45. Theological Forum?
Lilith reached the Majestic Court before the sun sank like a copper coin.
On her second climb up the Holy Mountain, the Little White Dragon moved like wind over frost, far quicker than before.
Last time, racing to the city lord’s manor, half the mountain devoured near a whole day.
This time, in that same span, she reached the Court on the peak and knocked while sunlight still draped the earth like a golden shawl.
“Please, come in.” A nun in layered furs greeted Lilith and Nidhogg, her clothes thick as winter bark.
Years atop the Holy Mountain had shaped a style unlike the Mali Church’s neat formality.
Lilith had imagined western habits; instead, thick pelts and down—more hunter than convent—cloaked these sisters like nomad gear.
The nun led them inside.
The Majestic Court was small, a humble wooden lodge against the city lord’s sprawling halls, plain as weathered plank.
Even someone clueless about timber could read the grain like ripples—this wood wasn’t common; it whispered expense.
“Please wait a moment. The elders are in chant. I’ll send word once they finish. You may have tea and rest.”
She brought them to a snug room with two sofas and a table, a guest lounge quiet as tucked snow.
Lilith and Nidhogg each chose a seat.
The attendant poured steaming tea; coils of mist rose like winter breath, then she withdrew.
“What tea is this?”
Lilith peered at the cup—the little porcelain was milk-clouded, a dim ivory with a thin sheen of oil floating like frost.
“Try it—milk tea. It’s a drink from before the elves settled down,” Nidhogg said, voice easy as a fireside.
“Back then, Kuri stretched farther north; they often married the Ice Spirits of Usas and picked up their foodways.”
Her history mini‑lecture drifted gentle as smoke.
The Little White Dragon nodded to show she was listening, then lifted the cup and took a sip.
It wasn’t what she’d imagined—the milk tea was salty, heavy with cream, the tea strong; flavors burst on her tongue like fireworks.
She pressed her lips, searching for words that wouldn’t come.
Weird. One more sip.
“It’s pretty good. Food in Usas is great,” Nidhogg mused, smile bright as frost.
“But Teacher Fafnir said Gaul’s cuisine was the best. Too bad the Gaul Empire fell before I was born—no chance to taste it.”
Watching Lilith’s “what is this—take a sip” face, Nidhogg let out a silvery chuckle, bells over snow.
Lilith looked up at that silver-bell laugh, unaware she’d painted her mouth with milk.
She stared and asked, “What are you laughing at?”
Nidhogg didn’t answer; she pointed at her own mouth.
Lilith didn’t get it.
With a helpless huff, the little dragon sprang up and pecked Nidhogg’s lips, quick as a sparrow.
Her cheeks flushed; she muttered, “If you want it, say it—don’t play little games.”
“Actually, I meant you had milk on your mouth.”
Nidhogg enjoyed the free kiss anyway, then took a tissue and wiped the stain from Lilith’s lips.
Paper could lift tea’s trace, but not the pink blooming across the little dragon’s cheeks.
“You could’ve just said so…”
Lilith dropped her head and curled into a pink ball to dodge the topic, soft as a strawberry mochi.
“Forget it. Let’s talk about Gaul.”
Nidhogg grinned wickedly.
“There’s no Gaul on this land, so no chat there.”
Teasing shy dragons was her favorite sport, and she wasn’t about to let Lilith change lanes so easily.
“Why the sudden kiss? On the bed you’re so shy, but here in the solemn Majestic Court you’re bold?”
“Shut up.”
Lilith sprang like a coil and clapped her hands over Nidhogg’s mouth, terrified that the Black Dragon’s loose tongue would spill something mortifying.
Red‑warm and soft, the Little White Dragon turned fierce like a sweet mochi bristling, and growled, “I’m warning you—outside, don’t talk nonsense.”
“Okay, okay.”
Nidhogg obeyed, gentle as soothed embers.
Back in their room, the little dragon had been more pliant lately, which pleased her.
So she matched Lilith’s preferred prudence in public.
“How’s that—does it ease you any?”
“What?”
Lilith tilted her head, blank as a puzzled finch.
“You haven’t let your tail off your thigh since we stepped into the Majestic Court. That tense?”
Lilith followed her gaze.
Today she wore a skirt that covered half her thigh; through the thin fabric, her slender tail coiled tight along her leg, like a vine hugging a tree.
“When you get nervous, you wrap things with your tail, so I tried some light talk to loosen you.”
Nidhogg stood, sat beside the Little White Dragon, and swept Lilith into her lap.
“Better now?”
Lilith nodded.
She’d grown used to Nidhogg’s warm embrace.
The Black Dragon’s body was soft, with curves where they mattered; cuddling her felt like a luxury pillow.
It was nothing like her own lean frame, all spare except for two lumps up front.
The little dragon hummed in comfort and tucked herself smaller in those arms, nesting like a bird.
“You don’t have to be that tense,” Nidhogg said, rubbing her horns as calm as brushing rain beads.
“The elders at the Majestic Court are all theologians—pure minds, filled with gods and ways to live with them. They won’t harm you.”
Under that horn‑stroking, Lilith melted, eyes half‑closed.
Softly, she muttered, “I’m just scared. Going alone to something that sounds so serious—it’s terrifying for someone with social anxiety.”
“Alright, alright. You’re brave; don’t sell yourself short.”
Nidhogg’s free hand smoothed Lilith’s hair, a patient comb through willow strands.
“I’m not brave. Don’t say that.”
Lilith squinted and protested, voice small as a moth.
“If you weren’t brave, how dare you let me hold you this long in front of someone?”
Nidhogg’s teasing lilt made Lilith’s eyes fly open.
A nun stood at the doorway.
“When did you get here?”
Lilith’s eyes went wide; her words stumbled like pebbles.
“When you rose and kissed the lady. Don’t worry—the Majestic Court doesn’t oppose same‑sex couples.”
Her tone was calm as a still lake, but to Lilith it fell like a hammer on the heart.
Lilith looked at Nidhogg, eyes shining with tears, and shouted, “Nidhogg!”
