Rhys
(#26512392)
Level 1 Nocturne
Familiar
Bamboo Phytocat
Click or tap to view this dragon in Predict Morphology.
Energy: 0/50
This dragon’s natural inborn element is Light.
Male Nocturne
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Personal Style
Apparel
Skin
Scene
Measurements
Length
1.19 m
Wingspan
1.5 m
Weight
1.97 kg
Genetics
Spruce
Basic
Basic
Metals
Basic
Basic
Amber
Underbelly
Underbelly
Hatchday
Breed
Eye Type
Level 1 Nocturne
EXP: 0 / 245
STR
7
AGI
6
DEF
8
QCK
5
INT
5
VIT
8
MND
6
Biography
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RHYS / YDRIS
The Abdicated Prince & Fisher 
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 B I O G R A P H Y
[You've heard enough about Rhys's story from others. Here are some snapshots to fill in the rest.] His mother was a driven ruler, who firmly believed that her children should know the people who they would one day lead. So she organised a tour of their clan meeting shop owners and diplomats alike, and teaching the young prince and princess the core value of Heulog's leadership: welcoming newcomers with open arms. They were recently matured from their hatchling phase, awkward and gangly, the pair of them. But he and Mabli followed their mother like ducklings; awed by the slowly growing lair and the intricate architecture that almost glowed in the bright sunshine. Many Dragons wanted to meet the young heirs, and for the most part, it was... Bearable. Being the centre of attention wasn’t really Rhys’s style - Thankfully he wasn’t the oldest. By far, he enjoyed the quieter places the most; the Library, the Familiar Sanctuary, and a few of the shops. They could have been more accurately described as fronts for researchers in the alchemical and scientific arts, however, and Rhys enjoyed watching these Dragons get passionate about their crafts. It was in one such shop that he met Amyr. He didn’t remember much about the shop itself - though he’d become very familiar in the years to come - but he could remember Amyr as clear as day. As his parents talked to James about his alchemic studies, Amyr smiled at Rhys broadly, as if greeting a friend. His warm coloured scales added an extra comforting feeling to the expression, and though they were strangers, Rhys found himself smiling back. Looking quickly around to see if anyone noticed, Rhys extended a paw towards him to shake. “Hello, I’m Rhys. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Amyr took it. “Nice to meet you too. I’m Amyr.” Rhys has decided that the warm, fuzzy feeling that settled in his chest could only be a solid sign of friendship to come. Years later, he wondered how he could have been so blind. Sometimes their eyes would catch each other’s for too long. Sometimes Rhys laughed louder than he thought he could at one of Amyr’s jokes. Sometimes, during those blissful afternoons where Rhys could escape from his lessons and meet Amyr on the river bank, Rhys would watch Amyr scribble at his homework and… Ponder. He wishes he could remember that first time clearly. He remembers snatches; brief moments. Concerned eyes, warm scales under his palms, rushed words hissed between gasps. The warmth of a smile afterwards. The words of his tutor taint every memory for years; “It is the duty of every heir to the throne to find a Mate, and to produce heirs with that Mate. Not adhering to that duty will hinder the future of the Crown.” Rhys fell through the window with a soft thump. He carefully stepped around the more creaky floorboards, knowing by heart which ones to avoid. He rounded a corner to find Amyr’s room which even in the hallway glowed with a soft, inviting light. It was dimly lit by a candle on his desk, which was partially blocked by the slumped figure that was scribbling away frantically. Rhys took a moment to smile warmly at the familiar sight. “James still has you practising?” Amyr stopped writing with a relieved sigh. “I’m getting there. You took your time though,” he laughed. He turned to face Rhys and froze for a split second. If Rhys could blush, he certainly would at the way that Amyr eyed Rhys up and down. Slowly. Amyr cleared his throat, though to Rhys it sounded much more like a splutter. Rhys ducked his head. “I’ve been practising too,” he said softly. The small golden chains that adorned his arms, his legs, his neck, gently tinkled with every small movement. The clasps that held the chains in place were decorated with small blue gems to match his primary colour. He hadn’t had time to take them off before he sneaked out… Though Amyr’s reaction was well worth the slightly too-tight clasps that scraped against his scales. Amyr sat back and made a small noise of understanding. “The coronation’s next week, isn’t it?” Rhys slumped against the small bed. “Yes.” Amyr sighed. He pulled his small chair closer to the bed to sit opposite Rhys, taking one of his (much larger, heavily decorated) paws to hold. “Are you sure you don’t want me there?” “...No,” replied Rhys, biting his lower lip. Amyr abandoned his chair to try and wrap Rhys in a hug. “Just say the word, and you know I’ll be there.” “I know,” came the muffled response. “But I just can’t.” They sat in silence for a moment, until Amyr made a small noise of understanding. “What was her name?” “It doesn’t matter,” Rhys said woodenly. “Ah, no! You can’t not tell me who is trying to tear my paramour from my side!” Exclaimed Amyr dramatically. “Who is she?!” he shouted loudly, prompting Rhys to shush him, giggling. “You’ll wake James up!” “I don’t care about him! I’ll fight her for your hand!” At this, Amyr grinned down at a helplessly laughing Rhys, and dropped the jealous act with a laugh of his own. Rhys’s chuckles