I thought I would marryyou.
“Mhm. Is there someone you should maybe ask first?”
Ask? You mean, for permission? What a curious idea.
“You need to ask at least one other person. Can you guess who?”
Ah. I get it now. I think. Morgan, my love and life. Will you do me the immense joy and honor to become my wife? To marry me and live with me and obey me for as long as we live?
Morgan, my beloved treasure. I have possessed gold, power, and treasures beyond counting. None of them were worthy of the devotion I gave them.
You are.
You are the first thing I have ever desired more than gold, and the only thing I would abandon a hoard to protect.
Will you become my wife?
Will you share my life, my victories, and my burdens?
Will you risk being around a sometimes arrogant dragon, though that arrogance is entirely justified?
Will you allow me the immeasurable joy of calling you mine, as I gladly become yours?
Morgan, my love and light and hoard, will you marry me?
His proposal takes my breath away, to the point where I can only wheeze for a while. Of course a proposal from a dragon can’t be ordinary. It has to be grandiose and, well, perfect. And the telepathic emotion it carries helps, too.
“Yes,” I manage with a voice that barely carries. “Yes, my love. I will marry you.”
Then all is well. Let’s tell everyone.
We fly along for a while, talking about marriage and weddings and such.
After a while, he dives down towards the jungle.
Only now do I spot the Red Rock of the Borok village, and we’re going straight towards it.
Where do we land? That plateau? Or is that your prison?
“Land in the middle, by that painted wall,” I suggest. “So everyone can see. We’re not tiptoeing around anymore.”
I have actually never tiptoed in my life.
I grin through happy tears. “I never thought you had. Do a nice, slow round in the air first.”
He does better, slowly spiraling down from the sky, passing over the Red Rock as I wave to the girls there, then over the many tent camps outside the village wall, then fifty feet over the roofs of the village while he breathes a long, red flame.
The heat from it washes over me and feels like it singes my hair, but I cheer wildly at the incredible display in the setting sun. “That’s my dragoooon!”
Then the dragon sets down right by the totem wall, where the fire is burning and the evening meal is being prepared. The flames make Vyrathion’s golden scales shine and flicker like a fire of its own.
Cavemen come running, swords in hand.
Instead of getting off the dragon, I stand up so they can all see me. “Put your swords back, tribesmen. This is Vyrathion and Morgan.”
They form a ring around us, blades still out.
Then someone comes sauntering - a big, metallic blue shape with a woman holding his hand.
