Archive of Our Own

Is this the horrid dragon beast

Of sinew strong and deep of chest

And never needing rest?

A steed, the best?

Then seize a saddle from the rack

And strap it on the beastie's back,

Of courage never have a lack,

No turning back.

The beast has served and flown the earth around.

You've sought your treasures, forced him to the 

ground.

You loose the reins, your goal is found.

He turns around.

Long of fang, the fiercest eye and talons, not

 discounting,

No fault of choice, no better beast you'd ever take 

ahunting.

But now you’re caught and find

The peril is

dismounting-

Kathleen E. Woodiwiss, “Shanna” 1977

Episode 1:

The newspapers liked to celebrate mountain-climbing fools. Indeed, there had been one sensational article two weeks ago, on the front page of the Moniteur, full of speculations on who would be ‘the next Jaques Balmat’, to conquer the highest peaks and take the most complicated paths to their summits.

One thing was certain: the press would never applaud Inspector Javert, to say nothing of the two guards who were accompanying him, for risking their lives on a cliffside. The Toulon harbor had been built into a bay area and was surrounded by steep cliffs. The natural shape of the coast protected the shipyard, city, and bagne alike from pirates and enemy ships. The limestone comprising it could be treacherous, splintering under fingers and threatening to cut the climber’s flesh to ribbons with sharp edges. And while the cliffs and Mont Faron, the highest peak in the vicinity, had nothing on the Alps’ Mont Blanc to draw the attention of mineral enthusiasts and adventurers, what it did offer was a plethora of hiding places, for a climber skilled or desperate enough to brave the dangers.

Thankfully no single team of guards dispatched for the manhunt was expected to cover the entire cliff wall. The area where the escaped prisoner had been spotted had been divided up into sections, and every team was equipped with ropes, picks, and other climbing paraphernalia.

The men who comprised Javert’s team trailed in his wake, trying to keep up with him, huffing and wheezing but still somehow having enough air in their lungs to complain about their task. Both of them were at least ten years younger than the inspector but had trouble keeping his pace, and he would have been much faster on his own. The inspector had even offered to search alone before they started. He was no novice when it came to prisoner apprehension, but going alone had been categorically denied.

According to the Commissaire, it would have been the height of stupidity to try and apprehend a dangerous criminal on his own. Again. And hope that the convict would for some inexplicable reason let himself be arrested without making too much of a fuss. Again.

“Just you wait, he’s going to get the thrashing of his miserable life as soon as we’re back at the bagne!” promised Goffinet darkly. Javert hadn’t bothered to learn more about his unwanted subordinates than their names so he could address them without causing confusion about his orders.

“Deserves it! Why do they always try to hide in the cliffs? A mountain goat I ain't.” Corbeil, further back, added a foul curse when he lost his footing and went to his knees, hard.

“Less talking, more climbing!” admonished Javert sharply when they fell back too far. It was not the first time the wardens of the bagne had had to mount such a search. Every guard worth their salt knew enough about the usual hidey holes that escaped prisoners thought would give them shelter to know what to look for.

“Tell ya,” wheezed Corbeil, “the bastard is long gone and we’re wasting our time.”

“Someone reported a figure climbing in this section of the cliffs. Only an escapee would have a reason to do that. We were ordered to comb the terrain, and we will do as ordered. Or are you questioning the commissaire’s orders?” Javert sharply reprimanded them.

Goffinet cursed some more and wiped his face with his sleeve. “He’s not the one who will break his neck falling all because of a damn prisoner.”

“Long gone, I say!” repeated Corbeil, too annoyed with their task or too unfamiliar with Javert’s temper to restrain himself. “It’s been nearly a week since he escaped!”

“Every garrison, tollgate, and village in the vicinity has been alerted to look out for the prisoner. There’s a bounty on his head in addition to the usual hundred francs,” Javert lectured.

“Which we won’t be able to claim!” spat Goffinet.

No, that was solely for private citizens, as an incentive to hand over fleeing cons instead of helping them.

Javert stopped on a small projection that offered just enough room for all three of them to rest for a bit, and tied his leading rope around a piton, to catch his own breath and to wait for his teammates to recuperate some more. He grimly inspected the inhospitable and rough cliff above, considering the best way to reach what he knew to be a fairly big cave halfway up to the top. “This particular prisoner is wily enough to survive a few days no matter the conditions, and we do not know how well-planned his escape was. Maybe he intends to wait us out and for the scrutiny to lessen before making a run for it.” At the moment everyone and their dog was in hot pursuit, turning over every bucket and snooping into every crevice to find where the fugitive had gone to ground. Only a complete fool would expect to be able to simply walk away unnoticed. Yet the sighting in the cliffs might still turn out to be a false lead. Or not.

“All this for one man,” repeated Goffinet sullenly, bent over and huffing. 

Javert knew, maybe better than this fresh-faced guard who could not have seen more than a score of years of life, that successfully escaping the prison was not as impossible as the prison administration and admiralty would want to admit. Rare, yes; impossible? No.

“They even recalled you . You’re the expert on that guy, they say.” From the badly hidden sneer on Corbeil's face and the way he eyed the inspector’s greatcoat and uniform underneath he did not think much of policemen in general, or of Javert in particular. It was an attitude many garde-chiourmes shared.

Javert ignored it, only too aware that while many guards envied him his transfer and promotion into the ranks of police agents because of the better salary (and general lack of bagne), they still thought such work cushy, for boot lickers and weaklings.

“I managed to recapture him more than once, yes.” The indolent wardens were only seeing the additional hassle for themselves, but Javert knew that the last thing the prefecture wanted to see appear in the Moniteur was, instead of another report about a balloon flight or mountaineering excursion, any article about the infamous ‘Convict Mayor of Montreuil’ - and Javert deeply disapproved of that moniker - having bested the authorities once more. Something like that would probably be front page! Hence Javert having to ride á la Hussar across France to join the search parties in Toulon. Javert turned back to climbing. If they had enough breath to speak in words longer than two syllables, they had enough breath to go on.

“You always know where he is? Like magic?” mocked Corbeil.

“That’s nonsense. Magic, hah. I am just familiar with his ways. And It is not as if he is the only escaped prisoner I have ever apprehended.” There was no arcane talent involved. Javert was simply more observant and diligent than the average prison guard. Or those who would rather complain about things being too exhausting than pay attention, Javert nearly added, but instead resumed his climb. It was not his place to try and correct them, nor did he have enough time to do so.