subsided, and he didn’t realise how tense he’d been until he slumped into Amyr’s embrace a bit more. “Thank you.” Amyr jostled Rhys’s head when he shrugged. “Don’t mention it.” They sat in silence for a little longer, before Amyr broke it. “Why don’t you tell your family?” Rhys snorted in frustration, and tried to move away. “I’ve told Tyr, haven’t I?” “I know, I know,” said Amyr quickly, tugging him back towards his chest and rubbing an arm. “We’ve gone over this, but-” “I cannot disappoint them, Amyr, I just can’t. I have so much to live up to. I have to look as though I am playing the part. For Mabli’s sake, if no-one else.” Rhys shifted so he could look at Amyr, who was clearly trying to bite his tongue, but glaring into the middle distance. “I’m sorry,” he said in a croak. Amyr closed his eyes and sighed. He looked back up at Rhys. “You shouldn’t have to choose-” “I know, I know.” Rhys settled back into Amyr’s arms. “Can you-?” his sentence faded into a shaky breath. “Can you please tell me about your day?” he asked hesitantly. Amyr rested his head on Rhys’ for just a moment; pressing a very conservative kiss between his eyes. “Of course.” Mabli was as resplendent as ever, even dressed in just soft silks. She had asked Rhys to come with her mate, Murk, to the hatching of her eggs. Murk was unusually restless underneath his smooth veneer of calm, and Rhys patted him on the shoulder with a smirk. When Mabli noticed them both walk through the modest cave entrance, she beamed. “Murk! Come see!” She waved her mate closer, and Rhys stepped back to let them have a moment. From what he could tell, there were four hatchlings in the cluster; two fae, like their father, and two guardians, like their mother. Two of them, one of each species, were being held by a whispering Mabli and Murk. The other fae was being tended to by a concerned Machlud and Mefus. The final hatchling, the guardian, was still sat curled in the nest; blinking blearily at everything around them. Oddly compelled, Rhys stepped forward. The hatchling stared at him with unguarded curiosity, and Rhys found himself smiling at the small dragon. He reached into the nest tentatively to delicately pick off a small fragment of egg shell from their hide. The hatchling crept closer - albeit a little shakily. Before Rhys could... Well he wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing exactly, but before he could do… That; Mabli cleared her throat. He snatched his hand back guiltily, but only saw a slightly amused smile on her face. “I invited you here because I wanted to talk to you.” “Oh?” She paused, and Rhys felt the full weight of both her and Murk’s assessing stares. “It’s come to our attention that you’ve not been focused on building a family of your own.” Rhys felt his stomach sink, but was proud of the dismissing scoff that came out of him. “Not really my thing,” he lied through his teeth. Murk - the Spymaster, Rhys remembered helplessly- flared his nostrils. It was usually a tell of his that he’d found an interesting morsel of a secret. A tell that Rhys had noticed in the many hours of public reception they’d both sat in over the years. Mabli didn’t seem to believe him either. “I think having an experience in raising a family might help you,” she said kindly. She couldn’t be suggesting-?, thought Rhys in a panic. Mabli carefully picked up the Guardian who had been looking around independently a few moments before. “We’ve already talked about names for the first two, and honestly, I think we’re going to have our hands full. Our third is said to be exalted soon.” They all looked over at Machlud, who nodded calmly. “Leaving our final hatchling.” she said with such an air of finality that Rhys was momentarily stunned into speechlessness; not helped at all by Mabli placing the hatchling into Rhys’s arms. Rhys was frozen in place. Looking at the curious hatchling resonated within him so clearly - the off feeling he’d had for days, the instant pull… She was his Charge. His inner turmoil clearly wasn’t evident to the hatchling, who cheekily pulled at his golden beard. “I can’t accept this, Mabli,” he whispered. “You’d be doing us a favour. Yes, really,” she said with laughter in her voice when Rhys looked at her in astonishment. “I think you’d be a wonderful father, Rhys. Maybe now you’ll find someone to share that role with?” She winked at him cheekily, and he could only smile weakly in return. Any semblance of joy he had tasted like ash at the back of his throat. Rhys was holding a sleeping Angharad when he realised Amyr had crept in. His head shot up, and he realised with a small amount of resignation that he’d been caught brooding. Amyr smiled, but for the first time, Rhys couldn’t quite read him. His slumped shoulders said tired, resigned. Rhys shuffled slightly so Amyr could sit beside him on his gilded chaise lounge. Amyr hesitated, but took the seat. They sat together in silence, until Amyr reached out and gently stroked some of the smoother scales along Angharad’s snout. “She’s going to be a heartbreaker when she grows up,” he said lightly. Rhys’s laughter sounded a little lacklustre, even to his own ears. “She already is.” Amyr sharply turned to look at him. “What’s wrong?” Rhys sighed, chewing his lip. “I had another proposal.” Amyr shrugged. “And this is different to every other one because-?” “She was… Important. Mabli wants this match to work.” A beat. Amyr rose an eyebrow. “She really wants this to work,” Rhys insisted. “And she’s using Angharad to guilt-trip me into it.” Amyr looked at him with such sadness that Rhys had to turn away. A moment later, he felt Amyr gently hold the back of his hand that was supporting Angharad’s