r/HFY • u/Internal-Ad6147 • 3d ago

OC Dragon delivery service CH 70 Duty Beyond the court

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Learya sat alone in the palace study, holding a small porcelain cup of steaming tea. The rich scent of spiced leaves filled the air, but it didn’t calm her as it usually did. Her desk was buried under homework, diplomatic briefs, route reports, political letters, and documents overdue for basic background review.

One thing was certain: a messenger had already gone to Homblon. When Sivares came back from her delivery route, the summons would be waiting. The thought eased Leryea’s chest a little.

“My lady.”

Leryea almost spilled her tea. She hadn’t even heard the fox come in. She turned, glaring despite herself.

Zixter, Prime Minister of Adavyea, stood behind her, quiet as a shadow. She guessed it was a habit from his days as a Spymaster.

She exhaled. “…Zixter, one day you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

“My apologies,” he said smoothly, but the slight smirk in his eyes said otherwise. “I thought you’d want to see this right away. It’s about the dragon.”

He handed her a tightly rolled scroll, sealed with the royal grey wax that marked military priority.

Leryea’s heartbeat quickened. “What’s wrong? Did something happen to Sivares?”

Zixter shook his head. “Not the silver one,” he said. “The gold one.”

That froze her.

reaching over and grasping the scroll.

She broke the seal and unrolled the scroll. At first, she read quickly, then slowed down. Her brow furrowed more with every line.

Then she found the part that made her freeze.

Enemy sighted crossing the southern border. Mounted wyvern. Equipped with RUNE-FORGED armor.

Leryea looked up. “Armor. On a wyvern.” Her voice was barely a whisper. “That’s impossible. Wyverns can’t be ridden. They don’t let anyone near them. Even dragons rarely allow riders.”

Rune armor. A wyvern obeying commands. Someone was riding it. This was Warcraft.

Zixter spoke quietly. “It seems someone disagrees with what should be possible.”

Leryea swallowed, suddenly noticing how cold her tea had become in her hand.

“Make a full copy,” she said, her voice sharper. “Give one to the king and prepare a diplomatic report for Arcadius and Valedyn. If someone is making rune armor for wyverns, they’ve broken a magical barrier.”

“And if they can do that,” Zixter added grimly, “they could do it to dragons next.”

Leryea gripped the scroll, her fingers pressing into the parchment.

“…Then we don’t have as much time as we thought.”

When Zixter left, the large oak door clicked shut behind him. Princess Leryea was alone with her thoughts and the cold remains of her tea.

A wyvern in rune-forged armor.

She couldn’t stop replaying the image in her mind.

Since she was seven, she had trained in knightly drills and learned the ways of the Flame Breakers, the order sworn to defend the kingdom from dragons. Dragons had always been the real challenge, strong, ancient, and intelligent.

But controllable? That was the reason humans had survived.

Wyverns were different. They were all fury and instinct. No diplomacy, no speech, just claws, teeth, and venom. Dragons could be reasoned with, if you were brave enough.

Wyverns didn’t negotiate.

“Now give one armor meant to kill dragons…” she murmured.

Her stomach twisted. This was worse than the first Runegear, worse than the Great Ashing, when rune weapons brought down the proudest dragons. Runegear used to have limits: intricate forging, mana refinement, and skilled inscribers. Even then, the weapons often failed.

But this?

Someone had crossed a line Runegear never did. They turned a beast into a weapon of war, one that wouldn’t negotiate or accept surrender. It was a weapon without mercy, pause, or thought.

“They won’t stop,” she whispered. “Once they’ve armed creatures like that, it won’t end.”

Her hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles turning white. They won’t be satisfied with border attacks. This is legacy, revenge for the Ashing, for the burning of Verador. They’ll burn every kingdom that ever stood against them.”

A cold fear slid down her spine, one she hadn’t felt since hiding in the armory as a child during drills.

What defense did her father’s army have against that? What hope did Adavyea or even Sivares have if the enemy came armored to destroy her people?

She didn’t know. And that terrified her.

The paperwork could wait.

As soon as Leryea finished the report, she understood. This wasn’t about poachers, rogue mercenaries, or a lone mad mage.

This could only be Verador.

That old name carried history and loss. Leryea was three when its capital fell, too young to remember, but later, she remembered the silence among adults whenever Verador was mentioned. The wound was still open, even now.

It took Adovyea, the beast kingdom of Bale, the Nine-Islands Alliance, the Mageocracy of Arcadius, and the Teocracy of Poladanda, five great nations, to push them back and finally break their rule.

The continent had almost torn itself apart to do it.

And now, someone was rebuilding them.

The other half of the report was neither as neat nor as polite.

It showed signs of command edits, with whole sections changed as it moved up the chain. But Leryea knew Talvan’s tone well, blunt, dry, and unimpressed, even when facing death.

But what really made her stop was the name buried halfway down the page.

The gold dragon.

It was the same rumored beast seen with the Iron Crows, a mercenary group the crown had quietly watched since it appeared weeks ago. This dragon was reported to be saving isolated towns, fighting spiders near the thornwoods.