The rough limestone of the cliffs were not washed smooth by waves and wind as strangers to the region often assumed. It made it easier to not slip, but the harsh edges were prone to digging into hands and knees and tugging at clothes, snagging and pulling the climbers in directions they did not want to go. Even with ropes and the help of picks, it was a dangerous undertaking. A prisoner, weak from near-starvation and without any supplies, good footwear, or climbing gear, would have it much worse. Even the guards with their equipment had to be very careful scaling long passages, spotting each other in turn with ropes.

Corbeil wasn’t finished. “Maybe we’ll have him take the short way down, if you get my drift.”

“Good riddance to bad rubbish,” his colleague added.

“Are you two planning a murder in my presence? Because that is what it sounds like.” Javert promised silently that while he might not have the time to correct their unbecoming attitudes, he would have a word with the captain of the guards. The position was no longer held by the man Javert had served under, but when they had met upon Javert’s arrival the current captain had made a stern impression on the inspector nonetheless.

Both guards murmured something uncomplimentary about Javert and his ancestry and the proverbial stick in his ass.

Javert let it slide, he was too preoccupied with more important contemplations.

‘Damn you,’ the inspector thought, remembering with dread the mangled corpses of convicts who had tried, in their desperation, to conquer these cliff walls and had paid with their lives. If he did not know that Valjean, in contrast to Corbeil, must indeed have mountain goat ancestry and never had encountered a wall or surface he could not climb, he would have expected to see exactly that outcome hours ago. It was November, it was windy, it was cold and the terrain was treacherous, and maybe that idiot’s skills and luck had run out. They would only know for sure if he had survived when they found him; which he had better, the fool! Javert hadn’t taken the time to write a recommendation for incarceration instead of execution just for Valjean to die like this.

A hint of movement further up caught his attention, and he did his best to peer through the deep shadows. The afternoon sun was not strong enough to penetrate the deeper fissures. But from the short glimpse, it had not looked like a human silhouette; it had been far too big. But if perhaps that had been a trick of the light, it was best to take a look. And who else would be dumb enough to hide here?

“We might have found him.” And the prisoner had to have heard them coming from afar, with all the noise they had made climbing up - and the incessant complaining. But he would be trapped: there was no good way for a fugitive to escape them unobserved and slip by them on the cliff. Guards generally were equipped with pistols when on the hunt and weren’t known for their restraint in using them.

“Jean Valjean! There is no way for you to escape, give up!” Javert hollered upward.

Yes, there was indeed something alive and moving up there. But no curly head appeared over the ledge and no voice called out to them in surrender.

Javert instructed Corbeil to stay back and cover them from a little more distance when they finally got near the mouth of the cave. “But don’t shoot just because you see him. I would prefer not to have to carry him down, and a bullet might ricochet and hit something unintended. Like us.” Additionally, Javert had some doubts about how good the younger man’s aim might be. But luckily, Valjean had never been one to attack guards, always giving up when caught, and hopefully would do so again when they were near enough to confront him more directly.

“Goffinet, you are with me.”

The last few feet were made very hazardous by an overhang that forced a climber to make some risky moves to overcome, and Javert went first. The cave's opening came into view over the edge when he pulled himself up, and Javert was so relieved that his concentration and subsequently his right foot slipped and only hasty scrambling - and something pulling forcefully at the fabric of his coat - prevented him from falling.

Sharp pain blossomed in one of Javert’s shoulders and the momentary feeling of freefall was so powerful that it stole his breath. His feet kicked, the fingers of his hand clutching the ledge cramped and stung. When he finally found purchase and looked down to Goffinet holding the rope, he saw it dangling uselessly, the man that should have been holding it firmly instead staring up at Javert with wide, round eyes, his face pasty grey and his mouth open.

No, not up at Javert. He was staring at something beyond the inspector’s head.

Javert slowly followed that line of sight, still more concerned with calming his racing heart and reaching safety than with whatever had shocked that nincompoop, and then nearly lost his hold again. While he still planned to tear into the incompetent later for not doing his job, the guard’s reaction was… not totally unreasonable. What had saved him from a nasty fall had not been a convenient root or stone snatching his coat. It had been teeth.

Gigantic teeth, belonging to something Javert had only ever seen from a distance, flying high up in the sky and never up close: a huge dragon. All that Javert could easily see from his position was part of a head and rows upon rows of triangular, threateningly sharp-looking teeth, like a shark’s. And when he turned his head backward as far as it would go he could glimpse from the corner of his eye that some of them were buried in the shoulder seam of Javert’s greatcoat, neatly holding up the garment, like a hanger with the owner stuck inside. And the dangling inspector had a vantage point of just how big and strong that jaw was, easily enough to chomp him into two parts without any effort.

Javert was aware that his thoughts were leaning towards hysterical. “Dragons do not eat people, they do not,” he blurted aloud.

‘No, we don’t. Too stringy.’ The words popped into Javert’s head, and they were not his own thoughts.

“I beg your pardon?” stuttered Javert, aghast. Maybe he was hallucinating. 

His human companions had recovered some and were now shouting questions at Javert, but he ignored them. For what felt like an eternity no more words came, supporting Javert’s suspicions that this was a fever dream, maybe he had hit his head, but then that tickling, strange sensation was back.

‘Not that I have ever tried to eat a human, but it is well known. One of your ancestors far back in the past left enough of a bad impression that it became passed among all dragonkind. And maybe I should not make fun in this situation, I apologize.’

The thought-voice was very deep and rumbly, as Javert would have expected to come out of a mouth that was equipped with such distorted gums and a beastly throat. If he had ever contemplated what a dragon would sound like. Which he hadn’t, why should he? Dragons kept to themselves and when they mingled with humans they did so in their human forms, indistinguishable from the general populace. But despite that, it didn’t sound aggressive. If anything the dragon sounded chagrined and unhappy. 

‘Please calm down. I will assist you to reach the ledge, yes? Steady now, I will lift you up slowly.’

“Inspector Javert, watch out!”

The dragon hissed around his mouthful of fabric, alarmed, and Javert turned his head once again and peeked downward. “Corbeil, what the hell do you think to accomplish? Put that away!”

The fool had fumbled out his pistol and was aiming it with trembling hands at the dragon.

“But, but… dragon!”

“Who will drop me to my death if you shoot him and nobody would fault him! If it has escaped your notice, he,” and the voice had been distinctly masculine, “is assisting me. And even if you lie about why I fell - and I would certainly not aid you in such deception if I survive your stupidity - do you know the penalty for knowingly injuring a dragon?”

Corbeil kept stuttering but the muzzle of his pistol was no longer aimed at the dangling inspector and his unusual savior. “It will eat us all, it will!” The guard was nearly sobbing and Javert didn’t want to inspect the man’s breeches too closely; they might have acquired more stains than just dirt.