head. Rhys exhaled deeply from his nose, admittedly a little shakily, and leant against the small but reassuring warmth from Amyr. Amyr’s other arm swept across his shoulders in a loose embrace, and Rhys could feel Amyr’s head gently rest on his shoulder. “I don’t know what to do,” Rhys admitted. “I can’t do this anymore.” He felt Amyr tense. “‘This’?” “This act - my duty.” Amyr relaxed against his side. “So what will you do?” Rhys shrugged, biting his lip. “I don’t know,” he murmured despondently. “I’ll rephrase-,” said Amyr. “What can you do? Let’s run through the options and we’ll see where we go.” Rhys paused. “‘We’?” Amyr huffed out a deprecated-sounding laugh, then uncurled from around Rhys. He walked away, towards the door. Before Rhys could panic, he came back with a small stool, placed it firmly in front of Rhys, and sat. In a much less firm manner, he held Rhys’s hands with his own. “I should have said this years ago, but… Whatever you decide, I’ll follow your lead.” “Even if it means-?” Amyr’s hands tightened slightly. “I’d really it rather not come to that,” he said with a slight grimace. “But if that’s what you need to do, then.” He trailed off, clearly unable to finish the thought. Regardless, he sat up straighter. “So what’s our first option.” Rhys mirrored Amyr, and sat a little straighter. “First option? Accepting that proposal.” Amyr nodded grimly. “Pros and cons?” Rhys thought. “Pros: I would strengthen the Clan’s ties with hers; it would stop Mabli asking me when I’ll find a nice Lady to bond and settle down with … And it would provide Angharad with a mother.” Amyr paused for a beat. “And the cons?” Rhys smiled sadly at him. “I couldn’t be open with you. I’d be miserable with her, and it wouldn’t be fair to her either.” “Second option?” Amyr prompted gently. “I could tell them. About us. And before you ask-” Rhys interrupted Amyr, who looked like he was about to speak. “-The ‘Con’ is the… Overwhelming feeling that I’m being judged. Weighed up against my family before me, and the family after me.” “We’re not the first Dragons in the Clan to be in this kind of relationship,” Amyr said slowly. “No, but I would be the first official Royal to be in one, and I’ve been told since I was a child that deviating from that is wrong. And just at the very thought of being the one to break the mould, it-” he paused, throat closing up. “It terrifies me.” “So we keep hiding this,” said Amyr calmly, but his tone was resigned. Rhys felt the moment stretch between them; like standing on the edge of a precipice. He looked at Amyr, his kind, caring Amyr, and felt his decision ringing true for the first time in years. “I don’t want to keep pretending that I don’t love you; not for anyone.” Rhys watched as Amyr’s shoulders loosened from the tension. He looked lighter than he had in years, Rhys thought guiltily, but Amyr was smiling so softly at him, and there was a fierce light of pride in his eyes. Amyr leaned forward, careful not to crush Angharad between them, and kissed Rhys for a long moment. “I love you too, y’know. We probably don’t say that enough, do we?” Rhys felt an answering smile tug at the corner of his own lips too. “It is nice to hear.” With one final peck, Amyr sat back on the stool and took Rhys’s hands again. “So what are we going to do?” “There is a third option,” said Rhys slowly. “A third option?” parroted Amyr with a frown. “I could abdicate.” The genuine shock left Amyr speechless. Under any other circumstances, Rhys would have laughed. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while-” “‘A while’?” asked Amyr faintly. “A few years,” Rhys admitted. “I’ve never been happy with being a royal really, have I?” “No, you haven’t,” said Amyr, shock morphing into a thoughtful expression on his face. “Do you have a plan?” He stumbled from Mabli’s rooms, Angharad somehow still in his arms, with encouragements and well-wishes ringing in his ears. “Words can’t express how truly sorry I am to see you go, but I wish you and Amyr happiness in your new life, Rhys.” He bumped into Murk on the way out and stuck an arm out to help him rebalance. “I’m so sorry-” “Don’t mention it. It was an accident.” Murk brushed himself down, before looking up to make eye contact. Barely a second went by before Murk’s blank expression changed to one of genuine sorrow. “I had hoped it wouldn’t come to this. I wish you luck, Rhys.” Rhys had learned by this point that there was no use in wondering how Murk knew things, but he supposed that his drab, dark clothing couldn’t suggest many other options. Feeling a rather alarming threat of more oncoming tears at Murk’s rare emotional display, Rhys merely nodded. “Thank you.” Murk took a half step, as if to leave, but faltered. “We both know we have been suffering in our food supplies again. The gardens can’t keep up with the growing populace.” Here, he paused. “If that’s something you would consider, you know I am always here to help.” How does he know? thought Rhys wildly, then realised. He hadn’t exactly hidden his recent purchase of a small lair space by the river mouth. In fact, he had considered the idea over one of their usual planning meetings. The clan’s map had been surprisingly empty in that area… He turned back to ask Murk, but only saw his retreating back. Feeling somewhat humbled, and deeply grateful, Rhys quickly readjusted Angharad in his grasp and scurried down the hallways. He had thought when he was younger that he understood what peace was like. Resting on Amyr’s chest as they found a quiet moment to relax together by the water’s edge; sitting opposite Amyr at his desk as they both finished paperwork in companionable silence; slumped against