They had come to the Glen, unexpectedly, to ask if all their dragons were accounted for. Howell hadn’t needed to hang about to check: the descriptions of small red dragons weren’t their Welsh Greens. And Welsh Greens were one thing, but they weren’t vicious like this.
He had joined the dragon restraint bureau in London (– for once he had not had time to grumble about coming into the city; he had just come –) which was why he was here, now, with a band of wizards slowly trying to corner one of the Vipertooths on the loose. And just as they had approached one, Howell had seen something else out of the corner of his eye.
Fucking Merlin. He lurched after her, scraping up her wand and the bouquet both in his hands, uselessly, but he was too late for her – the distant splash below proved that. Standing on the ledge and leaning over as far as he dared, Howell scanned the water, hoping to see her bob back up again in the river. He let out a bellowing shout, over the distant roars of the dragons and wizards and tumult in the streets, hoping she might hear. “You! Can you swim?” Merlin help him if she couldn’t.
One didn’t grow up amongst four brothers (two younger, two older), design a large pool of floating lily pads and not learn how to swim. Aside from the many times she’d accidentally fell into the Lotus Pond, there were plenty of times that she’d been accidentally pushed. In retrospect, she was thanking Merlin for that. Of course, Phie could hardly respond with such a long-winded answer whilst attempting to not be drowned by the weight of her own skirts. So instead she could only peer up into the bright sky at the bellowing shadow, her mouth full of brackish river water and nod as she prayed to Merlin he could see her.
Treading water wasn’t easy. Any attempt to kick her legs was impeded by her many layers of petticoats, and so she had to resort to flailing her arms instead; luckily the post of the doc was within reach and she was able to throw her arms around it. The pads of her fingers met the rough wood and Philomena inhaled more water as she gasped sharply at the pain. But the important thing was she had a grasp on the post. Her legs were screaming at her, tired of attempting to kick her petticoats out of the way. “I can’t move much more!” She yelled back through a mouthful of water.
Was that a nod, or a shake of her head? Impossible to tell – so Howell tried to track her motions against the current and meet her halfway, hurrying down the length of the dock and relieved to see she had a grasp on one of its posts. He didn’t need a drowning on his hands, on top of the dragons.
“You’ll be alright,” Howell said gruffly, unwilling to grant her alternative fates any fuss until they became reality, and most comfortable, as was his habit, diminishing all drama from a somewhat traumatic scene.
Though she would need help pulling herself up to the dock, probably. He lowered himself to the floor of it, to better reach out over the edge and offer her a hand that she just might be able to reach. “Here.”
At his somewhat brief assurance, Philomena nodded and instead reached up to him, grasping his hand as best she could. How on earth he managed to haul her and the wet clothes out of the water was a mystery lingering at the back of her mind, but mostly Phie was just cold. The water tasted horrible, and she’d inhaled a considerable amount, it almost made her stomach roil. Nevermind that; there was a dragon that was currently being restrained in the distance and Phie was only interested in increasing that distance to the furthest she possibly could. “Wh-where in Merlin’s name did those come from?”
“The Vipertooths?” Howell asked, half-paying attention to her and half to the dragon in the distance, as he patted her heartily on the back to clear her lungs of river-water and transferred his coat to her, to warm her up after that dip. “Not sure. The docks, I think. They aren’t native.”
“The docks?” Philomena echoed with a terrified glance back at where she’d just come from. Images of flames consuming cracked glass and licking up nearby trees flashed in front of her vision, calling back to when the greenhouses had caught fire. Fear seized her as she realized Evergardens could be at risk. “If they’re not native, what are they doing here?” As if he might know what great flying beasts were doing in the middle of the Thames.
“Beats me,” Howell said. “They’re from Peru.” Although, he thought darkly, he could guess. Some idiot was transporting them, and was probably going to pass them off to someone who’d either kill them for the profit, or be otherwise incapable of controlling them.