Goffinet meanwhile seemed to be still frozen, whether in awe or fright could not be distinguished.

“Nonsense!” Javert exclaimed and tugged himself further upwards, blithely ignoring his own fears from a minute before. “He said that he will not.”

“Said? It can talk? I don’t hear any words! Do you, Alain?” Goffinet exclaimed, shocked from his stupor, maybe wondering if the inspector had lost his mind.

‘They cannot hear my thoughts, only you are able to,’ the dragon helpfully elaborated, and then seemingly without much effort pulled the inspector, who was hardly a lightweight, into the mouth of the cavern and to safety. It was anything but dignified, Javert lay sprawled on his front in the dirt, but at least it was terra firma . The teeth then detached with surprising carefulness and the dragon backed away further into the cave to give Javert room to recover and sit up.

‘I hope I did not bite too deeply? I was erring on the side of certainty and it happened so fast, but even if I did not injure you, your shoulder has to hurt after what happened. Did you dislocate it?’

He tried first ridding himself of the dirt clinging to his clothes but after giving up the attempt - it was a lost cause anyways without the help of a brush - Javert carefully rotated his injured shoulder, and grimaced when it protested the motion. “Do not concern yourself, it does not seem as if any more than minor damage has been inflicted and that was caused by my own overextension, not your grip. And even if there are lacerations, I’d rather suffer a little,” or not so little, considering the size of those teeth, “perforation than a long fall.” His coat would have to be mended though, he did not add aloud, but only fingered the holes in the sturdy fabric. Still, thank God and Javert for choosing a garment that could take some abuse and still hold together.

Javert unwound the leading rope from his waist and then, after glaring at it, searched for a protrusion at the cave entrance to secure it to so that the two younger guards could manage the last leg of the climb safely.

‘That manoeuver was rather reckless and could have ended in your death. You should be more careful and choose more competent teammates in the future,’ lectured the overgrown lizard and despite the added distance his breath feathered warmly, and a bit disgustingly wetly, over Javert’s face.

“You are not telling me anything I do not know. I am not an idiot.”

‘Uhum.’ That comment sounded suspiciously like the dragon was of a different opinion.

“Monsieur Dragon,” Javert had never learned how to correctly address such a being, but politeness could never hurt, even if his current company might not necessarily value human norms. It was time to get back to business before the afternoon progressed much further and they had to abandon their task. “Since you do not eat humans I suspect that you have not made a meal out of the man we are seeking, but you might have seen him pass by? Nearly a head shorter than I, muscular, greying dark brown hair, clothed in a red smock and yellow pants? Dirty and of disreputable appearance. He is an escaped prisoner.” The last bit should be rather obvious, even to a dragon and especially one who had decided to lair near Toulon, but Javert wanted to judge how his new acquaintance reacted.

The dragon resembled a statue in the dim light of the cave.

‘Not only too stringy, but that would also have been too dirty, and not enough meat to bother with,’ finally came an answer, even if it was not helpful at all.

Outside the two guards had helped each other to reach the ledge and they were slowly shuffling nearer, fascination if not duty overcoming the animal instincts of flight in the presence of a dangerous predator. One of them had retrieved one of the strong storm lanterns all of them had carried for inspecting dark caverns and it lit up the darkness, shortly after helped by a second one.

“You do look like you could use a good meal, monsieur, if you don’t mind me saying so.” The furrows on Javert’s forehead deepened the more he took note of the poor condition the dragon was in. “Perhaps we can assist you? Are you unable to fly and thus unable to leave?”

Not only could Javert count the ribs on the being's broad torso where it wasn’t concealed by darkness or the hunched-over posture, but the thick hide looked lackluster and the enormous forelimb wings were folded awkwardly against his body, dragging them partially on the floor like a lame bird. He had to weigh tons, but could likely do with a few more, if he did not share a bird’s hollow bones. And he did resemble a bird, if a humongous bird had mated with a reptile, like one of the Egyptian crocodiles in the menagerie of the Jardin des Plantes. And, Javert wrinkled his nose, it did stink of old blood and other unpleasant things in the cave. A detail that rekindled the inspector’s distrust.

“Inspector, it seems there is something behind it.”

“He, not it,” corrected Javert. A being with nothing to hide and seeking help would have been more forthcoming by now. He pulled off his dirty and torn leather gloves, then confiscated a lantern from Corbeil and held it up, taking a step closer to the beast.

The dragon flinched back, blinking furiously and then shielding his head with a wing.

“You do look like you have been in a fight. Do I want to know how your opponent looks?” Javert tried to lightly tease to get the dragon to relax again.

‘Not a fight. Or, I should say, it was rather one-sided and I lost. Not my finest hour. The wall came away the winner,’ sighed the dragon. ‘Kindly don’t blind me with your lantern, please.’

“My apologies. But you are avoiding answering about the extent of your injuries. If you do not want to tell me, try one of my companions.” They were less intimidating than Javert, but why would that even matter to someone who would be able to crush all three humans without much effort, even injured?

The dragon shook his head. ‘They do not have what it takes to understand me. It is a minor miracle that I am able to communicate with you.’

“Somehow I get the impression that there is an insult hidden among that. I am not sure if it is personal or aimed at humanity as a whole.”

Maybe distracted by their conversation, or by exhaustion, or still blinded- what did Javert know about the intricacies of dragon biology? But whether by chance or design, the dragon moved just enough for Javert to be able to get a glimpse at what the being was guarding. Because he was surely guarding something, that sort of body language of keen alertness, keeping every probable threat in sight, and keeping one’s densest mass of body between their charge and any danger, was unmistakable. But despite the narrowness of the cave and the bulk of its body, the dragon could not react fast enough when Javert abruptly bent sideways. It was only a fleeting impression of something red and dirty before it was once again hidden behind a wall of dark brown scales, but it was enough to propel the inspector forward, alarmed and without thinking through his actions.

“Everyone lies, why did I think you would be different just because you are not human?” he growled and darted to the side again, more overt and forceful, trying to get a better look. “I know a smock when I see one!”

He put down the lantern and reached for his own pistol, his other hand retrieving the baton Javert had secured to the side of his pack. “So much for not seeing the prisoner,” he accused.

Corbeil and Goffinet, proving that they were not totally useless, had taken their cues from their leader’s actions and were aiming their own weapons at the dragon’s head. 

“Aim for his eyes or down his gullet!” Javert ordered. “If he makes one wrong move, shoot.”

The dragon stilled and no longer tried to prevent Javert from darting through the small space between the dragon and the rock wall deeper into the cave. 

