How journeys start.

Somehow, he'd managed to drag himself to a chair just next to the window, open the curtains, and people watch the rest of that evening.

The people were trying. Here and there merchants called their wares. Here a child smiled at another as their parents called them back inside. There a woman moved with her head hooded, occasionally staring up at the sky.

At least they tried to move at first. As the sun crawled further into the horizon, trying to find a cave to nest, so too did the town. It seemed like the life was being sucked out of it a little at a time, and by the time the sun was only a red speck in the distance, the streets were completely abandoned.

It wasn't completely quiet though. Here and there, the sounds of drankards, and bards, and those who were not afraid drifted through the night. Most alleys and neighbourhoods were dark, and quiet, and dead looking.

Being able to hear the dozens or so disparate voices was a testament to the fear the dragon's arrival had caused to these people.

'I was a slave in my own home...'

Nino's words haunted his thoughts. Her story. Eno's story, their not entirely biological kinship.

He'd looked at the girl with red hot anger, but she knew it wasn't directed at her. 'How dare they? She was only a child and now...'

"No. And yes," he'd told her. At her look of confusion, he'd continued, "yes you can stay with me. I'll keep you safe. But we'll go back, when the time is right. They can't be allowed to get away with this. They won't!"

He'd almost died a few days back, and in his near death had made a decision. He'd jumped into a body and a life he hadn't wanted. But now. Now things were different. He felt like someone, or something perhaps, had been trying to offer a choice. He'd made his decision. He'd become James Halden in truth now. There was no need to think of the reader and character as separate entities anymore.

The sound of the wooden door opening pulled him from his spiralling thoughts. He didn't need to turn to know those soft, assured footsteps. Her balance was impeccable, as it should be.

"You should be resting."

"I thought the healer said I shouldn't be allowed to lose consciousness for the next twelve hours?"

"Whatever. I've brought your dinner. I'm curious to know why you didn't have one of your servants, or perhaps Hansworth bring it?"

"You're not one of my servants then?"

The room was quiet. So very quiet. And her baleful stare was like a brand between his shoulder blades. He didn't want her to see how it affected him, so he affected nonchalance.

"We could remedy that, you know?"

"Choose your words carefully, lordling. I chose to finish this mission partly because I was guilty, but force me, and I'll—"

"You'll what?" he asked, finally rising from the wooden chair with great difficulty to meet her eyes.

"Listen to me, Talia, and if you don't like what I have to say, we'll pretend this conversation never happened."

"If I indulge you, will you promise not bring up anything like this again?"

He looked away from her eyes.

"I can't promise the impossible, Talia. I want you by my side and I won't give up on it until its too late."

"What do you mean until its too late?"

"Think about it, won't you Talia? The news that you helped me will spread. Your revolution, you don't have a place there anymore. They don't trust your naivety anymore, so they will try to kill you."

"What do you mean, my naivety?"

"There can only be two reasons you helped me: one, because I somehow turned you against them, or because you saw them trying to attack innocents and intervened. Either way, you're useless to them now. You are no longer firmly under their thumb, controlled by their propaganda."

She threw up her arms. "I cannot work for a noble. No matter that you're different. It goes against my every belief. I'd rather die than serve some future Duke."

"I'm not."

"Not what?"

"The future Duke. But that's no matter," he said hurriedly when she eyed him dubiously. "I can help you achieve your goals without having to start a stupid war that will lead to the deaths of thousands."

"There is no other way!"

"Maybe you're right. In truth, I highly doubt there is one too. But we could try and find one, together."

She stared at him, her expression betraying nothing, then she turned away with a snort.

"This kind of idealistic crap is not cute. Besides, this is what you nobles succeed at. Entrapping us commoners with your honeyed words. I'm not falling for it."

"Damn it! listen. I can make you useful to the revolution again. I can make it so they ignore all their instincts to kill you, in favour of using you further."

She paused with her hand on the knob. Her head swivelled to take him in, but she didn't say anything. He took that as permission to go on.

"Work for me, and spy on me, spy on the court of Mareth, the nobles you hate so much. You can give the rebellion information, and as long as it's useful, they won't try to get rid of you."

A vertical line appeared on her brow, and she seemed to truly consider what he was saying.