Case in point, if they hadn’t made it any further than the Thames before the creatures got loose. “Better question –” he added, briskly. “What are you doing here?” Who was she with? Where had she been trying to get to? And, most pressingly, Howell considered: how quickly could he get her out of here?
“Peru?!” Phie squeaked, echoing him again as she tugged his coat around herself, looking over his shoulder at the wreckage. “Why in Merlin’s name are they here in London then?!” It was rhetorical, however there was some part of her that hoped that question might be answered soon enough. As for his own question, she turned her attention back to the man who’d saved her. “I - I was bringing flowers to a sick friend, I thought I’d stop by the docks to see the ships come in…” It seemed an inconsequential detail now, but she liked to watch the grand vessels come in, their sails billowing in the wind. “And then…” She blinked, trying to remember what had happened next. “And then all hell broke loose.”
Howell only blinked at the question, because this really wasn’t the time to discuss the (legal or otherwise) transportation of foreign dragons, unless she wanted to get her head chewed off when one of them decided to come back around.
“Listen,” Howell said, cutting through her explanations of where she had been and why, and picturing again the sight of her facing off against a dragon, in the moments before she’d gone in the Thames – “you’re bloody lucky to be alive right now. Getting out of one meeting with a Vipertooth’s a miracle. Let’s try not make it two, alright?” Because the odds of getting out twice were fucking low.
This was as rousing a motivational speech as he had ever given in his life. If he didn’t have the nearby dragons on the brain, he might have been impressed at himself.
As it was, he made a hand motion to say let’s move it.
He’d cut her off, rightly so because she was about to launch into rambling even more, but she still felt affronted by it. And yet that feeling was swiftly replaced by fear as she caught the urgent tone in his voice. Snapping her mouth shut she nodded wordlessly, clutching the lapels of his jacket closer to her as she gave a shiver.
And before she could think twice about the action, she reached out to seize his hand.
He had intended that she started working on getting out of here, and he stayed to see about these dragons (– whatever was happening to the people in this city, Howell didn’t want to see the dragons hurt out of some misplaced vengeance by people who didn’t fucking know what they were doing –) but her nod was followed by an action he had not seen coming.
There was a hand. On his hand. He had already helped her out of the water like this, what did she expect him to –
But there wasn’t time to think about it. Fine. If this was how he got her out of here, then good. “Come on then. Away from the river.” Howell tugged her onwards.
Away from the river. She could do that easily. Philomena tightened her grip on the man and did her best to follow him as swiftly as she could. His grip was firm, if not calloused and she wondered at the back of her mind what he did for a living to give him such a rough touch. Again, this was hardly the moment to wonder about her savior’s chosen career path. To try and keep from stumbling over her wet skirts, Phie kept her gaze down which had the added bonus of keeping her attention away from any blazes of fire that they passed. That didn’t prevent her from feeling the heat of the flames against her cheeks, and she fought to keep down a whimper of fear. After some amount of time, she dared question, “H-how much further?”
Howell did plenty of miles in a day, but that was walking: he had never been much for sprinting, so he was huffing and puffing by the time they were sheltered enough to stop for breath.
“I heard tell the library’s the way out from the barrier,” Howell explained, hopeful she was more familiar with the city than him. “You know it? You should head that way.”
If she could be trusted to get there, she could go on alone and he could turn back towards the Vipertooth.
The library! Well that would be just swell, they were just around the corner from it. Philomena nodded, intending to ignore the multiple stitches in her side and pick up the pace. “Yes but what about you?” She exclaimed, then looked from him and then peered behind him. “You’re…you’re not thinking of going back?” The incredulity was clear on her face.
She should really do her part and get off to the library, then, so he could do his part. He didn’t need to explain himself to her; she didn’t need to worry. She was practically a child. (Howell was aware this was an exaggeration even as he thought it, but she was still young, and dragons were attacking London, so a little exaggeration felt forgivable, here.)
“I can deal with dragons,” he said impassively. “Off you go.”