But instead of the half-eaten body he had expected, Javert saw a round, elevated structure made of loose small stones and sand that, judging by the visible claw furrows, had been scraped into a pile from the cave floor. The mound had then been heaped with small loose twigs and leaves. And finally, the detail that had filled Javert with rage to glimpse, a rough, cheaply dyed red smock that was the standard garment of a prisoner, had been used to pillow three round, pale, solid globes the size of cabbages.

“That’s a nest.” Javert pointed out.

‘How observant of you. Now back off.’

“With eggs.” The comparison to birds made additional sense. And didn’t snakes and crocodiles lay eggs too?

‘My eggs. My unborn children, and I will not repeat myself, Javert. Back. Off.’ Smoke was slowly appearing in front of the wide snout, drifting in threatening curls out of the dragon’s nostrils and from between his teeth.

There wasn’t much known about dragon procreation. It was all kept jealously guarded, and among the human populace it was reduced to the subject of legends and salacious speculations that Javert had never had the time or interest to listen to. But defending one's young, and being unreasonable about it, was not just the prerogative of human mothers, and after narrowly surviving falling to his death today Javert had no intention of ending up being chomped to pieces. It was sensible to take one or two steps back to avoid that fate.

From a safer distance Javert gathered his courage. “I somehow doubt that you asked a fleeing prisoner politely for his clothes. Did you take it by force for your nest? Which would be theft, no matter the status of the one wearing it - and a show of bad taste. So, where is Valjean? You had better not have injured him. What did you do to him?” he demanded to know before another detail made him narrow his eyes. “And how do you know my name? I never introduced myself.” Maybe speaking mind to mind included mind reading, a very unpleasant possibility.

‘No, you did not, I didn’t think you had such bad manners. And I did not harm the man you are searching for.’

“Neither did you give me your name, so it is hypocritical of you to chastise me about my manners.”

“Uhm, monsieur L’Inspecteur? Maybe, if you don’t mind, don’t make the dragon angry?” Goffinet hesitantly suggested. The two spectators could only follow half of the conversation, but exhilaration and incredulousness warred on both their faces and they were slowly moving away in the direction of the cave mouth, even the danger of falling winning out when compared to a possibly pissed-off fire-breathing lizard.

‘More courage than sense, one day it will end badly for you, ’ commented the dragon, who was slowly slumping over in a show of unhappy defeat. Maybe it was the way those broad shoulders curled forward, maybe it was the tilt of his head, but suddenly Javert put the clues together and called himself an imbecile for not seeing it sooner.

“You!” he bellowed and the guards squeaked.

The scrapes on the strange plate-like protrusions resembling big scales on the dragon's body, his ill health, the hazel eyes that were familiar even with narrow slits instead of human pupils, and the empty red frock, all added up.

‘Yes, yes, don’t shout, there is no need for it. You caught me. Once again, congratulations. I should have known it would be you who turned up, like a bad penny.’

Javert was trembling with rage, reaching for his manacles and then abandoning them again because what use were they? They would not reach around a dragon’s appendages. At least not as long as he was in this form.

“Transform back, at once!” Since when was Valjean a dragon? There had never been any mention of such, shouldn’t that have been evident sooner? But Javert would not be derailed, he knew his duty.

“Are you suddenly hard of hearing, Valjean? Why are you still crouching there like an overgrown lizard? You are under arrest and have to obey me.”

The dragon sighed dejectedly and then did his best, in the narrow space available and under the scrutiny of three humans in various stages of astonishment and anger, to curl around his improvised nest, letting the furious inspector sputter and shout impotently.

“Do not ignore me!” Trust Valjean to create a situation that topped their previous encounters in unlikeliness and absurdity. Caves, eggs, dragons - those belonged in fairy tales, not police work. There were no known procedures to deal with this, beyond handing him over to the weyrs. It would all, Javert dearly hoped, make more sense as soon as the damn con shed his scales and appeared human once more.

“You say that’s the con we’ve been sent to capture? Should we, I don’t know, threaten to shoot it? Not that he seems to take us seriously, but maybe if we aim for the eggs-” Corbeil offered, sweating and clutching his pistol like a lifeline.

Now that caused a reaction! Valjean’s head flew up in alarm, the eyes narrowed to slits. Javert reached out, pressing one hand against the surprisingly soft leathery snout and the other in direction of the foolish Corbeil. Not only the guards appeared gobsmacked by Javert’s daring; the dragon also seemed to be holding his breath as well, his nostrils had closed shut instead of spitting fire and flame.

Why, why must Javert be burdened with underlings that were living examples of why the prison wardens were considered too unintelligent for any other work, to the point that most of the residents of Toulon preferred to interact with the prisoners rather than the guards?

“Most definitely not! The penalty for killing a dragon is swift execution, no question, no appeal. And humans who deliberately bring harm to their young are handed over to the weyrs. I don’t think you need much imaginative prowess to guess how that ends for the human. Do you really want to find out in person?” Javert kept his hand where it rested but his thoughts drifted to the nest and the vulnerable eggs within.

Those were the known laws when it came to dragons: don’t try to kill them, don’t try to engage and above all, don’t harm their young. Inform the ministry if you see a dragon or their young in distress.

“And we won’t need such threats, will we? The prisoner will cooperate, all of us will travel back to the bagne and then the admiralty will figure out how to deal with this.” Because Javert most certainly had no idea; it was beyond the authority of his lowly rank. “And now that we have all calmed down, Valjean, transform back and quit this pointless pouting.”

‘I would,’ even delivered as a thought, Valjean sounded like he was pressing the words out between his teeth, ‘if I could. Don’t you think I would have transformed days ago and been off and away with my eggs if I could? These,’ he rustled his wings in the direction of the inspector, making him back away a little bit despite his resolution to not give an inch, ‘are not made to handle delicate things like eggs.’

No, the very sharp and dangerous-looking claws on the dragon form’s hindfeet could not handle anything safely. Nor were the winged forelegs anything much like a hand, with their wicked crescent claw adorning the strong and dextrous thumb-like digit of the sort of palm that bore the dragon’s weight when going on all fours. The smaller claws at the tips of the long bones like fingers, where the leathery web of wing stretched between them, were not made for gripping and were not adequate tools to safely move eggs. Beyond maybe rolling them carefully across a floor to get them into the nest, Javert thought, and tried to picture it in his head. The storm lanterns provided enough light to make some suspicious darker stains on the cavern floor visible. Javert knew bloodstains when he saw them and it made him scrutinize Valjean’s dragon body more closely, going so far as to fetch and raise his abandoned lantern and slowly try and circle him.