Amyr’s side as they both looked down on a slumbering Angharad who they had coaxed into rest. But true peace came when he was sat in his small boat, fishing pole in hand, on the calm morning waves that gently broke against the hull. No expectations, other than to catch enough fish to fill his quota. Angharad was growing taller by the day and soon overshadowed Amyr, much to her delight. She was naturally inquisitive, and the endless stream of questions never faltered as she grew older. Between them, they supplied her with a rudimentary education, though most of it came from Rhys’s old tutelage. That was until Amyr admitted that he had a mailing list of teachers across Sornieth sending lesson plans and advice, and honestly Rhys was grateful for his mate to think that far ahead. On some of the days that she was free from schoolwork, Angharad would join him out on the water; quiet but eager to be in his quiet company. Most days she would watch Amyr work; experimenting with materials both natural and brewed, and would beg to be a scribe to hide her doodles in his notes. Sometimes she looked so like her mother that he ached. ‘Ydris’ was developed out of a necessity for privacy. Rhys would find it ironic that he left his home to be his authentic self, but felt a thrilling sense of freedom when he dusted himself down with the rust-coloured, baked clay of the river bank to hide his golden wings and underbelly. Disguise in place, he could trade his hard-earned fish for dried meats, honey, seeds, paper, and ink. On the rare occasion, he would trade for textbooks and trinkets for Angharad and Amyr, and on the even rarer occasion, he would banter with the stall-holders and engage in polite conversation. Though he was seen in the eyes of many as ‘Ydris’, he had never felt so open with who he was in his life. It was set to be another calm day on the waters. The morning sun was slowly starting to burn off the mist, and the birds were just starting their morning call. He was emptying out the lobster pots when a female voice called out behind him. “Are you Old Man Ydris?” Rhys scoffed at the title, though silently thanked the ‘Weaver that the clay from yesterday was a bit more stubborn. “Who’d like to know?” The Dragon in question was a fair bit younger than himself, perhaps even slightly younger than Angharad; a Coatl in pale shades of blue and yellow, carrying a large net under one arm. She extended her free hand out in greeting, accompanied by a warm smile. “I’m Peggy.” “A pleasure to meet you.” He took her hand, shaking it firmly, before letting it drop. “How can I help you?” At this, Peggy smirked. “I’ve been pointed in your direction by the tradesmen in the next village. They tell me there’s no point fishing in these parts, as you’re taking all the fish upstream.” At this, Rhys coughed sheepishly. “I do apologise-” “-But then they told me,” she barrelled on. “That you’re supplying a growing clan with fish, basically single-handed, and I was just wondering… Would you want a partner?” Rhys blinked. “I won’t take much of a cut from you-” “I would be delighted.” “-And I swear I’ll be able to afford my own boat soon and- Oh.” It was her turn to blink, but it passed quickly with a broad grin. “Oh, well then! Pleasure doing business with you, partner.” Telling Angharad of her origins was a none-issue, despite Rhys’s gnawing concerns. She took it surprisingly gracefully, admitting that there were rumours of them both from the other Dragons on the edge of the clan. Amyr, wonderful as always, leaned in conspiratively. “Do they know it’s us?” he asked her in a hushed tone, a gleam of humour in his eyes. Angharad was at an age where Amyr’s silly-Dad behaviour resulted in rolled eyes. “Baba,” she whined. “Stop,” she drawled, making Amyr laugh. “Do they know it’s us?” asked Rhys in a hushed tone. Angharad sobered and shook her head. “No. But they do wonder if the Runaway Prince was kidnapped by some scoundrel…” She said the latter part in an accusatory tone, much to Amyr’s glee. “Did you hear that? I’m a scoundrel!” Watching his small family’s antics settled Rhys’s nerves until they were hushed. Not quite gone, of course, as he feared he’d always be looking over his shoulder. But sat around their handmade wooden table, bathed in the afternoon light from one of the open windows in the clay wall, Rhys could almost relax. Peggy was a little quieter than usual that morning. Rhys was appreciating the mild morning, so didn’t tease her like he normally would have done. Together they silently gathered the corners of the nets, and threw them in an arc overboard, landing perfectly - as always. Long after the net sank below them, Peggy spoke. “You’re the missing prince, aren’t you.” It wasn’t really a question, but a statement. She wasn’t looking at him; instead glancing down at the waters. Rhys heaved a weary sigh. “What gave it away?” He watched her chew her lip in thought. “When I introduced you to Carver, you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” She didn’t see his pained grimace, so carried on. “You barely talk to him even still. He thinks you don’t like him,” she laughed humourlessly. “No, it’s not that,” Rhys said quickly. Peggy’s head whipped up to look at him. “Then what is it? Did your family do something so bad to you that you can’t even look your own brother in the eye?” Her tone was aggressive, but Rhys noted a small hint of defensiveness in there too. Rhys swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. “He reminds me so much of our Father… I can’t bear it.” Just with that, Peggy’s defensive posture deflated somewhat. “What happened?” Rhys shrugged. “It was my own anxieties that ate me up. Even thinking