Chapter Text
Smoke from Gordon’s cigar spiraled up into the clear, starry sky, and moon’s light lit up the thin, dirt road ahead of him. Grass had long begun to overtake the ground here. The dirt was uneven and his horse often took a moment to debate its steps before continuing. Behind him, Bullock and Montoya trailed behind.
It had been nearly an hour since the three of them were sent off to the old trail on Duke Hill’s command. It was the most sudden order Gordon had received in years. And while he nor his cohorts were happy with being sent off in the middle of the night, it was of utmost importance. For there hadn’t been a dragon sighting in Gotham in just as long, and bad memories were already flooding Gordon’s mind.
Bullock’s horse hopped over a rut in the ground, the hefty man grunting in response. “Gordon, how much longer? My butt’s cramping on this saddle back here.”
Montoya’s horse trotted alongside Bullock’s. She chuckled. “Maybe lay off the bakery goods and the saddle might be more comfy. Your horse would appreciate it, too, the poor thing.”
“Nah, he’s just getting old.” Bullock patted his draft horse’s neck. “Bastard is practically Jim’s age. And this damn lance isn’t helping, either." Hanging on the side of Bullock’s saddle was a large lance about as long as his horse and thicker than its legs. There was an equally sized shield to match on the opposite side. Montoya eyed the horse with pity.
“Aren’t you supposed to be wearing that on your back?” she asked with a scolding tone. Bullock shrugged.
“It’s heavy.”
“If it’s too heavy for you now then you need to get a new one!”
“Whaddya want me to do, Montoya? All the other ones were burned in the arson, and you don’t just whip one of these out at any sign of trouble like your little bows and arrows!”
“Both of you shut up back there!” Gordon snapped, pulling his horse to a halt. At their pause he took a second to breathe before speaking in a harsh whisper. “This is serious. If a wild dragon is this close to Gotham then the whole city could be at risk. Straighten up. Now.” He then urged his horse forward, Montoya mumbling apologies and Bullock letting out a sigh.
After some appreciated silence, Montoya spoke up.
“Duke Hill didn’t say what kind of dragon we’re looking for?”
“He mentioned a wyvern. Not your fault, he barely said a word to me either,” Gordon replied.
“Oh, what color was it?” Bullock asked, smirking. Montoya shot him a sharp look. “What? It’s just an honest question.”
“You’re a prick, you know that, Harvey?” and a new argument began.
Gordon was tired of this. He snapped his horse's reins and off he went. The last week alone had made him pray harder than he ever had. The arson from a few days ago left him and everyone else in Gotham’s order of knights severely underequipped, and now he was expected to find a dragon out in the old forest. The same old forest that hadn’t been completely explored due to its massive trees and dangerous terrain. It was utter nonsense.
Not just that either. He’d gotten a brief look at the reports Duke Hill had collected before he sent him away. The border guards reported seeing a large black wyvern soaring close to Gotham during the late evening. This was three days ago and only now crossed the duke’s desk. Sightings like that are rare, and the last time wyverns came to Gotham… well, he didn’t like to think about it.
He hadn't been a Captain for very long back then, he was way more spry and eager, but no less serious about his duty as he is now. So when he saw two wyverns fly overhead on his way home, he turned right back around. A dumb decision, really, though he couldn’t blame his younger self. Wyverns were good flyers but easier to take down than other dragon types. As easy as tossing a one pound stone instead of a two pound stone, mind. He and his squad found that out the hard way. He still remembered the flames, the smoke, and the stench. Sickly sweet like a room of melting candy mixed with the blood of his comrades. Many just fell like stones, overcome by sudden exhaustion. Had it not been for the dragonslayer, Joe Chill, they’d all be dead.
Chill. He scoffed at the name nowadays. Everyone did, even before his heroics. He was just another shady, whorish mercenary who’d weaseled his way into the knight's good graces, got lucky with a stolen dragonbane lance, then crowned a hero before subsequently being killed by one of the many people he’d pissed off over the years.
