Ruston Rusty _________________________________________ Gender: Male _________________________________________ Sexuality: Straight _________________________________________ Clan: Silverwind _________________________________________ Status: Founder, Elder, Patriarch, Main Family _________________________________________ Role: Leader _________________________________________ Mate: Miri _________________________________________ Relationships: Roninn (son), Remarra (granddaughter), Dart - Maeven - Samaria (Adopted children)

"Pick yourself up from the rubble of the past and keep going. It's not going to help anyone to hide." On the outside, Ruston gives the appearance of a calm, guarded and silent leader. In reality he simply needs some time to get used to people before his true personality will shine through. He is gentle, loving and loyal to a fault, believing that his value lies in the eyes of those around him. Ruston's charge was his adoptive brother before their falling out, their father's death and his presumed demise from wounds sustained in the battle. Ruston is usually living with varied amounts of depression at his failing and pulled out of it only through thoughts of his new, biological family. Only Mud is aware of this fact and most wouldn't think to question him on it believing that the Silverwind clan is obviously his charge. This assumption is patently false as the clan itself is considered a free haven despite being under Ruston's gentle guiding style of leadership. He does not claim to rule the clan and simply exists as a uniting figurehead as the clan has long since outgrown the need for a singular leader. During the day and night he periodically leaves the lair to patrol clan lands making sure the clan is safe and sound. This is a remnant from both his time growing up in the Quicktalon clan and his ptsd at the events which led to his brother's death. He cares a lot about the clan, even though it may not be his charge, and he would do anything in his power to defend it. While he tries to distance himself from the role of the leader, it constantly comes back to him. His duties still include naming ceremonies, and...well pretty much every decision in the clan.

The forge fires glowed dimly, shifting through a spectrum of reds and oranges. Maroth's black scales glittered ominously in the oppressive light. In the distance, Ruston could hear the ringing of hammer on anvil, the groan of a bellows breathing life into a forge-fire. It seemed so long ago that these fires had seemed like a literal hell to him, the never ending darkness of the caves, the eternal heat, the orange light that washed away all other color. But now he held dominion here, he was the master of the forges and all here answered to his word.

All except Maroth. Ruston turned to look at his new brother. Orange eyes glowed like coals in the black pit that was the Guardian dragon. In the mere month since Xeroth had adopted Ruston, so much had changed between the two of them. Once bitter enemies, Ruston and Maroth were now confidants, sharing plans with one another, battle plans. Secrets.

"Father intends to name me his heir at the ceremony," he murmured, his growling voice nearly lost amongst the roar of the fires. The usual smugness in his voice was accompanied by an unexpected tone of menace so dark that in spite of the heat, Ruston found himself shaking.

"Congratulations. Although I can't really say I'm surprised. You are his only son, Maroth."

"Not anymore."

The two Guardians shared a meaningful look. True, Xeroth called Ruston son, but it was a technicality. Ruston had been an orphan hatchling, he stood to inherit nothing from a clan leader. He was grateful for the honor, but the best he could hope for was what he had - leadership in the forges and a place to call his own. Ruston opened his mouth to say something to the effect, but stopped himself. It was suddenly clear that Maroth was anxious. Did he really think that Xeroth would pass him over?

Ruston allowed himself to think of the clan under Maroth's leadership. A great strategist and fearsome warrior, true, but Maroth could be cruel. He didn't think his actions through, and his sharp tongue wounded as many as his sharp claws.

"You know I will be there, at your side," Ruston said.

"I hope so. Ruston, I must confide in you." Maroth leaned forward so that his voice was nearly lost in the hiss and crackle of the fires. "I intend to kill Xeroth after I inherit and claim my place as clan leader."

Ruston was stunned into silence. He knew Maroth was brash and hasty but this was madness! Maroth continued.

"The old man is weak! I will be his heir, and I will not wait for what is rightfully mine! And Ruston - " he paused, holding out a claw to his brother. "I need your help."

Ruston looked into the orange eyes of the only family he had ever known. Could he murder one to keep the other? Slowly, he grasped Maroth's claw.

"Of course, brother."


***


The chamber was filled with every member of the clan. From his place on the dais, Ruston could see the faces of everyone he had ever known. Xeroth stepped up onto his plinth and a great shout came up from the crowd as their leader began to speak. Maroth stood to the left of his father, Ruston to the right. As Xeroth began to speak of duties to the clan, responsibilities and loyalty, Ruston glanced out over the hoard of dragons perching on every available surface. His eyes met Terilynn, the small Fae dragon he was fond of. She smiled at him, an odd expression for a Fae. Her eyes flickered from Maroth to Xeroth, then back to Ruston, and her crests wavered. Confused, Ruston followed her line of sight and tuned back in to the speech Xeroth was making.

"...and it comes time for me to choose an heir. My son Maroth is strong and brave. He is an exemplary fighter and fiercely protective of his clan." Ruston saw Maroth swell with smug pride, his sharp claws digging into the rock below him. The crowd whooped and cheered. "But," Xeroth continued, and the clan instantly went silent as the old Guardian turned his eye on Ruston. "I have two sons now. Ruston will be my heir."

There was an odd stillness. Then Maroth gave an unearthly screech and launched himself at his father.

"Traitorous old drake!" he snarled, clawing at his father's eyes. "I am your only son. I am your only heir! This is my clan now!" His teeth connected with Xeroth's throat and blood flew.

Ruston only remembers things in flashes. Tearing Maroth away from Xeroth. The chaos as the clan watched their leaders attack one another. Maroth vaulting over his father's prone body to attack Ruston. Ruston flipping onto his back and throwing Maroth over the ledge, into the hull of the volcano. A flap of wings as Maroth slowly, laborously pulled his wounded body into the sky and escaping into the ashy night.

"Ru-ruston." The red Guardian turned, his body aching from every crushing blow his brother had delivered. Xeroth lay on the dais, his throat bleeding from the gaping bite wound.

"Xero- Father?" Ruston knelt by the old dragon.

"You are the stronger leader." he coughed. "Protect this clan from my son. Lead this clan." His fiery eyes closed for the last time.

Just like that, Ruston was alone again. He looked out over the clan, his clan now. He was Ruston, leader of the clan.

Story by: Hatterlet



Progen