Ceallach's earliest memories of the tower were of learning how to read under Aisling's gentle voice, of exploring the tower in hopes of finding some way out, and of examining each other's birthmarks. When they were small and less timid about being clothesless, they spent a lot of time lingering over the patches on each other's backs - two dark, stretched spots near their shoulder blades, nearly identical and symmetrical - coming up with tales about how they got there. Perhaps they were eyes of some beast that had been sealed away in their skin. Long-forgotten hands, maybe, since they had faint lines trailing off of them. Or some god had wanted to write a message and dripped ink on their backs when they were born.

Ceallach could not remember exactly when it happened, but one of his most precious memories was of the first time Aisling sang.

When they discovered the floor with the books, they pulled out as many as they could whose covers and spines caught their eye: huge, dusty tomes with records in tiny print, books bound in leather that were delightful to touch and leaf through, and books filled with wondrous illustrations and tales.

Almost every time they read a new story they immediately set about acting it out in their own fashion. One in particular spoke to them in a way they could not fully grasp or express: it was about a princess locked up in a tower with a dangerous dragon guarding it. Eventually a prince came, slew the dragon - who had until then seemed to be invincible and perfectly capable of defeating anything that came its way - and freed the princess.

Maybe it was so similar to their own situation. Maybe it was the unthinkable notion that the princess got out. Or perhaps it was just well-told and the pictures were lovely and it inspired them.

They gathered and piled chairs, stools, and various woodsy things so she could climb up a small desk placed on the dining table, which served as the tower. He tied a blanket to his neck, took an edge in each hand, and began to stomp around, growling at imaginary princes and their horses.

"None shall pass!" roared the dragon in a childish baritone. "For I am the mightiest dragon in all the land, sea, and sky! Roaaar!"

"Such a mighty dragon!" said the princess up above in her tower, laughing behind her hands.

The dragon flapped his wings and leaped, catching an imagined victim in his claws. "A foolish knight thinks he can get past me! Look at how scared he is, now that I got him!" The dragon lifted a bit of air between his fingertips.

The princess scrutinized this bit of air and frowned pompously. "I don't like him. Make him go away."

The dragon scowled at his capture, then raised it above his head and released it into his mouth with great ceremony. The princess laughed and clapped her approval. Thus encouraged, the dragon trampled about, gobbling up whatever things he conjured that dared to approach.

After some time of this, a voice from the tower called down. "O fierce and mighty dragon, are you lonely?"

Ceallach had been so absorbed in his game that her voice surprised him. He turned around to see Aisling peeking down the edge of the table. Her expression was sad or worried.

He held out the edges of the blanket. "Dragons don't get lonely!" he declared, grinning to show her he was alright. She did not look reassured.

"But princesses do," she said softly.

He stared at her, letting his arms fall.

"Won't you come up here and keep me company, Sir Dragon...?"

"But I'm protecting you," said the dragon.

"It's fine. I think you scared them off. Please come up, even for a little while?"

So he climbed up the pile of things and sat on the desk with her. She shifted to be next to him and he wrapped the blanket around them both.

"You are a very nice dragon," said she.

The dragon puffed out his chest and huffed. "I just wanted to take a break and rest."

She laughed again, quietly this time. "Such a silly dragon..."

She leaned against him, curled up in the space in front of him. He saw her do so and imagined a little girl or young lady leaning against the body of a dragon lying down, its tail making a lazy loop around them. Indeed his hairy tail stretched out in an arc in front of them and hung off the edge of the tower.

The dragon protected the princess. He smiled warmly.

"Do you think you can maybe let one prince through?" asked the princess.

He looked down at her in bewilderment. She looked back with an open and earnest expression. "Why?"

"Because a prince should come."

"And do what?"

She looked down at her knees and rocked back and forth. "Princes are supposed to be with princesses...and then there is a kiss, sometimes..."

The dragon hissed, baring his teeth in disapproval.

"It only needs to be one prince," said the princess hopefully.

"No," said the dragon.

The princess looked down at her toes for a moment, then back at the dragon. "Why don't you kiss me?"

