Goujun had little respect for the concept of non-attachment that the kami valued so highly. It was not that he was incapable of undertanding the internal logic of the philosophy, but that he could not accept it as truth when the underlying assumptions were so unnatural. Attachment was as much a part of life as breathing, from the time a child was first held by its parents, until the time death came for an honoured elder surrounded by descendants.

Family was not important to the kami. Children were rare -- it was not often that a soul was judged worthy of reincarnation as a kami, after all -- but children were not treasured, not nurtured. Supposedly spiritually advanced, such children matured quickly, with little need of a childhood or parenting as other races understood it. The weakness of bonds between parents and child was actually commended, according to their principles of non-attachment, since such weak bonds were easily broken and forgotten as soon as the child was ready to make his own way in Heaven, alone.

By contrast, family was vitally important to dragons, who loved and protected their children fiercely, who remembered and honoured strong connections to their ancestors and relatives throughout the long millenia of their lives. Duty to family was one of the most important principles of a dragon's life.

Goujun had followed his father into service to the armies of Heaven, succeeding him as Commander of the Western Army and Dragon King of the Western Sea, when his father had retired to spend his last millenium or so with his wife and children. He had taught Goujun to balance his duties in Heaven and his duties at home, how to devote himself to his responsibility to his work and to his own family.

When it was expected of him, Goujun had married the woman his parents had chosen for him, trusting in their judgement. He was often away from his mate, but over the years they grew comfortable together, and eventually came to love one another. Within a century they were expecting a child together. The baby dragon prince, when he was born, could not have been more loved. It was as it should be between parents and child.

During the first centuries of his son's long childhood, Goujun spent as much time as he could with the child and mother, reluctant to leave them for his duties in Heaven. Yet having a son made those duties all the more important. The treaties and alliances between dragons and kami were all the more vital and personal to him now that he had a family of his own to protect, who were relying on him to maintain the unique position of political and spiritual autonomy that Heaven allowed the dragons.

The fundamental differences in philosophy and values between the kami and dragons set him apart, leaving him isolated and alone even in the crowded palaces of the Heavens. Goujun had become resigned to it, not expecting things to change, but then he had encountered one kami unlike any he had met before.

They first met soon after Goujun had become Commander of the Western Army, when Tenpou was still young, although having reached adulthood the immortal kami never did age further. There was something about his energy, his attitude, his soul-scent, that caught Goujun's attention from the first time he met the young soldier.

Tenpou was equally drawn to his commander, and not just because he was his commander. They were fascinated by each other, drawn together by a thread of fate or karma that ran far deeper than the opportunism that motivated most alliances in Heaven.

Goujun soon learned the kami had not entered the army for any of the usual reasons. As far as Tenpou knew, his family had never been involved in the military. It still seemed strange to Goujun not to know such things about one's family, let alone not be expected, if not honour-bound, to follow in their footsteps. Tenpou had not been drawn to the military by a hunger for power for its own sake, nor was he looking for cheap excitement, and he was most certainly not wanting a position where he could avoid thinking, like so many other young soldiers.

No, Tenpou thought constantly, and was always looking for new ideas, new ways of thinking, new experiences to think about. Tenpou had a desire -- rare enough among the kami, at least as far as they would openly admit to such things -- a burning to desire to learn. He wanted to understand conflict and war and violence in all its complexity and paradoxes. He also had a brilliant mind for strategy, and a fierce need to protect those who depended on him, such as could rival that of a dragon.

Goujun found he could speak freely with this kami and truly be heard and understood. It was something he had never considered possible, to be able to talk to someone in the Heavens about how he perceived the world, and be met with interested questions and a desire for understanding instead of the disdainful or blank looks he would receive from the other kami.

Tenpou truly wanted to know how the Dragon King thought; he wanted to understand Goujun in a way that no one outside his family ever had. No, perhaps even more deeply than his family understood him, because Tenpou's understanding and respect went far beyond roles and duty to something much more personal than family, and Goujun found himself reciprocating.

What did that make Tenpou to him?

His, of that there was no doubt. And Tenpou had no objections.

Goujun had assumed the role of mentor to the young kami, arranging for officers' training and creating opportunities for promotion where the slowness of change in Heaven would otherwise not offer them. Tenpou had risen to the challenges he offered, moving up through the ranks quickly, proving himself worthy. There was a great intensity within him, and a formidable capacity for violence, which he channeled into encounters on the battlefield.

And into their encounters in bed.

Tenpou was stronger than he looked and knew how to best use his hidden strengths, testing Goujun and proving himself before offering himself in complete surrender to his rightful superior, as such a sacred gift should be given.

Tenpou did not fear pain; and not only in the ignorant way that immortals tend not to fear it, believing that it cannot endanger them. Rather, he was fascinated by the experience, craving the intensity of it, eager to understand the complexity and paradox of pleasure and pain woven together. He honoured the claims Goujun put on his body, revelling in the marks of ownership made with fangs and talons.

Goujun saw it all as one more way they fit together, one more way the dragon did not have to pretend to be something he was not, one more way he did not need to hold back his real thoughts or feelings or passions.

"Mine," he would whisper, fiercely and possessively into sweat-dampened hair as they lay tangled together in the remains of the sheets.

"Yours," Tenpou would agree raggedly, contentedly, when he found his voice. "Always," he would sometimes add, after the first decades together had only brought them closer.

It was a heady feeling to have an immortal being promise to belong to you forever. Centuries together didn't dampen the intensity of it. Dragons were not immortal, despite lifetimes spanning millenia, but Goujun was young, and Tenpou could live forever. He always thought there would be more than enough time. Change happened slowly, after all.

Except when it happened far too quickly.

editted 1 June 2005