There be dragons here

Vilmor kneels next to Cryozen Jr, gently rubbing the top of his head as he pushes up into her hand with a happy coo. While Cryozen had been fully grown when she met him, there’s an almost fragility to his child, like newly formed ice versus the kind that has weathered centuries. A wave of protectiveness washes over her as she continues to pet him, this most precious of creatures. Maybe she could look into fashioning some armour for him, matching her own.

She already loves Cryozen Jr with all her heart, but she still misses Cryozen. He had known her, loved her, understood her in a way no one else had, not even Donovan, and when her first friend (her betrayer) had abandoned her and Dragonsgrasp in a fit of rage and jealousy, it had just been the two of them. Vilmor and Cryozen, Speaker and Great Dragon, DragonLord and dragon. Flying out to aid the people, the Order, or just to be together. Inseparable…until they weren’t.

(And yet despite everything, he had tried to stop Frostscythe from hurting her, even weakened as he was, had shielded her with his wings as that cave collapsed, had breathed a last gentle stream of ice over her as he entrusted her with his heir.)

After the incident at Bask, when the DragonLords had come across Vilmor sat in the ruins of the Guardian Tower, too shocked to move or even speak, the pain of a strained bond (that at the time she thought had been broken) still thrumming through her, they had hauled her up with swords at her throat, bound her hands and marched her away to sit in that cage back in Dragonsgrasp.

But before all that, they had stripped her of her Dragon Amulet, and kept it who knows where.

The Amulet Cryozen had given her.

Suspiscion still ran deep within the Order, and despite her name having been cleared, her Amulet had not been returned to her; apparently she would have to ‘earn’ it back, if they ever did let her have it again.

A chirp brings her out of her thoughts, and she looks down to where Cryozen Jr has sat up, head cocked to one side inquisitively. And he’s holding a Dragon Amulet in his mouth. Vilmor knows somehow, even before she bends down to scoop him up in her arms and take the Amulet, running her fingers across the silver dragon, the sapphire gem glinting in the winter sunlight.

She knows it’s her Amulet.

Cryozen Jr coos as she holds him and the Dragon Amulet close to her, already feeling the love through their bond, reverberating through the Amulet, but there’s still a familiar feeling in the background. There’s still Cryozen, his love for his DragonLord and his child, still watching over them.

Vilmor inhales deeply as Cryozen Jr snuggles into her chest, letting the emotions wash over her, before opening her eyes again and looking down at him, scratching the top of his head. “Shall we go flying?”

Cryozen Jr wriggles happily as she gently places him back down, chirping as the magic of the Dragon Amulet washes over him, wings spreading as his form lifts and glows, a flash of pale blue light revealing his titan form. And he’s so similar to his sire, the hue of his scales, the way his horns curl, the way he affectionately pushes his head against her side. But he’s also himself, arched like an ice sculpture rather than the more stocky glacial form of Cryozen, more horns, and shards of ice running down his back, the same as the ones that are beginning to poke up in his baby form.

Vilmor cradles his head to her before stepping back, Cryozen Jr settling down to allow her to grasp onto his scales and swing herself onto his back, at the base of his long neck with the ice shards at her back. He rises again once she is settled, spreading those great blue wings and waits, waits for her to lean down and whisper in draconic.

“Fly.”

It’s hard to describe exactly the sensation of dragonflight, the feeling of the wind rushing across you, the beating of your dragon’s wings around you, how their muscles shift as they push through the air. In their first flight together, Cryozen had guided her on how to move with him as he flew, how to sense the wind currents, how to fly as one, DragonLord and dragon. And now she guides Cryozen Jr, imparting his sire’s lessons, as they glide through the air, feel the joy of flight.

As they arc round in the sky, Dragonsgrasp comes into view again. High as they are, she can’t see the stone pathways and buildings, the bronze fountains bubbling gently, the DragonLords attending to their duties within the fortress, the dragon pens where the bonded dragons and those awaiting their partner can mill around and stretch their wings, although she knows they’re down there.

Dragonsgrasp passes below them as Vilmor and Cryozen Jr fly forwards, towards the winter sun.

****