ORIGIN

Booker shivered, curling up into a ball, most of his strength sapped by whatever ungodly disease Louie had imparted onto him. The further the symptoms progressed, the less of his body he could move, and already his back legs had begun to freeze, paralysis kicking in. Still, he struggled to keep his eye open, alert, one ear pitched forward. The Merrymen had dropped him near the entrance to the tunnel leading to Orion, and dimly, past the bright spots that danced before his eyes, the numbat could see the softly glowing stars of the ruins. It made him sigh, breath catching on the motion, and he rolled to one side, retching, adding to the steadily growing pile of sick nearby. It was beyond frustrating, to see freedom so close, to be bound by nothing but his own weakness, the only thing preventing him from leaving - but then, that wasn't quite true. After all, they had his Bonded, his brother, and Booker would much rather go through this pain than have his family exposed to the same.

Inching away from the puddle of vomit, Booker winced at the drag of pebbles across his stomach, trying to get into any sort of comfortable position, before finally giving up with a heavy thump, resting his chin on a paw, exhaustion threatening to rob him of his precious consciousness. Determined to stay awake, he bit down at his own leg, the shock of pain forcing his brain into wakefulness once more. Satisfied, the tiny Gembound, sweat-matted fur blowing in the hot, dry wind, began to hum. It was weak and soft, but soothing, as if it was some sort of lullaby. And, indeed, it was - though he only thought the words, both for himself and for his brother, who had gone through so much, who didn't deserve to go through this, especially not to be tied to Booker in a way that let him feel the pain as keenly as his own.

A gen-tle breeze from Hushabye Mountain,
Softly blows o'er Lulla-by bay,
It fills the sails of boats that're waitin',
Waiting, to sail your worries away...
A cough, an aborted flip of his stomach, and the scribe continued, mouthing the words as he sang in his mind as the red-tinted fog came rolling in once more.

It isn't f-far... to Hush-a-bye Mount'n,
An' your boat... waits down by the key,
The winds of night, so soft-ly are sighin',
Soon they will fly your troubles to sea...

"Baratheon Speech"

This whole situation was hurting him. Not physically but his spirit. To be caught, to be tamed. It was something that he hated immensely. He was a dragon, not a thing to be captured and prodded to do other's bidding. Especially not a slimy half-face. Him and his whole disgusting lot! That stinking skunk, that skulking mongoose, that irritating monster, and that... that traitor of a dog! Smoke steamed from his nostrils as he lay in a neighboring tunnel. He hated being in Monoceros. Hated it so much because it reminded him of his captivity. However, he couldn't just get up and leave... Not without Book and Louie had hurt Booker irreparably. They couldn't leave without sentencing him to death... He was stuck.... forever... and what was more he would be forced to hurt... Hurt Giggle... He didn't want to hurt her. She had helped him and he was the closest thing to a mother-figure that he had ever had. He wanted to warn her but he couldn't. He was stuck in Monoceros hunting rats and stray deer.

A wash of hopelessness washed over him. When a dragon didn't have anger what did he have? Pity... fear of the future... longing to be free... A moan of anguish ripped from his throat. He was upset at Louie, could feel the hatred burning his gut but when he was all alone like this without even Booker for company the pity crept in. His head lowered to the ground, eyes staring out at empty space. He could feel Booker in Monoceros, feel what he was going through but what could he do to help? Nothing. He knew not the cure for whatever disease Louie had thrown into him. He knew no one that could help... And what was more Booker seemed find with the damned half-face. How could he be growing attached when it was his fault that they were in this situation? He didn't understand... didn't approve... it made him feel all the more worse.

He sighed, pink smoke curling from betwixt his lips. His eyes closed and he turned inwards, trying to glean some sort of comfort from inside. It wasn't much but he felt the melody of his brother's song. It was comforting... It made him want to sail away from his body and into the void. Booker believed that they would join again with the All Mother but he did not. Once he sailed away, he would forever be gone into the dark abyss of death.

He wasn't even afraid...

He wasn't anything until he saw something new from Booker's side. Some sort of large bird. It was new, different... A threat? Nowadays anything was a threat! He would love to take the plunge but he still had Booker, they weren't completely gone yet... It was close but not quite there. His brother needed him and he would be there through hell or high water. He'd force himself if he had to. Even if his spirit wasn't there his body would be.

