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The Dragon Language isn’t for human ears.
This statement isn’t up for debate. Like most of the rules Gajeel remembered from his time with the dragons, he doesn’t think he ever heard it explicitly stated. Metalicana and the other dragons used their language with him and with each other, but never in front of other people. Gajeel followed suit.
He hadn’t bothered to question it until he was ten years old, angry and confused, wading alone through a city of people and words he couldn’t understand.
There was also almost no trace of his native language in any modern languages. Gajeel’s missions had taken him across a good portion of Fiore, and he had come across architecture and fighting styles that mimicked draconic styles, but never language. He had assumed that it had disappeared with the dragons.
Writing was a human invention. Dragons had long memories. Dragons passed down and protected their knowledge through stories. Stories grew and adapted with the added experience of each teller. Written word is stagnant. What good did a silly concept like an alphabet do them?
It went without saying that the dragon language was not written down.
So when Freed and Levy presented him with scrolls with dragon stories scribbled on them, it had been an icy shock. With Natsu’s help, Gajeel had managed to convince the script mages to share the scrolls with them. For educational purposes of course. No harm intended. Natsu was a trustworthy source.
Which had brought them to Natsu’s back patio, where they were building the bonfire of the century to erase any evidence of the human’s disrespect. Gajeel extends his arm to prod at the fire and asks Natsu “Did you read any of them?”
Natsu shakes his head. “Nah. Did you?”
Gajeel shrugs. “I skimmed one. The first one that Levy gave me. It was a kid’s story, but it was a little different from the way Metalicana used to tell it.” Levy had explained that after Dragons had disappeared, there had been an effort by a group of academics and traders to preserve what they knew about dragons. Some of the scrolls just spoke about certain individuals’ interactions with dragons. There was a collection of anecdotes, magics, and medicines that humans living at the time had learned from benevolent dragons. Levy hadn’t told the story like that, but Gajeel remembered that as a kid, his existence was a point of contention. Dragons like Igneel and Metalicana, who had chosen to share their magic with human children, were radicals for their time.
Levy had reverently described a specific slayer who had played rat. When dragons disappeared, the traitor had devoted the rest of his life to recording his time with the dragons. The dumb bastard had left his life’s work lying around the country for everyone to read. Now it sat in front of Gajeel and Natsu.
“I had forgotten the story before I read it,” Gajeel admits. “It was one Metalicana used to tell me before bed.”
Natsu doesn’t respond right away, both of them quietly watch the fire. Gajeel rarely sees this side of him. Everyone knows he can’t stand Natsu’s hyper energy most of the time. Gajeel had half expected that he would have to wrangle this conversation out of him, that it would be resolved in a shouting match on the guild’s front steps. But when Gajeel had approached Natsu about the topic, he had been stone serious.
It felt like too heavy a thing to involve Wendy, so they hadn’t.
“Do you think we are doing the right thing?” asks Natsu. “Hell, we’re not dragons. We don’t remember everything.”
Therein lies the crux of the dilemma. Gajeel was 9 when Metalicana disappeared. Natsu was 8 and a half. The dragons are a fog of images and emotions in their minds. They don’t have the iron memory of dragons, so who knows what they have forgotten.
That is probably the reason that Natsu hadn’t burned the scrolls on sight. It would have been so much easier if Natsu had done that. He can see Natsu’s shit-eating grin as he reaches over Levy and lights his hand on fire. He imagines Natsu wearing a goofy ‘Who, ME?’ expression as he faces Lucy and Levy’s shock and exasperation. No one would question that outcome. Fuck Natsu’s foresight.
If he had been alone, Gajeel believes he probably would’ve shredded them without a second thought. It would have been a sign of respect to his dearest dead old man. No one would have cared but him, who else cares if he's making the bastard proud?
“There could be stuff in there that they didn’t have time to tell us,” says Natsu, vocalizing Gajeel’s concern.
“Their mistake, then,” grumbles Gajeel. He only sorta means this, and Natsu knows it.
“And Wendy,” presses Natsu. “She remembers even less than us.”
“I know.” He does know. He knows that in five or ten years, the dragon language will be cotton in his mouth. He knows that when he rolls over and dies, the remains of Metalicana’s magic will go with him. The bitter part of him, the angry child that hates Metalicana for leaving, says good riddance.
But Wendy. Wendy deserves to know. Dragons were her family too. It can’t be helped that she was only five when they disappeared. She had as much a right to the word’s warmth as they did.
Maybe Gajeel is selfish. Maybe he wants to remember stories with Metalica by the fireside too. It’s not like the dragons will know now.
“If we could make sure that they were just for us-” Natsu tentatively suggests. Natsu is never tentative, it’s a funny look on him. It would be funnier if Gajeel hadn’t been feeling so ugly about the same thought.
Gajeel nods. “We could collect them, I’m sure Levy or Freed know where there are more copies”
“Probably Lucy, too.” Natsu adds. “We could put out job posts. Get the whole guild involved. They will support us.”