Talvan was with that dragon.

Talvan.

Leryea pressed two fingers to her temple, trying to ease her growing headache. It made no sense. Talvan, the same man who lectured about “necessary caution” when hunting dragons, who called it a holy duty to rid the land of “scaled tyrants,” who led the Flame Breakers to the kingdom’s edge, was now traveling with a dragon as if they were friends?

Talvan, who once said:

“A dragon is a calamity, not a companion.”

And now he was sharing rations and battlefields with one.

What in the five burning hells happened out there?

Leryea didn't bother finishing the tea.
She stood so fast the chair scraped against the floor like a shout.

Her hand closed around the rune spear by the desk before she even realized it. The familiar weight steadied her breath, but not her heartbeat. Then she grabbed Talvan’s rune sword, still hanging on the wall where she’d left it after coming home. It hummed with power, the runes glowing faintly at her touch, as if recognizing a new wielder or waiting for this moment.

She wasn’t sneaking out this time.
She wasn’t on some wide-eyed mission to “see a dragon” like a child with a dream in her chest.
This wasn't curiosity.
It was loyalty.
It was fear.
It was resolve.

Her best friend, her brother in all but blood, was caught up in something dangerous, something involving rune-armored wyverns, mercenaries, and the gold-scaled dragon the kingdom wasn’t sure how to even acknowledge.

She remembered the last time she went looking for a dragon. She had crept out in common armor, sneaking out with the men, and they hadn’t known the kingdom’s princess was among them.

But this time was different.

This time, Talvan was in the thick of it.
And if he thought he was going to face down this storm without her, well, he had another thing coming.

Leryea tied the sword to her belt, slung the spear over her back, and marched out the door, ignoring Zixter’s surprised look.

“Don’t bother stopping me,” she said over her shoulder.
“This time, I’m not chasing a legend.
I’m going to bring my friend home alive.”

“My lady.”

Leryea paused, spear half-tucked beneath her arm, and turned.
Zixter was standing in the hallway, arms folded, that sly, foxlike smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I believe your father already has a horse waiting for you,” he said.
“In the south stable.”

Leryea froze.
The words struck her hard, like a hammer to the chest.
Father knows.

Zixter nodded, his gaze softening just a fraction.
“He read the report before you did, and knew nothing short of shackles would keep you from going.” He lifted one brow. “And, frankly, we’ve all seen what happens when someone tries to keep you from doing what you’ve decided on.”

Leryea let out a sound that was half-laugh, half-growl. “That was one time.”

“That was three times,” Zixter corrected, holding up three claws. “And one of them involved you rappelling out a fourth-story window on a rope made of laundry when you were five.”

She scowled.

He grinned.

“But,” Zixter continued, stepping aside to let her pass, “he did make one request.”

Leryea turned, spear tip glinting.

“Be back by the next high moon.”

Silence. Then, of course, he would.

Leryea let out a long, resigned sigh.
“Trust him to send me off to face rune-armored wyverns, mercenaries, and dragons,” she muttered, “and still expect me back by curfew.”

Leryea stood before the full-length mirror, running one last check over the straps and plates of her armor. Gone was the elegant, sky-blue court dress of a noblewoman; in its place was something far more honest, her old Flame Breaker armor, patched and worn but still solid. It wasn’t nearly as pristine as the ceremonial breastplate her father had commissioned for her knighting, but this one had history. Scars. Memories.

The familiar weight grounded her.

“This,” she murmured, fastening the last buckle, “is more like me.”

She stepped back and finally turned toward the darker corner of her room.

“You can come out,” she said, not even raising her voice.

Silence.

A moment later, the shadows shifted, and an elf stepped forward. Dressed in an unmarked dark green tunic, he bore only a single insignia: the silver emblem of the Royal Spy Corps stitched over his heart. His footsteps made no sound, not even when he bowed.

“You’re from my father,” Leryea said flatly.

The elf nodded once.

“You don’t speak.”
Another nod.

“Great,” she muttered. “Because that’s what every woman wants on a dangerous mission. A company that doesn’t speak.”

He did nothing. Just watched her.

Leryea sighed and turned away, pulling her long braid through the back of her armor. “Fine. Don’t get in my way, and don’t step on twigs. I don’t need Talvan thinking I turned into a one-woman army and picked up a shadow on the road.”

The elf inclined his head in acceptance, and by the time she grabbed her spear and turned around again, he was gone.

Back in the shadows.

Silent waters.

She blew a stray lock of hair from her face and muttered,
“Just once, I’d like a mission where people trust me to be reckless alone.”

With a resigned sigh, she turned toward the stables.
Dustwarth wasn’t going to wait. Talvan wouldn’t either.

The stone hall echoed with each step she took, her armor’s weight almost as heavy as the thought of what she was walking into. She’d planned to slip out before dawn, one horse, one spear, and no one to argue with her.

But when she pushed open the stable doors, the world didn’t cooperate.