of going back now… Fills me with a small amount of dread.” Peggy’s look of alarm hastened the rest of his speech. “I know nothing would happen, but I have a life of my own here with my Mate and our daughter. Being in the public eye just… Wasn’t for me.” Peggy nodded thoughtfully, but said nothing else. Knowing her a little too well, Rhys let her stew. It wasn’t until after they had heaved their catch into their boat and were starting to sort the fish that she spoke again. “Can I call you Rhys?” Rhys held his gut reaction back to really look at her. She was holding, of all things, some crowntail wanderers in her cupped palms. She radiated a nervous energy, but she looked genuinely serious. Some small part of him settled. He was surprised to find himself beaming so broadly. “Of course you can.” Angharad arrived home late one evening from her mercenary work with two sheepish-looking Dragons following her. “Papa, Baba? These are my mates.” Rhys was midway through washing off the clay from his earlier trip to the market, and distantly heard his cloth plop into the lukewarm basin of water. Stunned by her matter-of-fact announcement, Rhys looked to Amyr; who seemed to be struggling to find words as well. “This is Dan,” said Angharad, barreling through with her usual bluster. She gestured to the Guardian on her left, who tilted his head up in defensive determination when they clocked eyes. “And this is Finn,” she gestured to the rather large Ridgeback to her right. He looked a little less sure about the whole situation and even went as far as to duck his head in a deferential bow. “Your Royal Highness.” Rhys grimaced. “That won’t be necessary.” His formal greeting rejected, Finn visibly floundered for a way to answer respectfully. Angharad took pity on him and leaned into him supportively. “Could they stay for tea, Baba?” she asked Amyr. Amyr was stone-faced. “I think they should.” “Amyr, really; that tone won’t be necessary for our… Guests,” Rhys said as smoothly as possible. Angharad raised one eyebrow at his equally cold reception, but she led the way through their small Lair to the communal eating area. Dan followed confidently, eyes scanning the cozy living space. Finn trailed behind a little more cautiously, although his eyes wandered just as far. This left Rhys and Amyr behind to hesitate. Rhys looked to Amyr, and received a complex expression that probably matched his own. “Well,” Amyr said dryly. “I suppose we had better talk to our ‘Guests’.” They followed behind the trio, slowing to a halt when the three youngsters all seemed to be juggling food between them for a late supper. They moved in such a way that Rhys was struck by how familiar they seemed to be with each other. Their movement was somehow visually fluid in how they cooperated with each other in the simple task of gathering food. Dan carved into a large leg some sort of deer, if Rhys was to guess. Angharad went low to select an oat loaf from a cupboard, and as she ducked, Finn reached over Angharad to pluck the carved meat from Dan’s plate, and started arranging the sliced meat onto the fancier dishes that were usually tucked into a corner of the taller shelves, which Angharad must have just informed him of. Rhys cleared his throat gently. All three whipped around clumsily. Unfortunately for Angharad, she stood up just in time to meet a slice of cold meat in her face. “Angharad, if I could borrow you for a moment?” asked Rhys, wilfully ignoring the choked laughter from Dan. “I caught a couple of rather large bass that I think we could all eat.” Angharad looked at him blankly. “That’s wonderful. Would you like a hand?” Rhys nodded slowly. “That would be appreciated.” Realising that they’d both be left alone with the small but silent Amyr, both Dan and Finn attempted to step forward with Angharad. Amyr’s smile turned shark-like. “I don’t think it takes four Dragons to bring some fish back, isn’t that right Rhys?” Rhys tried to hide a smile. “No, I think Angharad and I can manage.” On the way back through the open threshold, Rhys caught Amyr’s eye. Go easy on them , Rhys silently chided. The smirk he got back could be roughly translated to, I’m not making any promises . He was painfully aware of the silence that was rolling off Angharad like something tangible as they left their house. The evening was pleasant; the heat from the day still lingering as the sun set, and the fireflies were just starting to make an appearance to give them a little bit more light to see the well-trodden path that led to Rhys’s salt shed. The shed was a little battered, to be sure, and the smell of salt and fish was overpowering to a Dragon who was unused to it. Thankfully for the pair, many years of gutting and preparing fish for the travel to market had given them both a rather solid immunity to the pungent stench. Rhys genuinely had caught a couple of rather large bass the previous day, so it was a simple task to load them in one of the many crates that lined the walls. Angharad remained silent, but Rhys noticed that she kept darting quick glances at him. “So how did you three meet?” asked Rhys suddenly, surprising himself when he broke the silence. “Well, Finn is my charge,” Angharad answered slowly. “I met him about three months ago.” “‘Three months ago’?” “Yes.” Rhys adjusted the fish in the crate. “And Dan?” “Dan found both of us because Finn is his Charge as well.” She said, casually. “We came to an… Arrangement.” “And you didn’t feel like you could tell us?” “No.” Rhys noticed Angharad’s facial features steel up. He forced himself to push yet another comparison to her mother aside, especially when he recognised the apprehension shining through her