Valjean kept himself between the humans and his nest as much as possible but he made no more threatening moves.

“I do not see any serious wounds or fresh blood,” Javert said suspiciously. “What are you trying to achieve, pretending otherwise?”

‘I laid eggs, obviously. I know you are intelligent enough to extrapolate. A hint, it is not a neat or easy process.’ The mental voice sounded so unlike the one Valjean had when he was in human form. No wonder Javert had not recognized him immediately. It conveyed an undertone of embarrassment, buried under frustration and worry.

“Dragons are fast healers.” That much was known to even the most ignorant human. It was one of the reasons no one ever wanted a dragon on a battlefield. Not only were they heavily armored, but hits that bypassed such a thick hide would not keep them down long unless the wounds were fatal.

‘Not that fast, and not for ah, internal injuries. But they will heal like others, given enough time.’

Even if he wanted to inspect and help, he had no knowledge of midwifery. Javert could feel heat flooding up from his neck and he hoped it was hidden by his sideburns and the darkness of the cave. 

“Well, it seems we have enough time to clarify some details. Why didn’t you inform a head guard about your predicament instead of fleeing? You should have learned by now that it would make matters worse! This can’t be a healthy environment for your eggs.”

‘Neither is a jail,’ hissed Valjean.

“How dare you! If you are playing on my sympathies…” then Valjean had severely miscalculated!

‘What are you talking about now?’ asked Valjean.

“You know very well, do not play dumb!”

‘No, I do not.’ 

If Valjean did not remember their words during the fight they had at the hospital when the inspector had cornered him, then Javert would not dredge up that personal embarrassment. It had been bad enough that the inspector had shouted out personal information during their fight at the hospital, repeating that indiscretion now would be adding insult to injury.

“Never mind, let’s deal with this newest commotion you’ve caused. There are dozens of guards and soldiers out hunting for you, and a frigate has even been recalled to aid and survey the coastline! I ,” he emphasized, “was summoned by the commissaire de chiourmes! If you recall, I have not worked at the bagne for years, and do not want to, but here I am!” growled Javert.

‘You are acting as if I did this to inconvenience everyone and you personally, which is not the case. If everything had worked to plan-’

“Which it never does when it comes to your illegal schemes. Haven’t we established that yet?” Javert deepened his glare to drive the point home.

‘- I would have reached a weyr before the laying started, instead of getting stranded inside a cave with no help, above a prison with supremely unobservant watchmen,’ continued Valjean, ignoring the admonishment.

Javert stilled and then slowly sucked in a deep breath at the implications.

‘Do you really think I am incompetent enough to be sighted in broad daylight if I did not want to be? Repeatedly? You lot took your time.’ Valjean shook his enormous head and succeeded, despite his current form, in conveying disdain; maybe it was the way the bony ridges on his nose were pulled downward or the small huff of exasperation added at the end.

“You want to convince me that this is to be seen as a rescue operation, not a recapture?” asked Javert incredulously.

‘At this point, I fear it is a mixture of both. But nevertheless, it would be prudent to hurry with the rescue part of the day, if you don’t mind.’

Javert wanted to insist that no matter how politely that order was worded, he did not follow commands from escaped convicts. Unfortunately, the man did have a point, and arguing with him for their audience’s entertainment would not get them out of this cave any faster.

“You will come along, back to the bagne, without protest, if we also carry your young to safety,” he summed up, and the guards perked up. They were not any more eager to remain here than Javert or Valjean were, it seemed.

Valjean nodded. ‘I promise not to give you any problems.’

“Why don’t I believe that,” murmured the inspector and then changed his focus to the nest and its occupants. “Corbeil, Goffinet, I am going to approach the nest, stay back. There is no cause for alarm, I have reached an accord with the prisoner.”

Valjean nudged his hand, still raised toward the dragon’s face in a gesture of restraint, and then had the audacity to tug at Javert’s sleeve. ‘Please be aware that my instincts are riled and having people I do not trust near my eggs has me on a hair trigger. It might be best to inform me of your every action before you implement it. If you do not it might lead to… misunderstandings.’

“I want to assess them to get a better idea of how to get them down this godforsaken cliff wall safely. For that I need to have a much closer look and maybe pick one up-”

Valjean hissed, showing off his array of teeth, sharper than any dagger. They did not look any less dangerous from a slightly greater distance.

“-with the utmost care, I assure you. I do need to get a feel for how to safely transfer them into a basket. The backpacks we carry theoretically have enough room, but they are not sturdy enough, and lack padding.” There was no need to expound on all the horrific outcomes that form of transport might have.

To their audience, it surely appeared slightly silly, but Javert kept up a running commentary until he was on his haunches in front of the nest mound. “I am now going to tug away the cloth, just enough to get a look at how big your eggs are, yes? Nothing is going to happen to them…”

In the past this had been the tone of voice Javert had used to calm spooked horses. Considering the twitching and sometimes nearly whimpering noises coming from the dragon, that wasn’t such a bad comparison.

His hand was inches away from reaching the smock and the eggs underneath. Suddenly, and Javert was surprised at how agile and fast Valjean was despite his hulking form and their restrictive environs, very much like a horse indeed, his snout was fully interposed between Javert’s reaching hands and the eggs, pushing him back. Javert had to grip the leathery skin or he would have landed on his backside.

Valjean did not try to remove himself from Javert’s grip until he had regained his balance, and then tried to explain. ‘Your hands are bleeding.’

Well, no wonder, after the afternoon Javert had had. His leather gloves had not been up to the abuse of the scramble at the cave mouth, and while the damage was not severe or deep enough to impair their usefulness, his hands were indeed quite bloody. While Javert might not have uncovered the eggs for close inspection, he had still seen enough of them to not be able to hold back a derisive snort at this. “And their shells appear to be filthy already, a little bit of blood won’t make much of a difference.”

‘I did my best to clean them and make them comfortable with the means I had! I already mentioned the drawbacks of no opposable thumbs. Oh God, how to explain this? Maybe I should have let you, but- no.’

Javert sighed, pulled out his handkerchief, tore it apart down the middle, and wound it around his hands. This day was turning out dangerous for his wardrobe as well as his sanity. They had not thought to pack bandages, a clear oversight. “Stop rambling and start making sense. You were the one who insisted that we should hurry, and I get the impression that time is running out somehow?”

He watched as Valjean used his snout to nuzzle the eggs and push the red cloth away. He seemed to pay special attention to the smallest of the eggs, going so far as to lick it tenderly.

It made Javert grimace. He had always insisted that convicts were beasts, but to see such behavior was disturbing.