Of course, with the wyvern sighting, some people have begun whispering his name again. Criminal or not, he was able to take down the wyverns, not Gotham's knights. They failed, let the city burn, and had to be saved by a merc. People still look down on them and Gordon couldn’t find the grounds to argue. They couldn’t even stop an arson attack on themselves.
Gotham Forest was unexplored for a reason. Gordon’s horse had a hard time keeping its balance as they crossed over large roots as thick as the trees they belonged to. They arched from the ground and pierced it again like jumping dolphins. The trees’ trunks were as wide as the length of two horses combined. The leafy branches above blotted the moon, leaving only small dapples of moonlight.
He stopped briefly to light a lantern and scan around. He shouldn’t go any further in than this. It’s too dark and he doubted a dragon could navigate through here either. There were no shed scales, no gashes in the ground, or any giant piles of shit that he could see. He’d just tell Duke Hill as such, then he could go home. He may even get a fresh dinner plate from Barbra when he gets there.
“C’mon girl,” he said, urging his horse to turn back. However, it didn’t move. He lightly tugged the reins. “I said let’s go.” Nothing. His horse was as stiff as a board, its ears erect and its gaze locked forward on a cluster of the dolphin-leaping tree roots.
Gordon reached for his crossbow.
The dappled moonlight wasn't enough to make out whatever had spooked his horse, and the lantern was just as useless unless he wanted to hop off and get a closer look. He loaded a bolt, the iron tip coated with dragonsbane gel, and took aim.
His horse flinched when he fired. The arrow zipped through the air and the ‘thunk’ of a hit was heard along with shuffling. He relaxed, and his horse seemed to as well.
But while patting the horse's neck, he noticed one of the dolphin-leaping branches was moving. Slithering.
The branch shot forward. Gordon’s horse reared and he fell off. He scurried to his feet and tried to calm it, but he was swept out from under his feet by something and he fell to his back. His horse ran away at full sprint, taking the light of the lantern with it.
A snort made him flinch and turn.
A shadow as tall as five horses stalked forward, its sharp white eyes locked onto Gordon’s body. It was then that Gordon realized his past mistakes had come back to bite him.
There weren't only two wyverns that day, there were three. When the dust settled, Gordon and Chill found a young hatchling hiding near the corpse of one of the wyverns. It couldn't have been much bigger than a hunting hound and it had the blackest scales he'd ever seen. Gordon realized the two adults must've been its parents, and guilt seeped into his body. Chill was going to kill the hatchling too, but Gordon stopped him while it scurried away on injured wings. If Chill hadn't died a few days later, he'd have ratted out Gordon to the rest of the knights. He would've been hanged for letting a threat like that get away.
Maybe he should've.
“I remember you…” he muttered, making not a move as the now adult wyvern approached. Its scales were as black as the night itself. Its wings, even while walking, were so big that it had to twist and turn its whole body to maneuver around the ancient trees. While doing so, its gaze never left him.
Suddenly, it paused. Gordon hadn't let go of his crossbow when he fell. He kept spare bolts on his hip, but most were snapped in pieces when he fell. Only one remained. One single shot.
His hand inched for it.
The wyvern snarled.
It could rush him. It could burn him. It could eat him. All it would take is one wrong move. One wrong sound. Anything that it didn’t like. It had effectively disabled him, leaving him without any means to escape. It was too human for his stomach to bear.
An arrow sunk into the wyvern’s jaw and it raised its neck up high, letting out a shrieking roar of pain that shook the trees.
“Commander!” Montoya was suddenly there, helping him up onto her horse and snapping the reins. He wrapped his arms around her more than he needed to, but she didn’t complain. The main goal was getting the hell away from that wyvern.
“Where’s Bullock?” he asked, barely loud enough for her to hear.
“His horse is too slow, I had to leave him at the entrance.”
“You left our lancer behind?”