"But if you knew about our activities, whose to say the court doesn't? You think your information sources are much better than their own?"

He winked at her. "I'm sure they are, but that's no matter. I've made a promise, or would like to, that I'll keep you alive. They won't lay a finger on you."

She continued to observe him, and he hoped he did a good job of conveying the confidence he felt. He was going to save her. He was going to save a whole bunch of people. She opened the door, stepped out, and slammed the door behind her.

He sighed. He'd have to be a little patient with her, and he could afford to be. It would be worth it in the end.

That night the dragon didn't come. Or maybe it came a lot later than he'd thought. He'd stayed awake as long as he could. Even after Hansworth appeared, and the children. The children had tried to stay up with him, but they'd given up.

He'd waited a while longer. Watched the night sky for any gigantic menacing shadows. Nothing. He'd slept on the chair.

The room was dark when he woke. That wasn't the only strange occurrence however. He was lying down, and his neck wasn't hurting as bad as it should have been, and his body only ached as much as it had the day before.

He lifted his upper body off the bed. It was a slow and ardous process for the pain, but he had to know just how long he'd been asleep.

"You finally awake, princess?"

Jamed startled, swivelling his head this way and that to trace the voice. Talia was sitting on the chair he'd sat on the whole day before, clutching some kind of book.

"I know you find me beautiful, Talia dear, so I won't complain if you think I'd give a princess a run for her money."

She snorted. "I didn't think boys liked to read these kinds of novels. I can't call you prince if this is the kind of stuff you're into."

James walked the short distance to the curtains just next to her. He peered through, and the blinding brilliance of the midday sun almost caused him to lose his sight.

"Those were my mother's. I feel like I know her a little more than I did now that I'm going through her favorite books."

"Your mother's? The Duchess?"

James frowned at her. "Sure, I mean the Duchess is kind of like a mother to me."

"The Duchess isn't your mother?"

"My mother died when I was still a boy."

"Oh. I, uh... didn't know that. I thought..." she quested for words, "you're still a boy, you know?"

He laughed. "Sometimes I forget that, true. I also forget Hansworth is but a year older than I, yet he looks so grown up. I would never think to call that one a boy."

"Yeah. Me neither."

They lapsed into silence for a time. Talia wasn't reading the book anymore, instead looking at it with a sort of guilty expression.

"I really don't mind you reading it, you know. You can borrow the others if you like. I think my mother would have wanted others to read some of her favourite novels."

"Do you think she wrote some of them?"

James startled at the question. He'd never thought about it, but now that he did. Yes. Yes it did make sense. She liked to read. Maybe she'd written something.

"What are your plans for the dragon?"

James frowned at the obvious shift in the conversation. This must have been what she'd been wanting to talk about the whole morning.

"I don't know yet."

"But you intend to solve this town's problem somehow? Not just gather information to ask the crown for help?"

"That would be a waste of time."

"The dragon didn't come yesterday. How long are you willing to wait?"

"As long as it takes."

"But your meeting in the capital?"

"Is important, yes, but I can afford to miss it. Or go very late. I already have a less than stellar reputation there anyway."

"Don't do it James."

Somehow, the fact that she'd just called him by his first name skipped his mind. He sighed, hunching his shoulders.

"I have to, Talia."

How to explain. How to explain the new resolve he'd felt since he'd woken up. He had to get more power, more allies.

"You promised you'd keep me alive," were those tears in her eyes? "How will you do that if you can't even keep yourself out of harm's way?"

He'd never thought to see Talia cry. She just gave off an air of strength, of superiority. She was so assured of herself. He stepped toward her unconsciously, and wrapped her in his thin arms.

"I promise I'll keep myself safe. Don't worry about it."

She shook a little in his embrace. Then she steadied herself. She pushed him away, and although her eyes were red rimmed there were no more tears.

"You'd better," she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Then she was gone. He didn't get a chance to speak with her alone for the next two days, nor did the dragon come. On the third night however, a massive black shadow appeared from the mountains far west, blocking out the setting sun.

James had been eating dinner at the time. He saw it, and even though he was as scared as any of the town's people shuttering their doors and windows in a blind panic, he rose into the air and flew out to meet the dragon.