The dragon rose to his paws and let out a trumpeting roar. Baratheon is coming! It said.

He charged straight up the tunnel and right into the heart of Monoceros. There Booker laid on the ground with some sort of bird hassling him. He didn't recognize him for a Merrymen member but that didn't mean it wasn't true. He was a threat as far as he was concerned and he would be dealt with. Baratheon let out another roar and leaped, landing right behind the bird.

From the force of his landing the ground gave an audible shaking, a powerful tremor that would no doubt throw off the other's sense of balance. His pink eyes glared down at the vulture while his teeth were bared in a terrible snarl. "YOU HAD BETTER HAVE A GOOD REASON FOR BEING HERE! I HAVE A GOOD MIND TO TAKE YOU AS MY NEXT MEAL, STINKBIRD!" He didn't appreciate others messing with his brother.

Booker's ears twitched at the sound of talons clacking on stone, fur shivering when a shadow fell over him. Too tired to do anything else, he slowly peeled open his intact eye, only able to make out the blurry figure of something rather large, with... wings? Regardless, the scribe merely watched as the creature bent down to inspect him, exhausted and empty. The fowl's words, however, perked him up a bit - was he really not a member of the Merrymen? Had the Mother sent him a savior after all, had he suffered enough for his penance? Clearing his throat with a rattling cough, Booker slowly answered, though his words were faint and scratchy. "Not... okay," he started, offering the other Gembound a rather woozy grin, as if to say what can ya do? "Got... tak'n... by f-fox. Did some-thin' to me," the numbat managed to rasp out, before his voice gave in to the dryness of his throat and the weakness of his lungs.

And not a moment too late, as a loud, defensive roar ripped through the air. Considering the amount of trust he placed in his brother, Booker didn't even flinch, merely turning his head a bit to the side in anticipation of the dragon's arrival. Blinking as Baratheon did, indeed, come bounding to his aid, stopping just behind the bird and snarling viciously, the scribe waved a twitching paw, eye wide, trying to stop the fight before it again. "Bara! H-he could h-help us. 'e's not one of them." A glance towards the bird, and a shrug. "'least, I don't think 'e is."

Turning inward for a moment, Booker focused on the bond he shared with the dragon, still intact despite the huge amount of damage it had maintained, focusing on sending his calm, his trust, his love through it, hoping to calm Baratheon down enough to at least hold off on eating the bird before he stated his case.

"Baratheon Speech"

His appearance obviously scared the bird to death and he felt a bit of satisfaction. No matter how discontent he actually was he would always be able to scare the feathers off of anyone who dared oppose him. The bird's first words were empty in his ears, mere sounds that he didn't care about. He roared, and stepped closer. Then, more sounds but these were ones that he actually cared about. He looked at Booker, ears pricked as he listened and considered the words. Not of the Merrymen? He considered this and peered down at the bird with eyes that still glared.

He listened to the panicked words for a moment before grunting and snaking his head down to Aza'zel's level. His head turned to the side so he could examine him with one glowering pink eye. "How can you help us, small one?" His voice was not but a growl as he addressed the bird. He was honestly curious though. Was this an enemy then? If he was spying?

Staring up at the bird, Booker hid a giggle behind a paw at the older Gembound's reaction to his brother. Baratheon was big, and could, of course, be rather frightening, but it was hard to feel that fear when your soul was bonded to the guy. Inching a bit closer to the dragon, the tiny creature watched as Azazel stumbled to explain himself, almost feeling bad for the bird... but not really. Booker didn't have much energy to feel poorly for anyone but Baratheon. Y'know, I don't think he's a Merryman, Bara. He's way too spooked. The numbat watched as the bird practically jumped out of his skin, darting behind a boulder.

"The Bone King?" Booker's tone was incredulous, a wary eyebrow raised, considering the bird. He looked a bit too large and flashy to be a spy, but honestly, the scribe was beyond caring. If the King was a Merryman, well, they were already doomed. If he wasn't, he might just be able to help. "I believe ya. 'bout the not bein' a Merryman part. Not to sure about the king part," the numbat finally mumbled, ears flicking to catch Baratheon's words. "How can ya h-help? We're pretty dess-pear-at," he grunted, coughing out a laugh.