Chapter Text
Cold. The first sensation that Dahlia feels every morning—bitter, biting cold.
She figures she should be grateful for it on some level, at least the pain of being cold reminded her that she was still alive. Between the rampant disease and constant starvation, dying in the middle of the night was a common—but tragic—occurrence in her village. Without the dubious luxury of being dead, Dahlia rises from the pile of straw that she calls a bed, throwing off her threadbare blanket.
Dusting herself off, she makes her way to the meager closet where her and her siblings' clothes are stored. Each of them owns only two outfits—one for sleeping and one for everything else. Dahlia strips out of her sleeping tunic and hurriedly puts on her simple dress and shoes before the cold can seep further into her naked flesh. She pulls her long, dark hair back into a simple bun. Although she owns no mirror, she can tell that locks of stray hair are sticking out everywhere.
Having neither a reason nor the desire to keep fussing over her hair, Dahlia takes a deep breath and walks to the door. She gently pulls the door open—careful not to further damage the already rotting wood—and makes her way into the rest of her family's home. She's grateful to have a door at all, as it offers at least some semblance of privacy, even if she still shares a room with her siblings.
Dahlia finds her mother and siblings sitting in the small living area of their ramshackle cottage eating their meager breakfast. A couple bites of stale bread, watered-down soup, and a small cup of goat's milk. Hardly very filling, but better than going through the day with a completely empty belly.
"Good morning, dear," Dahlia's mother doesn't need to look at her daughter to know she is there. The creaking floors give it away.
As soon as Dahlia walks close enough, her mother absentmindedly hands her the remaining slice of dried-out bread.
"Good morning, mother. Have you found anything new to sell in the market today?"
Her mother shakes her head. One of the few ways they are able to keep their family afloat is by selling what little possessions they are able to part with. Things such as heirlooms and sentimental trinkets. And even then, the monetary value of those items is always incredibly low. The heirlooms of peasants are nothing compared to the heirlooms of the nobility in the kingdom capital.
"I'm afraid we've sold everything we own that would be of any noteworthy value, except for the clothes on our backs."
Dahlia hated seeing her mother like this. She had already been through enough by losing their father, now she has to part with the few things she had to her name just to keep them from starving?
She notices her mother sadly looking down at her silver ring, gently turning it around on her finger.
"I suppose...I could part with this. It isn't real silver, but it might be worth a few coins."
"No!" Dahlia yelled, "You aren't selling your ring! Father gave it to you. You shouldn't have to give up something so important just to feed us."
"Dahlia, feeding my family is the most important thing I can do. It's my job as your mother. We have to do what's necessary to survive." Her mother, once again, looks sadly at her ring. Her voice grows small and broken, "Even if we would rather not."
Dahlia thinks for a moment, shoving the last of her bread in her mouth, before letting out a frustrated breath.
"I know. Just-just don't sell your ring yet. Maybe I can figure something out."
Her mother smiles, but Dahlia can still see the doubt behind her eyes. They say their goodbyes as Dahlia heads out. She asks her siblings if they'd like to come with her to the village market, but they decline. They know there is nothing there that they haven't seen before. And nothing they can afford.
The village market is more a show of impoverished desperation than a true market. Starving vagrants lay about the streets begging for coins and food, demoralized vendors sell broken items of incredibly poor quality, and poor buyers scrape together what little money they have to try and buy the bare necessities that are available.
The pitiful sight makes Dahlia think back to her childhood. To the one time she visited a real market.
Her father was a merchant. Not an especially wealthy one, but they were much better off back then. The entire village of Hollovale was much better off back then.
Dahlia remembers how her father's business as a merchant required him to travel often. Sometimes, he would even get to travel to the kingdom capital. The thought used to awe Dahlia as a child, back when she still looked upon royalty with childish naivety. Her father would normally travel alone, but on her seventh birthday, her father gave her a wonderful surprise—he was taking her and her mother to the capital market on his next business trip.
