Warning: Even though this story is new, it's set during the early days of my AU, before Jim adopted Blair. Also, there are intentional misspellings in one section, it should be obvious once you get there.

Thank you to my beta readers, Melanie and BCW for their usual thorough job. All remaining mistakes are mine.

This is for my querida because she needed a lift.

Comments gratefully received via the address at the bottom of the main page.

Dragons
by Klair

Wyoming Territory, October, 1873

Blair sat and pondered under his favorite tree, the school work at his side forgotten. It was a beautiful autumn day. Colorful leaves decorated the tree he rested under, one occasionally drifting to the ground. It didn't make any sense, he thought. This Saturday marked an important day. Why didn't Jim care? And would he not care about it when it was Blair's turn? The boy frowned. He didn't like that idea at all. That day should be special for everyone. Shouldn't it? He sat trying to puzzle the mystery out until he heard his guardian call him to supper.

~~~

After Jim tucked him in that night, an idea began to take root.

Before his guardian could settle into his armchair by the cheery fireplace, Blair asked softly, "Jim?"

"Yes, Little Bit?"

He ignored the slight annoyance in the man’s voice. This was too important. "You like flapjacks a whole lot, don'tcha?" he asked, almost as a statement since he suspected he already knew the answer. He just
needed confirmation.

After a pause, followed by a low chuckle, the rancher responded. "Yes,
I do. Why?"

Blair tried to sound as nonchalant as possible. "Oh, just wonderin'. I like 'em, too."

That produced a louder chuckle. "I noticed. Go to sleep."

Ignoring the command, since Jim hadn't used his 'do as I say or else' voice, Blair continued to probe. "I like 'em with berries and maple syrup, like you fix them. What's your favorite, Jim?"

The rancher came back over to the bed and looked down at the little boy, who tried in vain to keep his eyelids from drooping. The big man smiled. "I like them the way my mama used to make them." He reached down and brushed a few stray curls away from Blair’s sleepy blue eyes before tucking the covers more securely around his ward. "Now go to sleep."

Blair crinkled his nose and smiled back, trying to keep his voice conversational, and his yawn stifled. "How did your mama make her pancakes?"

Jim sat on the edge of the bed and asked wearily, "If I tell you, do you promise to go right to sleep?"

With an impish grin, Blair cheerfully replied, "Yes, Jim."

Looking wistfully off into space, Jim said, "With buttermilk and a hint of cinnamon." He inhaled, almost able to smell them. "I think a little nutmeg, too." Coming back from his memory, he turned a stern eye to the little boy. "Now sleep."

There was that no-argument tone! "Yes, Jim,” he said respectfully. He smiled smugly inside, his plan coming together so well. “Good night."

After bestowing another kiss on Blair's forehead, Jim whispered, "Sweet dreams, Little Bit."

Nestling down further into the covers, Blair did just that.

~~~~

Blair kept looking towards the door nervously. He didn't want Jim spoiling the surprise by coming back from his morning chores early. Blair had feigned a bellyache to be allowed to stay in bed instead of going out with Jim to the barn to do his morning chores. The boy didn't like deceiving his guardian, but this was important! It was Saturday and Blair had been planning for the past few days to make this morning special.

As soon as Jim's footsteps receded out of earshot, Blair bounded from the bed to retrieve the carefully wrapped package he had hidden under the bed. After dressing quickly, he set the table for breakfast, put the coffee on and began his next surprise. Stealthily, he ran out to the chicken coop and retrieved two eggs, grateful the hens were still laying in the cooling weather, and made it back to the cabin undetected. He had the first batch of flapjacks ready when he heard Jim's boots stomp up the porch. Quickly he loaded them on a plate and placed it in front of Jim's seat just as the rancher walked through the door.

"Surprise!" Blair yelled in glee, flour in dusty splotches liberally decorating his apron, face and hair. "Happy birthday, Jim!"

The rancher stood on the threshold, stunned for a moment. He entered slowly, closing the door behind him, looking to Blair, then the table, and back again.

"What's this all about, Little Bit?"

Bouncing excitedly in place, Blair beamed. "I made flapjacks just like your mama did 'cause today's your birthday!"

"And how'd you know that?" Jim asked, taking his coat off and putting it on the peg by the door.

"I read it in the cover of that Bible." Blair pointed a batter-encrusted finger to the bookshelves at the far end of the cozy cabin. His smile faltered a bit at the blank expression on his guardian's face. "I thought you'd like it."

Jim seemed to shake himself. He smiled at the boy and took his seat. "I do. They smell great." After pouring some syrup over the misshapen stack, Jim took a big bite. "Umm-um, they're real good, Little Bit," he said around the thick glob in his mouth. After swallowing hard, even with the aid of a large sip of coffee, Jim noticed the package wrapped with care in old newspaper. "What's that?"

Blair came to his side as Jim brought the parcel closer.

"It's a present for you." Blair looked at the floor, saying quietly, "I made it myself. You don't have to open it if you don't want."

Jim moved his plate out of the way and began to unwrap his second gift. "Now why would I not want to open it? If you made it, I'm sure--" His words faltered as the crudely bound "book" was revealed. The thin sheaf of papers was tied together with string, a rough, but colorful picture of a man and a boy standing in front of a castle graced the 'cover'. Jim flipped through the few pages, pencil sketches of quite an adventure drawn in the upper corner of each page. He drew Blair to his side for a
quick hug. "This is wonderful, Blair." He rose from his seat and led the strangely quiet boy over to his armchair. He set the 'book' on the small side table while he arranged Blair comfortably in his lap. Picking up the latest addition to the Ellison library he began to read out loud. . .

"Once Upon a time there lived a brave knight. He was very brave and strong and also very lonly. He fought dragons and saved madens all day long but when he went home his castel was empty. He had no one to tell his brave deds to. One day a prince came down the road." Jim paused to clear his throat of the tightening that threatened to close off his voice entirely. "He was sad because he was all alone. A dragon swooped down out of the sky and caryed him off! He tried to fight the dragon but could not escape! He cried out help! Help! The knight herd him because he had real good ears and road his equaly brave horse to the dragons cave. The knight killed the dragon and brought the prince back to his castel. Where they lived happy forever. The end."

Jim closed the book and carefully set it back on the table. He hugged the still child in his lap tightly, kissing his temple tenderly.

"Thank you, Little Bit. This is the best birthday I've ever had."

Blair wiggled from the strong arms holding him until he could turn enough to see Jim's face. "Really? You like it?"

Jim smiled a huge genuine grin that made his eyes crinkle deeply at the edges. "Very much. Now. Let's get back to the table. I have some more flapjacks to eat."

~~~~

That night after putting Blair to bed, he picked up the story Blair had written. Sitting down in his chair by the fire, he read the poorly spelled, grammatically incorrect story again, and without shame let the emotions he'd felt before come to the surface. A warmth filled the rancher at the memory of his birthday surprise that morning. He'd choked down every one of the over or undercooked, definitely over
spiced, flapjacks with relish, and praise for the cook. It was the best meal he'd ever eaten. After reaching the end of the little book for the third time, wiping a tear from his eye before it fell, bringing others with it, Jim set the story aside and pulled out his old family Bible. He turned to the inside cover where births and deaths had been listed for many generations. His fingers trailed along the writing of his ancestors until he came to the spidery writing of his father. He fingered the hastily scrawled date, the ink faded with time. He could see how the boy could make the mistake. The five after the one did look like an eight. His birthday had been three days ago, not that it mattered to him. The last birthday celebration for him had been seven months before his mother died. It never seemed important to anyone after that. He glanced over to the softly snoring sleeper in the bed. . .until now.

The end