Ceallach blinked and made a strange half-yelp noise and blinked quickly again. "But I'm a dragon," he said.

"Maybe you're a prince dragon," Aisling smiled.

He continued to blink at her and she still smiled and leaned up to him. He inched away. Her smile drooped, then she frowned in sadness and hugged her knees. He sighed, putting a hand to his head for a moment.

"Alright, just one though. On the head."

She looked back at him with joy and curiosity. He held onto the sides of her face, just under her ears, as he brought her near. He swallowed and placed his lips on her forehead. She closed her eyes as he held there.

For a moment the two of them stayed in that position, quiet and close. Then, making sure he held her solidly, he took in a breath and blew a raspberry into her hair. She squirmed and squeaked, slapping his sides with open palms, but he continued until he could no longer due to laughter.

"Why did you do that!" she screamed once he had released her. He couldn't answer for several seconds without laughing.

"Because dragons breathe fire!"

Her face made a quick transition from anger to shock and then into sadness. "You mean..."

"Burnt you right to a crisp! Broosh! Just like that!"

Her gaze fell, and then she crawled away, putting her back to him. He realized, like a hit to his stomach, that he had hurt her feelings. He approached slowly.

"I don't want to be a princess anymore," she said into her knees.

He flapped the blanket in desperate concern. "You can be a dragon! You'll be strong and brave and won't be afraid of anything!"

"I don't want to be a dragon either," she said. He shuffled over to face her, and she slowly lifted her head from her knees. "Besides, you're the dragon."

"What do you want to be then?"

They looked into each other's eyes - grey reflecting orange reflecting grey - and she said, "I want to be a bird!"

He frowned. "A bird, really? Why?"

Aisling leaned forward a little bit and let herself rock back. "A bird can fly, just like a dragon...but birds aren't bound by duty or greed to towers and piles of treasure. They're small but strong, since they fly very far. Two dragons would just fight each other to eat all the knights..."

Her logic felt sound, but he still doubted it a little. He wondered if being a bird would really cheer her up.

"I'll be right back," she said, climbing down the tower and the pile and leaving the room. He stayed on top of the tower and flapped his cloth wings helplessly. Long minutes passed. He flapped his wings again, found that that did not him feel any better, and curled up, crossing his arms over his knees and resting his head there.

The dragon, who now seemed and felt much smaller than before, realized that he did not like being by himself.

She finally returned with a soft towel tied around her neck, which she flapped as she climbed back up the tower.

"Oh, Sir Dragon," said the bird. "You look so sad. What's wrong?"

Ceallach looked up without raising his head. He reached out a hand and touched her towel. "I felt alone," he said, honestly.

"Wasn't there a princess in this tower?" asked the bird. "But something happened to her, didn't it?"

"It was an accident," he offered as an apology.

She smiled back at him, kind and genuine. "That's alright. Accidents happen."

He looked at her and her smile and felt something tugging at his throat. She approached and wrapped her fluffy towel wings around him.

"I'm sorry," he said, trying to swallow the tugging feeling and the stinging in his eyes.

"I know."

"I'm really sorry."

"It's okay. Really."

She turned her head to rest in the space of his neck and shoulder and closed her eyes. He sighed a long sigh of relief and rested his cheek on the top of her head.

He was not sure if the dragon was holding the bird or if the bird was holding the dragon. He held a simultaneous image in his mind for a moment before nudging her. She looked up at him. He cleared his throat and pondered before speaking. "Lady Bird," he said, a little uncomfortable with the sound of that phrase, "can you sing?"

She seemed surprised at his request and fiddled with the knot at her neck before answering. "I can try!"

And she sang and even if she was young and he didn't know any better, he thought it was one of the most unique and beautiful sounds in the world. After she finished, she put her a hand over her mouth.

"Sing another song," he said.

"I..." she began, wringing her hands, "I don't think I should..."

"No, go ahead, do it again."

She hung her head. "I don't think I can."

He stared at her, struck by the fact she was giving up, then placed his hands on her shoulders. That made her look up at him. "Try," he said.

She blinked back at him, hardened her expression in determination, then took in a breath.

And she sang.