eyes. “Angharad-” Rhys started. “You can’t stop me from loving them-” “We would never-” She held up a hand to shush him. “Just give me a second to get this out.” She paused for him to nod. “I love both of them, and not just because Finn is my Charge, ok?” She took in a deep breath, “I know it’s not normal-” Rhys bit his tongue. “-But I don’t care!” Her bold declaration was undermined by the tears in her eyes. “Who cares if it’s strange, or- Or weird.” She paused to clear her throat, her voice suspiciously thick. “I want to share my life with them. I want to fight alongside them. I want to be with them both!” He voice trailed away until Rhys could barely hear her. “And they both love me in return. Why is that wrong?” Near tears himself, Rhys couldn’t contain the urge to dash forward and sweep his daughter into a rib-crushing embrace. He let her burrow into his neck like she used to when she was much smaller and simply held her until her grip wasn’t so desperate. After a long moment, he stepped back but didn’t let her go. “Angharad, I don’t think you know how much I understand where you’re coming from. I wish you told us earlier… Don’t get me wrong, I really wish you’d told us earlier,” he repeated with a strained smile. It brought out a weak chuckle from Angharad, so he counted that as a success. “But I can understand why you didn’t tell us. But… Just know that regardless of where you go, or what you do... We will be here to love you, and support you in whatever endeavour you find yourself in.” Angharad sniffled and stepped forward for another hug. “Thank you, Papa.” Feeling a little bit sniffly himself, Rhys patted her back gently. “I think maybe we should rescue your mates from your Baba.” Angharad groaned. “Probably, yeah.” Rhys awoke gently; awareness gradually making itself known as he flinched against the morning sun’s rays as it filtered through their bedroom window. Wait. His lingering awareness of Angharad, his Charge, was gone. His sudden fear startled him upwards, though if he was more aware, he would have noticed that his muscles moved a lot faster than usual. “Amyr!” cried Rhys, shaking him gently to wake him. Again, if he was perhaps more awake, he’d have noticed how much larger Amyr appeared to be than usual. Or that his hands had shrunk. No, he finally realised what was going on when one of Amyr’s eyes cracked open, and then flung himself out of bed in shock. “Who are you? What have you done with Rhys?” he demanded loudly. Utter confusion overtook his blind panic long enough for Rhys to blink. “Pardon?” Amyr blinked, then rubbed his eyes. He looked again at Rhys, this time with wide eyes. “It can’t be,” he said, mouth agape. “Amyr?” Amyr took a step closer and cupped Rhys’s face. It took a moment, but Rhys finally realised that he was looking up to keep eye contact with his mate. A split second later, he noticed how well his face settled into Amyr’s palms. “What’s going on?” asked Rhys, suddenly feeling slightly breathless. Amyr, ‘Weaver bless him, kept a steady hold on Amyr’s face and kept it tilted up to meet his eyes. “Everything’s ok, but you’re slightly different.” Rhys’s throat tightened. “Define, ‘slightly different’.” Rhys watched as Amyr opened his mouth a few times to try and say something, but eventually clicked his jaw shut. “It’ll probably be easier to show you.” Apprehension dawning, Rhys allowed Amyr to lead him by the hand towards their bathroom. The brief walk brought a few more details to Rhys’ attention; his pyjamas were easily three times too big for his body, he could no longer see the top shelf of their bookcases as they squeezed through the upper hallways of their home, and his hand was now the perfect size to interlace with Amyr’s. Amyr pushed him gently through the threshold of their bathroom and stood behind him with a supportive hand on his shoulder as he took in his appearance in the mirror. Rhys’s beard was gone. His snout was far less prominent. His teeth were so much smaller. He, in general, was so much smaller. What was rather unusual though was the fleshy frill that ran from his chin to his navel. He also had a few more horns that framed his face. In short, he was- “A Nocturne?” he asked incredulously. Before either could maybe speculate, the front door slammed open. “Papa? Baba?” cried Angharad’s frantic voice. They both turned tail and ran down the stairs to meet Angharad, who was joined in the hallway by two Guardian males. One was Dan, clearly, the other- “Finn?” asked Amyr after a brief moment. It was obvious in retrospect; the colours were the same, and Finn moved as if he was used to overcompensating for a weight on his shoulders and wings that was no longer there. He looked somewhat bewildered but nodded gratefully that he was still recognisable. “Papa?” asked Angharad hesitantly. “Always, cariad,*” Rhys said solemnly. He accepted her engulfing hug instantly, and something broke in him when he couldn’t quite reach the scales between her horns with his much smaller arms. Dan cleared his throat gently, and after a beat, Angharad let go. “We came here to check on you, sirs.” “Check on us?” Rhys asked him. Dan nodded. “The whole clan has been affected by random magic. We feared you might have- Well.” He gestured at Rhys’ form. Rhys grimaced, but then frowned. “You said this has affected the whole clan?” “Yes sir.” “In what ways?” “Changing breeds, mostly.” “Though King Pel has been affected the most,” said Finn. Both of Rhys’s now-prominent eyebrows rose in surprise. “How so?” “He’s been marked with some strange patterns,” said Angharad. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say it was writing, of some sort.” “The superstitious in the clan are starting to worry,” scoffed Dan. “You know how they are.” Rhys breezed past that. “Do we know what has caused it?” “It’s the Night of the Nocturne,” said Amyr from behind them all. “A traditional event that falls on the shortest day of the year. It’s usually known for its mishaps and… Magic,” he pointed that last remark at Rhys and Finn. “The emissaries!” said Finn suddenly. Angharad and Dan made twin noises of realisation. “We’re hermits, children,” snarked Amyr. “Enlighten the old men please.” “About a week ago, a handful of Nocturnes arrived at the clan. It was… Quite a spectacular entrance,” said Angharad with a soft smirk, as if remembering something. “They’ve put themselves forward as emissaries and ambassadors for the Nocturnes,” said Finn. Amyr frowned. “I didn’t know we had a centralised group,” he muttered. “So they caused this?” asked Rhys, voice starting to edge into anger. Dan shrugged. “They said they only released the magic and let it come to fruition. They claim, allegedly, that they have no direct control over it.” “But they had to say that,” said Angharad. “The King is now marked by magic, and it’s making people uneasy as to what it might mean.” Rhys heaved out a shaky sigh. His nephew, ‘marked by magic’? Rhys could only imagine the backlash he would receive. It didn’t take long for them to find out, unfortunately. Rhys was at the marketplace, no longer in a disguise, when he overheard two merchants discussing his clan. “Such a shame the Queen has fled. I can’t imagine the King will last much longer.” A mirthless laugh. “He’s cursed, I tell you. And he’s left no heirs either. ‘Weaver knows what the clan will do without a ruler.” Rhys went home with empty pockets. He explained his plan to Amyr, who asked him numerous times if this was what he wanted. It wasn’t. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But it was the only option that he could conceive of. They walked to Angharad’s home together on a surprisingly mild night. The moon was waning, and if Rhys was in the mood for finding symbolism, he would have perhaps suggested that it would represent the slow, inevitable loss of their relatively new King. The path that led to Angharad’s home was a gradual progression from a well-worn dirt track to an actual cobbled street lined with houses. Naturally Rhys didn’t usually venture this far unless it was serious, but the decision wasn’t usually relevant, as Angharad and her Mates would often visit them instead. Her street was just at the edge of the growing clan; it was situated within a brisk ten-minute walk from the training grounds for the Clan’s Guard, if the three ever deigned to join the rabble of the Guard. It was also conveniently on the main highway leading out towards the Tangled Wood, which made an excellent spot for a small mercenary band to set up shop. Amyr knocked on the neatly painted front door - Finn’s influence, no doubt - and both of them were startled when Angharad swung the door open almost immediately afterwards. She was dressed in a travelling cloak, and her mates were also clad in a similar attire, though Finn was holding some sort of bundle in his arms. “Oh! We were just on our way to you.” She stepped forward to give Rhys a hug, and then offered another to Amyr. “We’ve heard the news,” Amyr stated after a brief squeeze. “I gathered,” joked Angharad weakly, stepping back. A beat of an awkward hesitation passed, before Dan started backing up into their home to let Amyr and Rhys through. “We have much to discuss,” said Dan, to the point as always. Finn tutted, while Angharad rolled her eyes. “Please come in,” she offered. “We do actually have a plan. We think.” They trailed behind the trio, and were soon led to a cozy living room. Rhys and Amyr both sat on a relatively untouched sofa, whilst the younger Dragons settled into some well-loved chairs. Rhys almost laughed at how unintentionally regal they looked together; Angharad in the centre, almost holding court; Dan to her left; and Finn to her right. “The situation for the Royals does not look… Good,” started Dan bluntly. “I’m unsure how aware you are of His Majesty's social standing, but presently, the public opinion can only be described as ‘at rock bottom.’ There are now rumours of a potential uprising to remove him from the throne.” Rhys gasped, and Amyr cursed quietly. Dan produced a scroll, and as he read, he grew more grim.“King Pel and Queen Elspeth never had any immediate heirs. Her Majesty left within days of His Majesty being branded with those runes, and no-one is entirely sure why. Princess Bethany and her consort do not have heirs, and Prince Carver’s only surviving daughter is a scribe with no ambition for the throne. Princess Adelaide is currently not mated, and will not be able to provide an heir in due time before the public opinion boils over, even if she was to bond tonight.” The reality smothered the room. “There are options, however-” started Dan. “Me,” said Rhys, trying to hide the tremor in his voice. “As the brother of the previous Queen, the Uncle for the current King, and a Prince who received the finest training-” Dan interrupted, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you ran away from your responsibilities once already. The public will forever question if you would do so again.” Rhys blinked, then nodded. “That is… Very fair, actually.” “What other option do we have?” asked Amyr. “Angharad hasn’t received the diplomatic training necessary to be a ruler. Sorry love, didn’t think you’d need it,” he said cheekily when Angharad raised an eyebrow. “There is another option,” said Dan quietly. He didn’t seem very forthcoming, but he didn’t need to be when the cloth