“He’ll catch up. Here–” she gestured to her quiver full of arrows. “All dragonsbane. Lay down some cover and keep that thing back.”
Gordon took a few breaths, then took an arrow to load into his crossbow. Carefully, he turned on the saddle and raised it up.
But there was no wyvern.
“It's gone,” he called over his shoulder.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, but don’t stop. Get us back to Bullock.”
Without slowing the pace, Montoya made a wide turn to hopefully steer clear of the wyvern and make it back to the entrance of the forest where she left Bullock. Once about halfway there, they reached a clearing where the moonlight was unobstructed by any trees. Bullock, now riding Gordon’s horse, ran up, nearly scaring the pair half to death.
“What the hell was that roar I heard?” he asked loudly, trying to remain steady on the unfamiliar mount.
“The wyvern we were after,” Montoya replied. “Thing looked like the devil and it almost killed Gordon. We need to get back to Gotham right now.”
“Heard. Want your horse back, Commander?”
Gordon didn’t reply.
“Gordon? Jim!” Bullock snapped and Gordon flinched.
“Are you good or not?”
“No! It’s that wyvern! That goddamn wyvern I let go!”
Montoya and Bullock gave a look to each other then Bullock lowered his voice. A rarity.
“Listen, Jim, I’m sorry I brought it up back there,” he said. “You told us it was hurt, right? There’s no way a wyvern that young would have survived on its own like that. It’s not possible.”
“No, it is possible, because I just fucking saw it!”
Across the clearing, three long slender fingers reached out of the dark woods. Talons sunk into the grass and dirt, pulling the wyvern out into the brightened clearing with hardly a sound. It had to be at least five horses long, not counting its tail which was almost as long and had a row of spikes near its tip. It bore a shorter neck than most wyverns and it was thicker, nothing but muscle for its jaws, and two long spikes pointed skyward on its head. Its hind legs were short, but strong, and its wings, even while folded, were massive, taking up a large part of the clearing. Every inch of it was black, as if someone had gone and stained it with black paint, leaving two white eyes made specifically for staring into Gordon’s soul.
Gordon swallowed and loaded his crossbow. The arrow in its jaw was gone. With fingers like those, it must’ve been quick and easy to pull out.
So why wait and confront them here?
“It’s up to something,” he muttered, and Montoya and Bullock nodded in agreement. They each readied their own weapons. Montoya ready with several arrows and Bullock finally hoisting up his oversized lance and shield.
The wyvern raised its tail and slammed it on the ground. Their horses flinched and panicked and bucked. One by one the trio fell to the ground. For the second time, Gordon watched his horse run off, followed by Montoya’s. Bullock stepped in front while the other two stayed back, making a small ‘v’ formation. They were three knights with shit gear against a wyvern that was just a little too smart for comfort and staring down their captain.
Montoya let her arrow fly. The wyvern lowered its head and it zipped past. It advanced in long strides, already halfway across the clearing. Bullock raised his lance and charged, aiming to stab its massive wings. The wyvern lifted its arm and shoved Bullock aside with its hand as if swatting a fly. Gordon shot another arrow. It sank into the wyvern's exposed armpit. It reared back and let out a shriek once more. Montoya let two arrows fly at the same time. Both sank into the wyvern’s neck. It flailed and shook its head, lifting its hand to pull out one of the arrows. Bullock regained himself and charged again. His lance sank into the wyvern’s leg. It buckled and pulled its leg away, making Bullock lose his grip. Its tail swept Bullock out from under his feet, then it pulled the lance free. Blood seeped from the wound and it hissed, backing up and dropping the lance entirely.
“It’s retreating!” Montoya called.
The wyvern stopped near the edge of the clearing, its gaze sweeping over the three knights. It growled and its maw opened, inhaling a large amount of air.
“Shit! Harvey!” Gordon yelled, and Bullock was already sprinting to him and Montoya. He skidded to a stop in front of them and lifted his shield while they got in close.
