her, and she once again resembled sweetness and light.
“Latriona,” he warned.
She smiled sweetly at her father while her mother lifted her chin and patted her daughter’s shoulder in solidarity. Neither of them approved of the dragon, and Loch couldn’t care less. But he did not want a repeat of what had happened that morning. Fortunately, salvation walked into view.
“Och!” Loch gurgled, a wide grin on his face. “There’s who I’ve been searching for! Please excuse us! See ya, Da and Mam!”
He tapped Aiden’s arm, and they moved away quickly toward a group of three men, plates piled high as they started situating themselves at one of the many tables on the far side of the room.
“What about-” Aiden started to say, gesturing at the tables laid with food.
“We can get our dinners in a few. You do not want to exchange any words with that viper. Not only does she willfully change any words you say to her, she spreads them around like a holey roof. Ech, I never should have met up with her friend Denna.”
Loch felt a light pat on his shoulder. “Thank you for saving us. What’s next?”
Stopping at the table of now seated men, Loch gave Aiden a grin before addressing the table.
“Hello, boys! Have you started talk of shenanigans yet?”
Patrick, the tall one on the right, flipped light ginger hair out of his face and narrowed his dark brown eyes onto Loch before cracking a smile. “Loch, boyo, you should know better than anyone that we need sustenance before we could possibly start such dialogue.”
Flynn - the one in the center with a splatter of freckles on his nose - snorted, completely contrary to his perfectly combed dark hair and neat button-up shirt. He flashed hazel eyes at Loch and then the dragon and added, “Definitely.”
Niall, a short, stocky fellow on the left with white blond hair, was busy chewing but like a good mannerly Irish boy, didn’t speak with his mouth full, indicating his agreement with a wave of his hand.
“Aiden, please meet my good mates,” Torloch announced, indicating them from left to right. “Niall Clarke, Flynn Boreen and Patrick Walsh.”
Aiden gave them a nod of his head and smiled politely. Loch was struck by the memory of his first meeting with Aiden and the prim greeting the dragon gave him at that time.
“The dragon, eh?” Patrick asked as he popped a chip in his mouth.
“In the flesh,” Loch answered.
He was honestly second guessing now if his friends were going to be right bastards or not.
Niall winked at them with bright blue eyes and swallowed as a grin spread across his face. “A pleasure, dragon! Grab some grub and come sit. We’re dying to hear this story from your side.” He looked at Loch and raised his brows up and down. “And then some craic.”
Chapter 5 - Aiden
Whatcha Got, Dragon?
Wednesday, 6 July 2022, 5:07 PM
(Gargoyle Queen’s Castle, somewhere on the West Coast of Ireland)
Aiden hadn’t been referred to as “the dragon” for a very long time. He tried to recall, while still paying attention to the banter that came fast and was accompanied by raucous laughter as they sat, more to be polite for Torloch’s sake rather than genuine interest. He could see why the four of them got along.
Activity on the stage at the head of the room drew his gaze, but he quickly tuned out the introductions, finding it hard to be interested in the mild threats being leveled at those who felt compelled to disturb other attendees with juvenile games like knick-knack and the like.
Or that the originally scheduled band had canceled at the last minute, so the Honor Guard Orchestra would be performing tonight. This announcement was met with a wave of disappointed groans, but Aiden hadn’t recognized the name of the band so he didn’t know if he should share the disappointment or not. He looked around the table, and the one called Niall was looking at him expectantly, and Aiden realized he had missed a question.
“Hmm?” he said.
“Not the sharpest tool in the shed, your friend, is he?” Flynn said, though his jovial expression showed no menace in the light jab.
Torloch sipped his drink. Aiden could see the gargoyle's innate desire to protect his scaly friend at odds with the recognition that the dragon had to fend for himself or be the butt of every joke for the next century. He picked his words carefully, hoping he hadn't been too hoity-toity (as Torloch would occasionally accuse him of).
“The sword may be the sharpest tool, but they still say the pen is mightier,” Aiden said. “I’ll happily take the role of pen in this proverbial shed, as the role of tool seems to be filled at the moment.”
The gargoyles blinked, and Torloch fought to keep a smirk off his face as he waited to see what the response would be.
“I think he’s got you there boys,” the gargoyle couldn’t help blurting out, and they gave him a round of dirty looks before breaking into chuckles.
“Aye, you weren’t lying. He’ll fit in just fine,” Flynn said.
“He wasn’t lying about what?” Aiden queried.
“He said you could hold your own and that not all dragons are dryshites,” Flynn said.
“I believe he said complete dryshites,” Niall corrected, and the four of them laughed.
“I see you’ve given them the story?” Aiden said.
“Several versions,” Torloch told him with a wink. “Don’t worry, they aren’t expecting anything too godlike.”
“Except in the kitchen,” Flynn said. “Torloch tells us you’re a marvelous cook.”
“It’s just a hobby,” Aiden said.
“A couple hundred years spent on a hobby means a fair bit of honed skill,” Patrick noted.
“A hobby, my arse,” Torloch countered. “It’s magic and art, wrapped up in mouthwatering gold, served on a platter of scrumptiousness.”
“If I ever open a restaurant, that will be my byline,” Aiden snorted. “Until then, a hobby it remains.”
“Any other hobbies? Lighting things on fire?” Patrick grinned.
“No, that I do professionally,” Aiden said.
“Well,” Niall said with a sly grin. “I wouldn’t say no to some pyrotechnics. Whatcha got, dragon?”
“Well, it wouldn’t really be appropriate to…”
“Everyone has a party trick,” Niall egged him on. “Come on, don’t be a craic vacuum.”