“Sure,” says Gajeel. It’s not like any other of their guild members could read a dead language. “As long as they stay with us.”
As long as they are not in human hands.
As long as it’s just with them. Between him, Natsu and Wendy, they can memorize it all. Once they remember everything, once they learn everything, then they can burn the scrolls.
Between the three of them, they can remember it all, right?
*
They try.
On warm summer nights, the three dragon slayers roll out their blankets around the bonfire. Gajeel pulls out the scrolls and tries to stumble through the scripts.
Natsu closes his eyes and Wendy props her chin on her bony wrists.
Metalica used to mold his whole body against the firelight, using his shadow figures to send Gajeel scrambling against his warm torso. The disfigured hand puppets that Gajeel uses pale in comparison.
Wendy giggles and snuggles into her pillow.
In Fiorian, they try to paraphrase the stories that they remember.
One memorable evening, they try to char fish the way the dragons used to. They end up blowing up half the beach and scraping the taste off their tongues for days.
The memories are feather-light. With three people piling them on over the fire, they begin to feel solid.
*
Gajeel has never had family, but he assumes that Sting and Rogue are the equivalents of estranged cousins. He has both everything and nothing in common with them.
Involving more dragon-slayers into the conversation about the scrolls is both a blessing and a curse.
It's a blessing because when they finally get around to talking about it, they learn that Sting and Rogue had the same idea. They had spent the past seven years collecting scrolls, and as a result, Sabertooth was in the possession of around 78% of the recorded dragon lore in Fiore.
It's a curse because Sting was a fucking tool.
As it turns out, Sting is a proponent of spreading the knowledge of the dragons with the rest of humanity. At first, Gajeel had assumed that Sting’s dragon had been more radical than theirs, and had paddled the beliefs to his slayer. However, as the conversation continues, he begins to suspect ‘spreading the knowledge’ is another one of the fucking peacock’s ploys for attention.
The attention is not just for himself, of course. It’s a way of showing off his guild’s strength as well. Sting explains some convoluted plan to make Sabertooth the dragon cultural center of the nation, with seminars spearheaded by him and Rogue.
Wendy seems genuinely intrigued. As they have been working through the scrolls, it has become painfully clear that neither he nor Natsu is a stellar teacher. In light of their failed study sessions, Gajeel can understand why the idea of structured lessons might be appealing to her.
She keeps turning to Gajeel to gauge his approval. In fact all of them, even Natsu, are occasionally glancing over to check his reactions.
That had probably been Wendy’s fault. When they entered the slayer twin’s hotel room, Sting had thrown open his arms and said in their native tongue “Welcome my brethren. In here we will speak as the dragons spoke.”
Wendy had wrinkled her nose and responded “You sound stupid.” She had switched into Fioran to add “the only one who probably remembered enough of the dragon language to hold a conversation is Gajeel.”
This is blatantly untrue. In their study sessions, he is the one that reads the scrolls aloud to them. As much as Gajeel hates to admit it, his role as the narrator has more to do with Natsu being illiterate than Gajeel’s superiority. When he reads to them, the words are stiff and tangled on his tongue. Every time he speaks, he feels Metalicana rolling his grave in embarrassment.
But the vote of confidence is sweet, partially because it is so out of character for her, and partially because Sting’s reaction is hilarious. So Gajeel crosses his arms and assumes the de facto role of leader.
The five of them are sprawled on the floor in an arc. Natsu and Sting are pitching their arguments to him as much as they arguing with each other.
“That’s stupid,” Natsu responds to Sting. “Dragon magic should remain private to dragon slayers. The only reason Gajeel and I didn’t destroy our copies is that we thought they might help Wendy.”
Wendy looks embarrassed to be used as ammunition for his argument.
“If we are the only ones who look at the scrolls, then what’s the point of keeping them,” challenges Sting. “Look, I’m not saying we put them on display to the public or teach them how to read it, or anything.” Good. That would be blasphemy.
“But maybe we translate it,” says Sting. “Maybe we hold events, like the Grand Magic Games, but to just for dragon magic.”
“Doesn’t it feel wrong to you?” interrupts Gajeel. “The scrolls aren’t even your dragon’s magic, and you want to go parading them around.”
“It’s about preservation,” hisses Sting. “Who else knows slayer magic as we do?” There are the so-called second-generation slayers, like Laxus, but they are mockeries of dragons. Fools with big reservoirs of magic, but no fitness. No one bothers to bring them up.
“We learn them, memorize them and burn as we go,” says Natsu. That had been the original plan he and Gajeel had agreed on but the more they talk about it, the dumber it seems. It feels crass to burn fairy tales and bedtime stories, even if they were illicitly written.
“So we preserve them, but they are not open to the public,” says Rogue. It’s the first time he has given an opinion so far. Sting looks annoyed but not surprised. Now that he hears Rogue’s stance, Gajeel realizes that he is probably the reason their scrolls aren’t framed in Sabertooth’s main halls.