“From what I am able to see they should all fit into a sturdy laundry basket. As long as they are as round as they appear to be?” 

Valjean nodded in affirmation but did not quit his tending, seemingly absorbed in the care for his young.

“Then I will send for a big enough basket and we will lower it to shore level with the help of ropes and men steadying it on the way down. I will have to pick them up, you are aware? Or someone else will,” Javert admonished sharply.

‘I prefer if you do it.’

“You can’t have it both ways.” Javert got up and then went back to give his men new orders and a hastily written note for the captain. The poor man would have a hard time believing the note, but it could not be helped, and the two guards would confirm that it was not some ill-considered joke.

Rappelling down was much safer than climbing up, as long as the one securing the rope paid attention, Javert sent a pointed glare at Goffinet. And someone had to stay with the prisoner while the required basket was fetched and their commander was informed about this new development. 

The guards were not happy about leaving their fellow, fancy inspector or not, alone with the dragon, but by their shifty eyes and the haste they applied when leaving it was a clear case of ‘better him than us’.

“We have nothing but time to converse until they return. I would appreciate a more concise explanation or a suggestion of how to handle this to your,” Javert sneered, “esteemed satisfaction.”

With the departure of the two guards Valjean had relaxed some, his wings no longer tense and raised for fast action but spread out on the ground.

“Go on, explain yourself. Maybe we can avoid more confusion.”

‘Yes, quite. From the beginning: I did not know, when I broke my chains and fell into the water and then swam ashore, that I would not have more time before laying. When I tried to fly away the cramps overwhelmed me, and I crashed into the cliff wall in my haste to descend, that was not a lie.”

Crashed into a cliff wall. And the idiot showed no signs of recognizing what kind of hair-brained adventure he was telling. It was enough to make Javert’s head hurt. But what else could he expect from a man who wrestled with escaping bulls?

‘And then I was stuck and had to hope that someone was paying enough attention to see me flapping my wings. I thought that should do it, people would be searching for me and it would catch their attention, but no. By the time it was clear that a search party would not be appearing inside the timeframe I had expected, the option to fly- well, the nearest weyr is somewhere near Grenoble and I have no idea where exactly it is situated! And I would have had to leave the eggs helpless - remember that I was unable to transform so there was no way for me to explain things to humans.’ Another slow lick, another grimace from Javert.

‘If you look closely you can see that this one is not as bright and white as the others?’

The eggs, now that Javert had the time, proximity, and an unobstructed view to scrutinize them, would never be confused with belonging to an ordinary species. Two were white, like chicken eggs sometimes were, but their texture was not the smoothness of shell, instead matching their parent’s leathery skin in texture and make. Javert did not have the words to describe the way they seemed to glow softly from within, all that came to mind was lovely. All of them but one. The third, the smallest one, had taken on a grey sheen, resembling the one Valjean’s scales sported and just as unhealthy. And the radiance from within was weaker. 

“Something is amiss with the smallest one?” he asked.

‘All of them are suffering, but the smallest is impacted the worst, yes.’

“What needs to be done?” Because something had to be! Javert had often faced death and been confronted with how life was finite and cruel, but these unborn lives deserved a chance to grow and do better than their parent, to grow beyond their circumstances. “Would your lover know how to care for them? Where is he? Has he helped you escape?”

‘My lover?’ echoed Valjean, his claws raking the floor and creating deep furrows and a truly abominable noise that had Javert gritting his teeth.

“Don’t play obtuse. The father of your offspring.”

‘Dragon procreation does not work like that. We are more like poultry than mammals.’

Javert pointedly looked at the eggs and then sent a scathing sneer at Valjean, conveying how unimpressed he was by that lackluster attempt at being vague. “I am not a farmer or expert at animal husbandry, but I’ve been sent as a boy to collect eggs from the henhouse. Those aren’t like eggs that have never seen a cock. And you are not the new coming of the Virgin Mary.”

‘I am trying to find a way to explain that makes sense to you, of course it is not a perfect simile! To put it bluntly, to thrive, to hatch and be born, they need more than my care, they need a…foreign contribution, for want of a better expression, like any other birth. If you had introduced your blood to them they would have taken that.’

“That sounds like nonsense.” And Javert was not buying it.

Valjean grumbled. ‘Normally I would have lain the eggs, selected a second parent for them beforehand, and there would have been a time-honored ceremony where the whole wing would have celebrated the creation of new dragonets. The human male body is not made for pregnancy, eggs, or babies, and I was in my human form until shortly after the cramps which signaled what was happening started, and again, I overestimated how long I had before the laying. It’s not as if I had ever experienced something like that before!’

“Never have I heard anything this ridiculous, how about ‘no’? Whom are you trying to protect with your lies? The father? Is M. Robert the father?” The bourgeois had been one of Madeleine’s biggest supporters and had been seen regularly in the former mayor's company. The man was still one of those few defending the false mayor. “But he is not a dragon. Or, not as far as anyone knows, given we did not know this tiny little detail about you either.”

‘Monsieur Robert has nothing to do with my eggs. He was never my lover. And no, he isn’t a dragon. My eggs do not have a father. Which is the problem.’ Valjean slowly enunciated like explaining something to an especially stubborn child.

“So the only thing that is needed is for someone, and soon, to bleed on them. According to you.”

‘Or to ejaculate, I have to add, in the spirit of full disclosure. But the most common method is indeed via blood; the other is frowned upon in a big ceremonial setting as you might be able to guess,’ added the scaly menace.

“Valjean! This is not the situation for bad jokes!” Nor did Javert want a lesson in dragon etiquette, though he was faintly relieved to learn that dragons had some moral decency; after the earlier animalistic display he had been worried.

‘Is the explanation I offer really so far-fetched? Dragons change between their shapes, one of them a huge scaly beast able to breathe fire, the other a regular human with far less of their alter ego's weight. You know that as a fact, why is this new aspect of my biology so unbelievable? I have no reason to lie.’ Once again the clutch was caressed and then the dragon let his head sink to the filthy cave floor. ‘The Black Talon Weyr is nearest, and the news of a clutch in danger means they will hurry. The commissaire or the mayor of Toulon should know where to send a message so it will reach them. It’s something every high ranking officiary is told upon starting their job. You will be able to have everything verified soon.’

The implied fine distinction, that other dragons would rescue the eggs , but not Valjean, was something to be kept in mind. Maybe he was regarded as an outlaw by his own people as well? Javert did not want to fire up - hah! - Valjean’s well-honed flight instincts by inquiring aloud.