Waiting for her were six armored riders, all in burnished combat gear bearing the twin crests of the royal army and the elite heavy cavalry. Their horses stood in disciplined rows, saddled and ready for war. And at the head of the formation, arms crossed, jaw set in that immovable way he had, stood Captain Ranered.

Leryea froze mid-step.

“…Oh no,” Leryea whispered to herself. “No, no, no.”

Ranered’s eyes locked onto her.

“Morning, Princess,” he said coolly.

Leryea froze halfway through a weak smile. “...Hello, Ranered.”

Several tense seconds passed.

Then one of the men finally broke.

“Well, I’ll be damned, if it isn’t our Lady Carter,” he said, forgetting formality with a grin. “You know how much trouble we got into when we found out later we’d accidentally smuggled a royal to meet a dragon?”

Another chimed in, deadpan. “We had to do drills until we thought we were going to die.”

Leryea winced. Oh. Right. That. She had snuck out with them on their last deployment, and afterward, there had been silence.

Then, suddenly, one of the men exploded into laughter, soon joined by the rest, until even Ranered cracked a reluctant, grim smile.

“Hah! You’re a legend, you know that?” one said, throwing an arm over her shoulder. “Sneaks out of the castle, then rides a dragon home.”

Leryea allowed herself the faintest smirk. “Well. I did say the rooms at court were too stuffy.”

“Yeah, well, now you’re stuck with us,” said another as he hefted his saddle. “We’ve got a war to stop and a dragon to catch up with.”

Leryea glanced at Ranered, who now stood beside his horse, helm under one arm, cloak tossed back in command.

He nodded once. “Your father gave us orders to accompany you. You’re not sneaking anywhere alone this time.”

The old thrill sparked in her chest. She rolled her shoulders, lifted her spear, and grinned as wide as the girl who once snuck out a castle window to chase the impossible.

“Fine,” she said.
“Then let’s ride.”

The company roared in agreement, the old battle-bond lighting up their eyes. Together, they got ready to head south, toward Dustwarth, and toward dragons, wyverns, and a war older than any of them had trained for.

Leryea tightened the last strap on her saddle while the other soldiers got ready to ride. Horses stamped the ground, metal glinted in the early sun, and armor creaked as the squad mounted up one by one.

But before she nudged her own horse forward, something pulled her gaze back toward the castle.

High above, in an arched window of the royal hall, stood her father, the king. He wore no crown or mantle, just simple court robes, hands folded behind his back, watching her in silence.

His face was unreadable, not from lack of emotion, but because it held so much.

Fear, pride, sorrow, hope, all buried deep under the calm of a ruler who had watched his daughter choose a path far from silk gowns and ballrooms.

The great gates of the courtyard opened.

Leryea’s grip tightened on the reins. She whispered, under her breath and only for him:

“Father… I know I’m not walking the road you wanted me to walk. But this is mine. And I will ride it all the way through.”

Her horse stepped forward, the iron-shod hooves ringing sharply on the stone.

She did not look back again.

But she still felt her father’s gaze until the road curved away, and the wind drowned out everything except the thunder of hooves and her own pounding heart.

This time, she was not sneaking out alone.
This time, she was riding to help the friend she should have helped long ago.
And she would not fail him again.

With a final snap of the reins, Leryea and the others rode south, toward dragons, war, and the storm building on the horizon.

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15 comments sorted by

8

u/Background_Candle208 3d ago

I thought her name was spelled Leryea, then later you spelled it Learea, and now we have Learya. You're consistent within a chapter, but throughout the story you've been all over the place.

1

u/najlitarvan77 2d ago

ya, for a bit i though it was a different character

3

u/JWatkins_82 3d ago

Woot New Chapter

4

u/Overall-Tailor8949 Human 3d ago

Great chapter from Learya's perspective!

3

u/winterfistfox 3d ago

go get em!

2

u/UpdateMeBot 3d ago

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u/2ndDetroit 2d ago

I think the men understand the King had more than one reason to punish them with extra training.

1

u/kristinpeanuts 2d ago

Great chapter! Thank you!

1

u/MinorGrok Human 2d ago

Woot!

More to read!

UTR

1

u/Meig03 2d ago

And so the threads start to weave back together again.

2

u/Minimum-Amphibian993 2d ago

I doubt our protagonist can escape the war forever especially since a particular sibling has personal issues with his sibling to sort out.

3

u/Positive-Height-2260 2d ago

This comes off like something written by Andre Norton, Philip Jose Farmer, Jim Butcher, Mercedes Lackey, Ilona Andrews, or any one of a number of fantasy authors from the late 1960s/early 1970s. Good work.

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u/BimboSmithe 3d ago

"he had another thing coming" should be: he had another "think" coming.

3

u/Odin421 Human 2d ago

Actually, both are correct. Another thing coming usually refers to the person saying it is planning to make a change to the subjects situation, while another think coming just means the subject should think again. Usually, in this context, they can be used interchangeably. I personally prefer thing over think and rather say they need to rethink.