“What happens if we share them, and someone like Rufus memorizes them?” asks Rogue. “Or if some translator works backward, and then the dragon language is decoded?” Gajeel and Natsu nod at his points, and Sting pinches his lips.
“I think we’re being fools if we don’t advertise them. Maybe other dragon slayers are still around. We found you fools- maybe there are more?”
Rogue sighs. The twins are retracing a familiar “Is our presence at the Games not enough? Anything more feels showy.”
“But we keep them? We don’t burn them?” asks Sting. Natsu shrugs.
Rogue checks Gajeel’s expression for confirmation, and then nods. “We keep them. We don’t burn them.”
As the conversation wraps up, Rogue hovers around Gajeel. Gajeel knows he wants some sort of approval, but he doesn’t know what to give him.
He doesn’t want to think about what it means that Rogue came to him.
*
Pantherlily was a leader once. Gajeel has given him a loose outline of the dilemma as it has unfolded. Tonight they are sitting at an outdoor bar as Gajeel reviews the dragon slayer’s conversation in his mind.
It has occurred to him that the decision won’t just affect him and the other living Dragon Slayers. It will decide how dragons (how their parents) will exist in everyone’s memory for the rest of eternity. Gajeel is too stupid to be making this decision for all of them. He knows this. He had been at peace with his stupidity.
The world didn’t ask Gajeel these types of questions.
“Because who in their right fuckin’ mind said -yep, Gajeel fuckin’ Redfox. That’s our guy.”
Gajeel wasn’t anyone’s guy. Pantherlily reaches over to pry his drink out of his hands and waits for Gajeel to elaborate. When he doesn’t, Pantherlily fills the silence, “If there’s anything I’ve learned, it’s better to make a decision and regret it later, than do nothing at all.”
“Because you’re never going to be ready. That’s how it is with ugly things, no amount of experience prepares you. Take it from someone who’s been around the block. If you look back, at least you will be able to say you did something. You tried. You won’t be the blind fool who ignored it. The idiot who watched and waited until it was too late. Then you act, and your actions weren’t really decisions. It never feels like it counts when it’s the last minute, and you only have one option. And it eats away at you because there are a thousand tiny things that you could have done differently, that would have stopped everything.”
Pantherlily studies Gajeel. “Not that time is an issue for you.”
“How is it not?” asks Gajeel. “Who else is going to decide? Natsu is a hothead, Rogue is too timid to fight for anything and Sting is a-” Hot flashes of anger run up Gajeel’s spine. “Sting is a moron.”
“And they were all so tiny when it happened. They don’t understand.” Gajeel’s neck feels hot and his eyes start to prick. “They don’t get it. Me and Natsu are the only ones who were old enough when it happened to remember anything. To remember them.”
This is the first time Gajeel has admitted that out loud. The words are heavy with truth, pressure builds in his ears as they solidify in his reality. He wants to pluck the truths out of the air, stuff them down his throat and shove them into the back of his mind. The soft murmur of the other customers at the cafe closes in on him. There are so many people speaking and they are all feeling and breathing the same air as him, but none of them were there. None of them know.
Pantherlily presses a hand on his shoulder. “This is a heavy question, but there is no rush.”
That’s not true. The more time they wait to decide about what to do with the scrolls, the more they will forget. The further they will be from the dragons. They need to decide. Gajeel needs to decide.
And Gajeel knows there will be more questions. More dragon-related things will come up, and Gajeel will always be the oldest, and he wants to squirm and stomp his feet because it’s not fair. He’s ten years old again, tired and scared and what did he do to make Meatlicana leave? He just wants Metalicana to come back. He feels Pantherlily pop into muscular form, shoulders completely dwarfing him.
“Gajeel, you have the rest of your life to decide.” Gajeel snorts.
“And Gajeel. Gajeel, look at me.” Gajeel looks at him. “You are going to live a long, happy life.” The nerves in Gajeel’s stomach are livewire. He blinks and fat warm tears bypass his cheeks and plop onto the table. He is a grown man. He doesn’t need to be coddled. Why is he even crying?
“Gajeel, listen to me. You have so much ahead of you. There is no need to know everything now, because you have time.” Pantherlily pulls Gajeel into his side as he scrubs his eyes.
“Do you understand?” Not really, but Gajeel nods anyway. He presses his face into Pantherlily’s shirt and his next breath comes out shaky and snotty. He feels Pantherlily give a watery chuckle.
“You’re so young, and you have so much time Gajeel.” He rubs wide circles on Gajeel’s back.
“It’s okay, it’s okay. There’s no hurry, Gajeel. It’s gonna be okay. You’ve got time.”
It’s a reassurance to an ache Gajeel didn’t even know he had. Pantherlily is giving him the space to feel small and stupid. It doesn’t feel like an insult, so Gajeel presses his face into his palms and lets himself fall apart.