bundle in his arms started a high-pitched mewling, and all three dove to comfort their hatchling. “When?” asked Rhys, sounding lost, even to himself. “Literally this morning, Papa,” said Angharad apologetically. “I am sorry, and we honestly would have told you earlier, but-” “He is my charge,” declared Finn. “And I have needed to be a non-bribable guard for His Majesty today. I was not leaving him.” “Are you sure he is your charge?” Finn looked resolute. “Yes.” “How will this work, exactly?” asked Amyr. “He is too young to rule a clan!” “We can protect him as he grows. I,” Finn hesistated. “I was a previous noble in another clan. I know enough about diplomacy to eke us through until Apollo is old enough to rule properly.” “And he still has His Majesty’s staff on hand for additional advice.” “And before you ask,” interrupted Angharad. “We plan to make our entrance quite public. Queen Mabli is still within the Palace, and can verify that I am who I say I am, and that my son is a legitimate heir to the throne.” Rhys pulled a face. “Is that actually the case? From a cynic’s perspective, you are the daughter of a Prince who abdicated his right to the throne, and would therefore not have the right to claim it for her own son.” “We can still use that particular angle to argue that I am still technically my mother’s daughter, and I have every right to claim the throne when my brother is so unpopular with the public. Not to mention if we actually explained to the public why you left, because somehow you didn’t tell them-” “You’re not seriously suggesting-?” asked Rhys, truly astonished. “I have every intention of telling the public who you are, and what decision you previously faced; between a life you’d want to live, and the Crown itself.” “But you don’t need to-” “I want to.” “Angharad-” “Times have changed, Papa. There are now more people in this clan that harbour some element of attraction to the same gender than those who do not. It has become the norm, and some people remember the times when it wasn’t. “You deserve to have your side of the story remembered, because people genuinely do not know, and they’re wrong about you both. They mess up so much of your past, and it’s time the record was set straight.” Rhys was left speechless. Truly and utterly. “You’ve thought about all of this, haven’t you?” Amyr asked the trio, awed. A series of nods. “Do you need our help at all?” Dan had the gall to outright laugh. Finn looked somewhat chagrined at least, but Angharad smiled at them ruefully. “We’ve got this, Baba. If you’d like to help, then you can, but-” “But you’ve no idea how we’d fit into this, do you?” She shook her head. “Unless Papa would like to actually tell his story, but I think I could manage that if he doesn’t want to.” Amyr hesitated long enough for Rhys to possibly respond, but Rhys was still ruminating. Amyr stood to leave, still nothing. “Well I certainly wish you all the best of luck in this. Let us know if we can help, because we both would in a heartbeat.” “Thanks, Baba.” Rhys slowly stood. He felt completely disoriented, but swept all three of the youngsters in a firm embrace. He forgot that he was about a tenth of the size of all of them, but it didn’t matter because Dan started laughing and hugged him back, and Finn tried to help by extending his free arm to Angharad to sweep her in properly, and then suddenly Amyr was chastising him for crying on his grandson and honestly being squashed in a hug by his small family was the only way this conversation was going to end, and he knew it. Finn was the first to let go, begging off that he needed to put Apollo to sleep. Dan stepped back a few seconds later with a hearty pat on Rhys’ back, which left Angharad and her two dads. Both Amyr and Angharad waited until Rhys stopped crying before stepping away, but neither let go. “Are you ok, love?” asked Amyr tenderly, rubbing some of the softer spines on the back of Rhys’s neck. “Give me a moment,” he managed to say around a solid wobble. It made Angharad chuckle though, so it was worth it. Her face grew serious, though not necessarily grim. “If you really don’t want me to tell people about your life, Papa, then I won’t.” “No,” Rhys said firmly. “No, you’re right. People deserved to know why I left, and I wasn’t forthcoming enough. And I never let you explain either, Amyr, I’m so sorry-” “Already forgiven, love. I… May or may not have sent a few letters,” Amyr admitted sheepishly. “Good,” said Rhys, surprised that he meant it. He kissed his mate chastely, quickly, so as to avoid the fond eye roll from his daughter. Rhys looked at his daughter, and for the thousandth time, she reminded him of her mother. “When are you going to go through with this?” “As soon as possible,” replied Angharad. Rhys nodded. “We’ll join you.” Angharad beamed. “Really?” “Really?” mirrored Amyr, half-joking. Rhys nodded. “We’re a family. We need to show a united front.” Angharad gave him one final hug. “I shall see you tomorrow then, Papa.” Rhys had a moment to preserve a neutral expression ready for the general public while Angharad and Amyr shared another hug. It was a close call though when he could hear a muffled, “So when are we meeting our grandson properly, madam?” Rhys felt Amyr take his wrist as they walked back through the house. Though it wasn’t unusual, Rhys was a little startled by the contact. He turned around to face Amyr, and found a wobbly little smile on his Mate’s face. “Amyr?” “I’m so proud of her, Rhys.” Rhys twisted his hand slightly so that he could hold Amyr’s hand properly. “Me too, darling.” He gave his mate’s hand a brief squeeze. “Let’s go home.” 
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