fire made flesh; and fire is power

The three tiny princes, the young dragons, were growing well into their own. In fact, they were far from tiny as of late. With spring drawing to a close they were not only growing physically, they were growing impatient. Their mother did not allow them from the den very often, and when she did they had to stay within eyesight of the cave’s mouth. Never had they wandered beyond the clearing, though it was not for lack of trying. Even with four pups in the litter – each one making their best efforts to foil their guardians’ into distraction so that the others could wander – when you had the constant vigilance of not only your mother but an uncle and a Jericho, it was nigh impossible to get very far unnoticed.

This day, however, saw Rhaegal and Drogon expelling their frustrations about their imprisonment upon one another. Per usual, Drogon could easily force submission from his brother, throwing that bit of extra weight he had around and flopping his sibling onto the floor of the den with ease. But Rhaegal was not one to give up to easily, pushing his hide paws into his brother’s belly to distract him before twisting his head up and around as Drogon’s head flinched at just the right angle. The grey boy’s muzzle darted forward to catch hold of the black ear that was his target, yanking playfully at it. Drogon’s garnet red eyes flashed back down the mismatched set of multi-hues set in Rhaegel’s face. He clenched his jaw, determined not to yelp, and rolled into the tugging of his sibling to relieve the annoying strain on his ear.

Of course that was when Viserion made his move; he may have been the smallest of the trio, but what he lacked in brawn he made up for in brains. And speed. Even in these clumsy days of their youth Viserion was nimble. He leapt over Rhaegal, who released Drogon’s ear and gaped goofily at his brother as he soared over him to land on top of Drogon’s exposed chest. Pivoting, he lowered his head and clamped his youthful teeth gingerly around the darkest sibling’s throat. For good measure he softly pressed his canines into the fur there, just to let Drogon know that he’d won for sure, before flashing him a smile and jumping away before retaliation could strike. These juvenile battles for dominance didn’t mean much, but they knew their Mother always watched them as they played. Viserion looked up to her for her approval of his quick-wittedness (she always told him how bright he was) only to find her distracted, looking out of the den with her tail wagging. When she looked back she met his gaze and his tail gave a single thump as he cocked his head to the side in questioning. She winked, and then disappeared. Viserion strained forward, ears pushed forward and listening to what was happening outside, trying to figure out who had gotten their mother so excited.

The golden fringed boy looked over to Rhaegal and Drogon. A look of daring flashed across Rhaegal’s face, but then all three of the prince’s heads flashed towards the exit at a single sound. Jericho! Drogon and Viserion pelted towards him, and Rhaegal was quickly behind them after placing a tender lick upon Kalseru’s forehead. If she wished to continue her circumspect nap he would let her. And then he bounded after his brothers.

Emerging from the den all three tackled Jericho; well, tackled might be a bit of an exaggeration. Drogon went right for his face, jumping up and making to place his front paws on top of Jer’s head. Rhaegael ran past his head, weaving underneath him and between each leg in turn, yipping excitedly. Viserion pounced on a forepaw, gently nipping at the leg multiple times before he caught a glimpse of his mother beyond and lay down so that he could see her in flashes through Jericho’s legs and Rhaegal’s incessant running around. She was standing very close to another wolf, one he’d never seen before – not that he’d met many wolves beyond his family. Inquisitive as ever, he watched for a moment longer, counting on Drogon and Rhaegal to keep Jericho busy before he leapt up and pelted across the short distance to stand boldly beside his mother and stare up at the other wolf. His ears fell back in a sign of respect, and he did not meet the other wolf’s gaze for more than a fleeting second, but his curiosity could not be denied. “Who are you?” he said, momentarily forgetting his manners. He sniffed the air, trying to figure something out about this wolf by his scent alone, but not really making much progress. Something about him was familiar though, like some small part of his scent was akin to his mother’s. Cocking his head to the side, he waited for a reply.

drogon; rhaegal; viserion