Instead of a spray of fire, the wyvern breathed out a blue-tinted, sweet-smelling mist.
Gordon’s eyes widened.
“Don’t breathe it in!” he yelled, then covered his mouth using the padding under his armor. The other two followed suit. The mist coiled around them, making it hard to see anything.
A thump came from Montoya’s right and she uncovered her mouth to instinctively shoot an arrow. However before she could, her body grew heavy and she slumped. The damn wyvern had faked her out. Bullock tried to get her to her feet, but he too inhaled the mist. He dropped to one knee, his heavy shield taking him the rest of the way down, leaving Gordon as the last one standing, and the most exposed.
A burst of hot, humid air hit his back, and the mist blew away. He whipped around, and it was the wyvern, so close that he could touch it.
Just when he thought things couldn’t get any worse, it spoke.
“And I remember you…”
What was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? His heart thumped like war drums in his ears along with a horrid ringing. His throat tightened. His vision blurred…
…and then a blazing ball of fire came down upon the wyvern’s back.
Another dragon dove down and crashed into the wyvern, sending it down to the ground away from Gordon. They fell into a violent wrestling match of teeth and claws. The dirt kicked up from their fight blocked Gordon’s view of them, and likely them of him in turn.
He knew what to do now. Run.
He pulled Bullock and Montoya to their feet, slapping their faces multiple times to get them awake and walking. He led them back into the forest, all the while the wyvern’s voice echoed in his head.
The wyvern finally shoved the other dragon off of him and got back to his feet. The scales on its back smoked and sizzled from the flame, but the damage was minor. He looked over to where Gordon and his comrades had been, only to find them gone. He pulled his lips back in a snarl, his head whipping back to the intruding dragon that was getting back to its feet.
The dragon was of similar size and had four legs and four wings, both thin as could be. It bore yellow and black scales in a striped pattern, the yellow stripes pulsing like a firefly. Its beady red eyes shined as it began to crouch down for another attack. The wyvern wouldn’t let it get away with it.
Like a whip the wyvern charged, giving the other dragon no time to react. He slammed into it and sent its light body across the clearing and into the trees on the other side. He advanced, grabbing the lance that once stuck in its leg from the ground. He crawled over the dragon, his hand forming into a fist and punching its head into the ground. He then held its head down and sank the tip of the lance into the back of the dragon’s neck, purposely avoiding anything vital. The dragon let out a cry of pain, ceasing its struggle under the wyvern.
“You use dirty human tools!” it accused.
“Silence!” The wyvern roared, inching his face close to the other’s. “Why does a little firefly like you think you can come into my territory and ruin my hunt?”
“Hunt? Hunt? Ha!” The Firefly laughed mockingly. “That was no hunt, you false Knight! That was mere play!”
The Knight raised its fist and slammed it down again.
“Why have you come?” he roared, snapping his jaws near Firefly’s face. Firefly only growled weakly, its smoky breath tickling the Knight’s nostrils. The Knight put two and two together.
“I see. It was you who set fire to Gotham’s knight’s supplies.”
Firefly chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
“Welcome? For leaving the city defenseless?"
Firefly’s eyes went wide. “So those rumors are true?"
“What rumors?” The Knight growled, his patience thinning.
“You don’t eat humans! Haha! That's rich! All this quarry and you simply watch! You’re just like that big blue one in Metropolis!”
The Knight snarled and crawled off Firefly, but not before taking his leg and swinging it across the clearing again. The other dragon tried to get to its feet, but its fragile bones had cracked from the Knight’s abuse, and the lance made movement of its neck near impossible.
“This is your only warning. Leave Gotham, or else I’ll make sure you never fly again.”
Firefly's head dropped to the ground, bowing.
“Yes, Your Majesty.”
With a final growl the Knight turned to leave, pausing to look where Gordon once was before stalking back into the forest.
And as Gordon made his way back to Gotham, he couldn’t help but wonder what the hell that wyvern wanted from him.