Aiden glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then pursed his lips as if about to whistle a jaunty tune. Instead, a neat jet of fire crisped the mound of food on Patrick’s plate to a pile of extra charred ash. The gargoyle blinked in surprise, looking down at his dinner with a sad expression.
The dragon coughed discreetly into his hand, though his throat was killing him. It stung like feck when he did that in human form, and he’d be hoarse for the rest of the day, but the looks on their faces were worth it. Torloch handed him his drink, and he took a long sip to soothe the burn in his throat.
“Now, that’s going to come in handy,” Flynn said with a gleam in his eyes.
“You have no idea,” Torloch grinned.
“Come on, don’t look so down,” Niall said, clapping Patrick on the shoulder. “There’s plenty of food, and I was ready for more anyway.”
“Bring me back some of everything!” Torloch hollered after their retreating backs.
“So, how has it been so far?” Flynn asked, lathering a piece of bread with butter.
Torloch groaned. “Not on the first day, man! How do you think it’s been?”
“So, no place to go but up, then?” the gargoyle winked.
“It’s not so bad,” Aiden said, trying to save face for Torloch. “It’s a bit overwhelming.”
“In other news, I found out me da’s a feckin Stone Justice,” Torloch said, and Fynn whistled.
“No kidding. Did he give any details?”
“Have you met my da?” Torloch rolled his eyes.
“Oh, look, they’re announcing the referees,” Niall said, sitting back down with a fresh plate of food.
Aiden looked at the massive stage, glad for the distraction.
“That’s Aoife McCormach, the Games Marshall,” Torloch pointed. “She’s older than rocks and runs a tight game. There will be no undue fighting or cheating under her eye.”
Aiden nodded approvingly. The Marshall was a tall, stocky woman who looked like she could hold her own against several of the better built men in the room. She held a long, golden scroll and read from the top.
“Séan O'Malley!”
A tall, silver-haired gargoyle approached the stage to applause and especially loud hollering from one table, presumably the O’Malley clan.
“Brighid McGuinness!”
A svelte woman with beautiful auburn curls sashayed through the crowd, giving little bows to each table with a playful grin and much hand twirling.
“Conor O'Sullivan!”
More applause and a short, red-headed fellow made his way to the stage.
“Breandon Doyle!”
Torloch’s brother rose and made his way to the stage at a statelier pace, followed by the loudest cheering of the day. Torloch stood and hollered loudest of all.
“Why all the fuss for Breandon?” Aiden wondered.
“Breandon wins nearly every event he enters and has since he started competing,” Niall laughed.
“It’s even worse that he happens to have the best sportsmanship as well,” Flynn said. “He’s irritating as feck. Everyone is cheering because he’s a Tourney Referee and won’t be in the Games this year.”
Aiden grinned and stood up to cheer with Torloch as Breandon walked up the stairs to stand beside the others onstage.
“Declan Conroy!”
Torloch’s eyes darkened, and he sat down quickly. A particularly good-looking gargoyle with blond hair and blue eyes sauntered past, winking at a group of women sitting at the next table. They giggled and swooned, and Torloch looked like he might smash something.
“Bad blood?” the dragon observed.
“Well, if you wanted to do your party trick and light his pretty hair on fire, Torloch wouldn’t mind,” Niall snickered.
“Well, at least he’ll be tired of the whole thing by the time your event comes up, mate,” Patrick said, giving Torloch a clap on the shoulder. “He’ll be too busy making some other poor sod miserable, he won’t have time to feck with you on the field.”
“Declan likes the glory and the attention, but he’s not such a big fan of hard work, or any kind of work, for that matter,” Flynn explained at Aiden’s confused look. “He’ll go out in his little striped shirt for one game, maybe two, then he’ll get his daddy in to get him out of it.”
“Or pretend to be injured,” Patrick said.
“We take bets on how long he lasts whenever he’s assigned some task,” Niall added with a smirk. “One year, he didn’t even make it to the first minute. He came down with something and had to stay in the infirmary for the afternoon, before the nurses got tired of his mouthing off, and kicked him out.”
“Oh,” Aiden said in understanding. “So, you did put your name in, after all?”
“I didn’t put my name in. Máire put my name in for the last two games,” Torloch corrected. “She thought you’d appreciate being able to cheer for me.”
“She was right,” Aiden said, grinning.
“He usually competes in more events, but he wanted to do something more daring and adventurous this year,” Patrick snickered. “So, he invited a dragon.”
“Have to babysit my best mate,” Torloch said, and elbowed Aiden to get a smile out of him. “It’s okay.”
“Seamus O'Neill!”
Aiden blinked as a gargoyle with only one arm walked by, waving at the cheers that followed him.
“Ciaran Fitzpatrick! Grace Sweeny! Colm O'Reilly! Lorcan MacLoughlin! Padraig O'Donnell! Ronan Walsh.”
The last few referees jogged up on stage and were applauded by the Games Marshall.
“Let’s have a nice fair tournament, gentlemen,” she said, leaning into the microphone. “Any infirmary visits should be from you doing your best on the field, no brawling, understand?”
Cheers went up from the people on stage and those in the audience. The referees accepted the striped shirts of their station, and then they filed off the stage. The Opening Ceremonies continued with some announcements of special guests and after-games events, the food slowly dwindled, and then was replaced with dessert and coffee. Eventually, even Torloch couldn’t eat any more, and he pushed his plate away.
“Come on, let’s go check out the playing field,” the gargoyle said, sliding out of his chair. “It should be all set up for the first games to begin tomorrow!”