It was all so exciting! Dahlia didn't even mind that the actual journey to the capital took two weeks. Once they got there, Dahlia was astonished at all the food, jewelry, and clothing that were being sold. Since her siblings weren't born yet, she had her parents all to herself. She spent much of the trip dragging them around to every vendor that caught her eye.
Her father bought her three new dresses, as well as a faux-silver ring for her mother. He offered to buy her mother a real silver ring, but she declined. They all rode a carriage back home with their new gifts in tow, ready to show the rest of the village.
That was thirteen years go.
Over time, things began to change. The kingdom of Stahlgard began to obtain more wealth through alliances and wars with other kingdoms. Simple merchants from outlying villages like Hollovale were no longer as valuable to the kingdom as they once were. Dahlia's father eventually lost his source of income. He had to take on more grueling—and lower paying—physical labor jobs to make ends meet.
Eventually, her family had to resort to selling their possessions. When her brother—Cedar—was born, they had to sell much of their nice clothing. Dahlia's three birthday dresses also had to be sold. When her sister—Fern—was born a year later, their nice furniture was the next thing to be sold.
Little by little, year after year, they lost more and more. The greatest loss of all being her father, who worked himself into an early grave.
The village of Hollovale was slowly forgotten and left to rot by the rest of Stahlgard. Money, resources, and job opportunities slowly dried up over the years—although the kingdom made sure to still tax them. The lucky ones were able to leave quickly while those left behind try to pick up the pieces. Dahlia had to watch her once thriving village wither into a shell of its former self, all so the wealthy royalty could line their palaces with even more gold.
Dahlia forces the memories of better days back into the furthest corners of her mind. There's no use dwelling on what was. This is reality now.
Cedar and Fern were right when they pointed out that there is nothing in the market that they can afford, but that doesn't mean there aren't any ways of getting things here. She helps vendors sell their broken wares, chase away mice and rats from any food that is being sold, and helps buyers carry items back to their homes. Running around town all day is exhausting, but in exchange, vendors and buyers give her some food and money as compensation. It was never a lot, but it was better than nothing.
After a long day of running all over, Dahlia tiredly trudges back home with her food and money in tow. As the sun begins to set, Dahlia finds herself accosted by a strange man. He is missing several teeth, has warts and sores all over his weathered skin, and his eyes are bloodshot and jaundiced. He looks very sickly and appears to be twenty years older than her. If not more.
"Well, aren't you a pretty little thing? What's a nice-lookin' lady like you doing runnin' around town all day? I was watchin' you, and I thought you were gonna pass out."
Dahlia bites her bottom lip, a familiar feeling of discomfort creeps up her spine.
"I was helping some folks around the market," she says, trying to hide her annoyance at being stopped like this. "I do favors around town."
The man smiles hideously, eyeing her daily profits. Then he starts eyeing her body.
"So...you do favors for money, huh? Well, I can think of a 'favor' you can do for me. I'll pay you real nice..."
Dahlia immediately tenses up and prepares to leave. She doesn't miss the man's implication, and it makes her skin crawl.
"I don't do that, sir. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to head back home."
She quickly walks around the man, hoping he'll take the hint, but of course, he doesn't. They never do.
He catches up to her and adopts a tone of fake sincerity.
"Come on, sweetheart. It's been real lonely since my wife died, and I could really use the tender comfort of a beautiful woman. Especially one so young and full of life as you. There ain't much of that left in this village no more."
He reaches a hand out to touch her shoulder. His grip is hard. He leans in to whisper in her ear; his breath is hot and rancid.
"And I've been savin' up for something special like this..."
Dahlia jerks out of his grip and runs away as fast as she can. She runs until she's out of breath, hoping he doesn't follow her. He didn't seem like the sort who could run very fast, but better to be safe than sorry. By the time she's grown too exhausted to keep running, her family's cottage is in view. She looks behind her to check if the man has followed her. He hasn't. She huffs out a breath of relief.
This wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Men proposition her on a regular basis. Despite being malnourished like nearly everyone else in the village, Dahlia still possesses a natural beauty. Unfortunately, that made her a target for unwanted attention. These men would attempt to entice her into their beds with promises of food and money. Several of the village women had to resort to prostitution just to get by. Dahlia respects those women for doing what they must to survive, but she didn't want that for herself, regardless of how destitute she may be.
She'd rather her first time not be transactional.
The sun has fully set over the valley, and Dahlia slowly approaches the door of her home. Before she opens it, however, she finds herself compelled to look up at the mountain overlooking her village. Even from the ground she can see the opening of the cave near the mountain's peak. She slightly shudders at the sight. She knows what mighty creature inhabits that cave.
Before the night air can chill her bones any further, Dahlia heads inside. She finds her mother sitting alone in the living area, sewing up holes in her siblings day clothes. Cedar and Fern are nowhere to be seen, but Dahlia is sure they are both asleep. Neither of them likes staying up late.
"Welcome back, dear," her mother looks up from her sewing with a sweet smile. "Did you have any luck at the market today?"
Dahlia lifts up the small bag of food and pulls out her coin pouch.
"I had a little luck today. Granted, most of this food is stale and spoiled, but it's still relatively edible. I also got some money. Maybe even enough to get the royal tax collectors off our backs for a little while."
Her mother puts down her sewing and grabs the food bag. She puts it on their tiny table before holding out her hand for the coin pouch. Dahlia hands it over, and her mother inspects the contents.
"Hmmm...well, I don't know if it'll get the tax collectors off our backs entirely, but maybe it'll placate them for a bit."
Dahlia walks over to one of their raggedy wicker chairs and sits down, eager to finally be off her feet. Her mother puts the coin pouch in a little lockbox before joining her. She sits in the equally-raggedy wicker chair next to Dahlia. They sit there in exhausted silence for a bit before Dahlia speaks again.
"It happened again today."
Dahlia's mother tenses up. She doesn't need to ask her daughter what she means. She knows full-well what she's referring to.
"It won't be long before I won't be able to refuse anymore. We're barely getting by, and I can't afford to keep passing up these opportunities for money. It might just be time for me to accept-"
"Not another word, Dahlia!" Her mother's normally soft voice rises with a maternal conviction that even the woes of poverty couldn't extinguish.
"But, mother-"
"'But' nothing! I won't have you selling yourself for money! I'd rather give up my ring than watch you put yourself through something so degrading and horrible!"
"You can't sell your ring, mother. It's all you have left of father! I would sooner prostitute myself than see you sell it. And besides, if anyone in our family has to resort to something so horrible if it means improving our situation even slightly, then I'd rather it be me. I certainly don't want you doing it, and Fern is twelve. She's becoming a woman, and it's only a matter of time before men start propositioning her, too. I'd never want her to be put in that position."
Her mother sinks down a bit into her chair. To think that any of them have to even consider doing something like this. It makes both of their blood boil.
"We wouldn't have to think about this in the first place if it wasn't for those greedy bastards in the capital."
Dahlia can no longer contain her bitterness and anger. Why should she? Her family—her entire village—has been stripped of everything. Their safety, their freedom, their comforts, and now even the last shreds of their dignity are primed to be sold. And for what? So people who have more than they could ever hope for can continue to keep taking more? Hoarding more?
Hoarding...
"I know. I know, Dahlia. It's...infuriating. But, we'll find a way somehow. A way that doesn't involve...that. We just...there's got be some other way we can get money."
Dahlia's mother is pulled from her train of thought when she notices the far-away look in her daughter's eyes. Like she's discovered something wonderful and horrible.
"What is it?"
"I think I know a way to solve our problems. Maybe the whole village's problems."
"How?" Dahlia's mother can't contain the slight unease in her voice. What is her daughter getting at?
"I think it's time for me to pay a visit to the dragon."