Valjean was staring up at Javert, unblinking. The dragon seemed to be holding his breath for a moment before he began to speak. ‘Will you touch them and thus ensure their survival? Have mercy, Monsieur l’Inspecteur! I will never ask you for anything beyond this, you will not be beholden to them nor me, but I’d rather this be done by someone I know than some stranger or… no one.’

The outcry for mercy, reminiscent of another parent trying to plead with him, was uncomfortable. But here he was confronted with the offspring in question. There was no doubt of their existence. They weren’t fabrications of a criminal mind designed to get a culprit out of their well-deserved punishment. And even if Valjean was , for whatever hair-brained reason, trying to get Javert to do something ridiculous for his own aberrant amusement, what could it hurt? If this was all a hoax it would alter nothing, and nobody but Valjean was here to see him make a fool of himself. And if it was a hoax Javert would see to it personally that prisoner 24601 would rue the day that he made such a tasteless joke!

“Know? That is not the right word, is it? You have to hate me, surely?” He poked the dragon, verbally and with the tip of his right boot.

Valjean squirmed. ‘I do not like your attitude and you aggravate me endlessly-’

“Likewise! I would be worried if I was held in high esteem by a criminal. That is nothing an honest officer of the law should strive for!”

‘You are known to me, you might even be the person I’ve known the longest still alive, and you are one of the most steadfast and courageous men I have ever met, even if I do not approve of how you use your gifts. If this is too much to ask then we do nothing, you can borrow some gloves from one of the men I can hear gathering at the bottom of the cliff, and I will ask you to relay my desperation and need to your colleagues. If they do not want to donate as well,’ the voice broke but then carried on, ‘I’ll pray to God and hope that it will not be too late and help from the weyr will be in time.’

The littlest egg, compared to its strongly-glowing and thus, to his untrained eye, healthier-appearing siblings, might not have that time. Javert stared at it fixedly, not betraying the war in his chest. “Give me a minute, please.”

Valjean obeyed, maybe sensing that more words, and not following that given order, would be detrimental. First Javert steepled his fingers and turned away from the nest to look out at the bright afternoon sky. Then he unwound the makeshift bandage he had applied earlier and thoughtfully scrutinized the gash that by now had begun to stop seeping. He stretched out his fingers as far as possible, and then balled the hand hard in turn until the early scabbing broke fully open. Did he really want to do this? No matter how much (or little) Valjean expected of him in the future, if the con was not trying to scam him, again, then this would mean more than saving a life merely by bandaging a wound or keeping his hands on a bullet wound so the patient did not bleed out. He had been required to do both of those more than once. But this-

“One, let us call it application , is all that is needed and the eggs will require no further donations?” Javert carefully asked, keeping his voice bland.

‘Yes! The eggs will need to be kept warm and safe until hatching but nothing more will be required from you or anyone else in this particular regard.’

No matter how Valjean tried to couch it in vaguer terms, what it sounded like was an act of deliberate procreation, different in method but essentially the same as if Javert joined with a woman, as distasteful as that thought was. Not that there was anything wrong with women, or other men fathering brats with them, but Javert had discovered at a young age that the feminine half of humanity did nothing to rouse his blood.

First Javert turned his palm upward to show it, then reached out to the egg most in need, giving Valjean ample time to protest or shove Javert’s hand away like he had done before. 

The leathery shell was butter soft on contact before becoming slippery with Javert’s blood. Javert had had no expectations for some dramatic reaction, and there was none. His fingers kept stroking, massaging the blood in when there were no further instructions forthcoming from Valjean. Both of them were observing closely. Instead of drying and then flaking off, the blood seemed to disappear as if evaporating, or being absorbed into the shells.

“Is it working?” asked Javert.

‘Yes, please keep doing what you are doing and thank you, this means so much to me. Thank you, Inspector Javert,’ the voice repeated, sounding nearly choked with relief. A quick glance up and Javert noted that while the eye he could see from his position had a wet sheen, there were no tear tracks. Maybe dragons weren’t able to cry?

Since he did not want to lift his hand Javert used his teeth to pull away the bandage on his other hand and began to repeat the process with another egg. In for a penny, in for a pound; there was no point wasting any more time or resources. “Tell me when it is enough.”

‘I will.’ With a rustling of wings and a low moan, Valjean moved until he had formed a tight circle, with the nest and the inspector in the center. Javert grimaced, but as he was sitting he could not avoid the bodily contact without taking his hands away from the shells, alternating his touch between all three. At least there was no chance for him to fall back over this time, with an exceedingly strange but solid body acting as his backrest. Javert could feel the dragon’s every draw of air, every shuddery exhale. 

Could this be a fever dream caused by stew going bad? 

‘The decline wasn’t sudden, and I don’t think the recovery will be either, but from what my dear Maman told me of the old customs this should be enough,’ Valjean interrupted Javert's musings.

Neither was the act of siring a child a lengthy process, so this seemed appropriate somehow. Or not, Javert shook his head, and then leaned back, observing the result of his act, his hands loosely clasped in his lap, stinging from the repeated aggravations of the cuts. Maybe he was imagining it, but the littlest egg seemed to be less grey.

‘You should clean those cuts as soon as possible and put some salve on the wounds,’ Valjean cautioned after minutes of blessed silence.

“I will, as soon as we are back.” The canteen full of water had been in Corbeil’s bag and was thus out of reach; they hadn’t thought that there would be any need for more than one. Shackles were heavy enough to lug around without adding unnecessary provisions. The way the dragon extended his head and began sniffing made another thought arise. 

“There is no need to offer to lick them!” Javert shuddered in disgust.

‘That is not what I was going to suggest!’

Liar , was what Javert wanted to say, but he only huffed and settled down again.

They kept each other silent company, each lost in their own thoughts, until shouts demanded that Monsieur l’Inspecteur should please confirm that he was still among the living and unharmed reached them. Javert disentangled himself to answer. He stuck his head over the edge outside and was greeted by Corbeil and Goffinet helping each other to the next to last safe place below the overhang, hailing him with obvious relief by waving and smiling. They were dragging a wicker basket on a rope and further down Javert was able to make out a group of soldiers, guards and their horses mingling on the shore.

“Not that I am not happy to see you return so promptly but why did the capitaine des garde-chiourmes not send up someone rested instead?” Javert put one hand on the rope to steady it and offered his other to help the men reach him more easily and suppressed a wince when their grip aggravated his palms further.

“Commissaire Renault has taken over command in the field personally! He even rode back out with us, can you imagine? He said it might not be advisable to send another stranger to a dragon’s nest. Asked us if we were up for it! And he said we’re already familiar with the terrain.” Goffinet puffed out his chest, chuffed by the trust the highest officer at the Bagne - the admiral himself! - had shown them. His partner was still too exhausted to do more than nod at the pertinent high points. “We’ll get a bonus as well! You too, Sir, isn’t that great?”

