Creature-fic Two

[icarus_chained]

Title:  The Dying Time
Rating:  PG
Fandom:  DC
Characters/Pairings:  Bruce, Alfred/J'onn
Summary:  All elves must endure a Dying Time. But Alfred's human family do not mean to let him go so easily.
Prompt:  Dragon and elf.
Notes:  for merfilly 
Wordcount:  976

The elves were an ancient people, long-lived as the stars, some said. It was not quite true. Though the lifespan of an elf was many times that of a mortal, still there came a time when each would begin to fade. The Dying Time, a twilight drifting towards an end.

For the elf known as Alfred, that time had come. And rather than lay the burden of watching on his adopted family, the old elf took his leave, in secret, so that they might not have to bear witness. Unfortunately for his honourable intentions, however, he had raised a very stubborn family.

The mountain seemed to stretch endlessly above the mortal knight, standing weary and annoyed at its base. Across the land Bruce had tracked his adoptive father, cursing the elf's talent for stealth and unobtrusiveness. Barely three sightings in two hundred miles, and only an instinct he refused to call intuition, and a determination that bordered on insanity, had led him here at all. To the Dragon Mount, where the world ends. Where Alfred had come to die. Well, Alfred could bloody wait! Bruce was not about to let him fade that easily.

He was tired, and sore. The people in the last few villages had done their level best to dissuade him from his quest, calling the mountain sacred, fearsome, heaven, hell, everything under the sun to keep him from its slopes. It was guarded by a terrible dragon, they said. It was sacred to a gentle god, who could not be disturbed. It was watched by a great spirit who whispered in the thoughts of men who walked there, and sent them running mad through the forests. It was cursed. Do not go there.

But there was where Alfred had gone. He knew it in his bones. So there he would follow, and drag his father back by the ears if he had to.

The mountain was silent as he climbed, the forests still, as everything was watching him, waiting for something to befall him. He staunchly ignored it. Less easy, though, was the other watcher. The one he could feel, on the edges of his mind, in the shadows of thoughts half-formed. A presence, looking down on him in curiosity, and humour. It set his teeth on edge, but did not stop him. Nothing did. Soon enough, he had reached the summit, a wide, bare plateau of granite, devoid of life save for a single figure seated calmly at its center. A very familiar figure.

Bruce was running even as he saw it, sprinting over the uneven ground towards Alfred, determined that nothing should keep him from reaching him, though he did not know what he thought might stop him. He raced, nearer and nearer, and then ...

Something appeared, solidifying in an instant, a vast monstrous shape that simply winked into existence out of the air. Bruce cried out, sheered to the side, rolling on instinct as he fell, his sword in hand as he regained his feet. The creature turned towards him, a great serpentine head lowered to his, and suddenly Bruce was staring into fathomless red eyes. He gasped, caught. There was something in that gaze ... something deep and old, glimmering amber ... not fire, but a sea, a dry red sea, where there was only peace and ancient joy, ancient sorrow ... a depthless sea where he could drift forever.

He wrenched his eyes away with a roar, falling to his knees as air whistled through his chest, great gasps of exertion. Magic. Magic in that gaze, in that mind, and it had taken all he had to pull free of it, to come away from the peace and compassion of those eyes and the great spirit that lived behind them. The spirit. The dragon. Then, a voice, laughing in his mind, but not to him, nor at him. Gently, voice rich and old, the dragon murmured to Alfred, his father.

*He is strong, your boy,* the voice murmured, and the admiration rang so true Bruce could not manage offense. *A rare mind who can pull away from peace.* And then, such sadness, such empathy. *Especially when the pain runs so deep.*

And then, Alfred, quiet and calm in his mind, as gently sad as he'd ever been. *Yes, J'onn,* he whispered. *Always so strong, my boy. So determined.* And Bruce raised his head, all the weariness and pain of this journey in his eyes, and his father and the dragon smiled at him, opening the arms of their minds, embracing his heart with all they were.

*Father,* he whispered, anguished, and the dragon came forward, shifting as he came, until something like a man stood over Bruce, red eyes gentle in an angular face, sadness and welcome in every line of the alien form.

*He is well,* J'onn said, softly, reaching down to lay a clawed finger to Bruce's forehead, to smile as Bruce closed his eyes in exhaustion. *He will ever be well, here. This I promise you.* And then, a moment before all awareness fled from him, Bruce heard Alfred's voice once more, one last time.

*When the time comes, Bruce, we'll meet you,* Alfred promised. *J'onn and I. When your Dying Time comes. We will be there.* Then arms came around him, arms that he knew, that had held him since he was a child orphaned in tragedy, that had always known how best to comfort him. Alfred's arms. And in that moment, Bruce knew he spoke the truth.

To all elves, no matter how long-lived, there comes a Dying Time. But dragons know no such time, and the love of a dragon is held ever and always in his heart and his mind. And so, the love of a dragon never dies, nor any that he holds dear. Instead, they wait, in ancient joy and peace, on the Dragon Mount, where the world ends.