Javert did not know what to say to that and busied himself with inspecting the supplies. Maybe it was his own exhaustion speaking, but considering his experiences with the two guards' competence - or lack thereof - mayhap M. Renault simply did not want to waste more useful underlings.

“The eggs are well? And there are baby dragons inside, truly?” asked Goffinet, and there was genuine concern in the younger man’s voice. Maybe Javert should not judge him too harshly; they all had a difficult day and both of the men had returned and fulfilled their duties despite their earlier grumblings.

“Yes to both. Where is the padding I asked for? The basket will serve nicely, thank you, put it down over there,” Javert ordered and pointed at where the dragon, his dark scales blending with the darkness, was sitting sentry near the nest.

“If you don’t mind, Sir, maybe do that yourself? He seems to be more comfortable with you, non?” Goffinet added hastily. “And here, the blanket!”

The blanket was from the horse stables. The rough fabric would be adequate padding, compensating for sudden movements and acting as a buffer between the eggs and the wicker mesh of the basket, but it was a crude weave and the thought of it rubbing against the soft shells was unacceptable. He had not gone to all this trouble to let anything happen to them now. But what to do? Javert considered his options and then nodded firmly. 

“Please turn around for a minute, monsieurs,” he ordered, and began to unbutton his greatcoat. “It is my own fault, I should have been more precise in my requests, but we need a softer innermost layer and the afternoon is running short. Nobody wants to make this climb again so I will use what is at hand. Unless one of you wants to supply their garments to the cause?”

Both guards shook their heads emphatically and turned around fast.

Minutes later Javert tugged the basket into position, and knelt down, clothed fully but for his shirt. He was aware of the intense scrutiny he was under but ignored the onlookers, humans and dragon alike, in favor of completing his task. His unusually tall frame made buying clothes a nuisance sometimes but in this, his height came in useful for more than towering over miscreants. The shirt was cut big and generous enough, counting the shirt tails, to serve as covering for all three eggs, and the sleeves could be used to tie everything into place for additional security on the way down. The fabric was still warm from his body.

A hundred years ago it had been custom among the upper class for newborns fresh out of their mother’s womb to be wrapped into their father's fine linen shirts, even before getting cleaned up; to greet them and lessen the shock of birth by offering a soft haven. Javert remembered this while carefully handling the eggs. These were not squealing babies and Javert was not nobility but it still felt appropriate.

Valjean shifted his weight and moved back and forth incrementally. Maybe his thoughts were running in a similar direction, maybe he was simply relieved.

When had Javert stopped worrying about how near the dragon was to him? He was no longer trying to keep up with where every sharp talon or dangerous-looking spike was in relation to his own body. Javert shoved the thought away as inconsequential.

“We are ready to depart. Remember your promise, Valjean. You will fly down and wait at the bottom.”

‘You have something more precious than my freedom in your care, you have no need to worry,’ came the immediate answer.

Javert’s investment in a smooth descent did, he admitted to himself, go beyond professional worry and pride for a job well done. Was he feeling paternal? He had heard about some parents developing a firm attachment and immediate need to keep their helpless, squealing and frankly alarming little bundles of joy safe. No, Javert decided after poking at the worry, despite his earlier musings, that could not be the case here, surely? He never had any interest in siring offspring or raising children. But… there had been something special about those eggs beyond the obvious.

“Corbeil, you will go first and steady the basket from underneath, Goffinet will keep you safe,” It took first a few calculations and then measuring the available rope to estimate how many stops on the way down they would need. “I will hold one line, you both will have control of the second, if one fails the other should hold.”

Hearing about even the chance of something going wrong made the dragon whimper and shift. 

“Let’s do this before the sun goes down and we have a lack of natural light as an additional worry. Prisoner 24601, can I trust you to meet us at the bottom? There are not enough spots for you to perch on on the way down unless those claws are made for clinging to walls.”

‘They are not primarily made for that, no, but I can scale walls in this form. I will not leave my young.’

“As long as you meet us at the ground, do not injure one of the soldiers, or cause more problems, I don’t care how you reach the shore,” proclaimed Javert, and signaled the others to start climbing.

The three humans began the descent, much slower than when the two guards had done it earlier. Due to his elevated place in the rope hierarchy Javert was the one who had the most comprehensive view, and could shout down instructions. The descent was not smooth, and it made the three human climbers curse under their breath more than once, but they kept the basket safe.

Seeking his own way down, not far from the rescue party, and keeping pace with them, Valjean proved that he was once more in complete disregard of the way steep walls were supposed to work, in either of his forms. The few side glances Javert could spare when not concentrating on the eggs offered him glimpses of an upside-down dragon crawling like an overgrown bat over the stone.

Jean Valjean would turn the inspector’s hair grey before he reached his fourth decade.

Some of the braver soldiers who were observing them from below began to climb up, pointing out handholds. Others helped to keep them steady over the debris that had accumulated on the last stretch, loose boulders and smaller stones that were in their own way as treacherous as the cliff wall itself.

Soldiers, guards, one inspector, a basket full of eggs, and a bedraggled dragon were finally all safe on the shore, and ready to return to Toulon. The soldiers might initially have thought they were prepared for their prisoner, or even eager to see a dragon in the flesh, but now that Valjean was among them, contrasted against the water… He was near enough to touch, no longer disguised by distance, movement, or blending with the grey cliff, and they did not know what to do.

The horses were not confused though, not at all, they knew how to react sensibly when faced with a dragon. One of them started to rear and buck, and the others followed suit, overwhelming their handlers. The resulting chaos was considerable and gave the gaping soldiers something more constructive to do. It would take time to catch the horses that broke away.

Javert sighed. He was not technically part of the chain of command here, and nobody thought to include him in the procedures. He stood at the dragon’s side with the wicker basket full of strange eggs at his feet. This day, it seemed, and the problems Valjean was so talented at causing, were far from over. 

“This,” Javert said and glared up, “is all your fault!” 

No thought-answer was offered and they waited side by side for the convoy to move towards the prison.

Somehow, Javert thought sourly, Fate seemed to insist on throwing him at this man time and time again with neither of them able to avoid the other. Once was a happenstance, twice was a coincidence, three times was a pattern*. Depending on how he counted they were beyond that count already, and even a man not prone to flights of fancy like Javert could take the hint.

What was four?

If it was up to Javert to keep the menace named Jean Valjean in check, he would meet that challenge head on.

With the added complications of eggs. God help him.

The End (for now)