Ophelia

Ophelia stands tall before the minuscule, mulberry dragon, wings spread wide. Given her size in comparison to Viola's, she expected the fae to cower. The dragon in question, however, merely raised her brow. Swirled, emerald eyes stare up in silent fury into the wildclaw's own and Ophelia falters.

"You come to us seeking refuge and have the gall to challenge me?" The fae leaned back as she spoke, the rock she was seated on far below Ophelia's eye level. The gesture was almost insulting, as if the tiny dragon below her didn't perceive the wildclaw as a threat. "We welcome you with open arms, bandage your wounds, feed you and let you have rest, and still you want more. I expected better from you." Despite Viola's apparent disadvantage, it was clear she commanded far greater presence than Ophelia could ever hope to.

The fae made no move to increase her size, wings shut and body seated, almost relaxed if not for the subtle tension in her form. Her eyes remained locked on Ophelia, and the wildclaw seemed to be losing her nerve. The wildclaw, for her part, was unable to answer to the fae's remarks, frozen in place on unsteady feet.

"I even let you keep your finery." The purple fae almost sounded disappointed. "Such expensive clothes should have been traded for asylum in any other territory; perhaps I should have extended you that same generosity." Viola's words dug like a knife into Ophelia as she realized it was true. She was in no position to make demands. The fae resumed her speech.

"You think usurping me as a leader will grant you protection from the ones that tore your wings? From what you mentioned, they want your head." Viola shifts slightly, crossing her legs under her ruffled skirt. The motion seemed mundane rather than nervous, very much unlike the anxious shuffling of the former queen. "You may not have been responsible for the famine of your old kingdom," she pauses, voice tired and worn, almost pitying. "But as you stand before me now, you are guilty of mutiny."

Ophelia felt the blade before she saw it's wielder, cold, sharp metal pressed against her throat. It surprised her that it wasn't simply a set of claws ready to strangle her. It felt so impersonal, the gesture almost as cold as the steel. Whoever was holding the blade was unwaveringly loyal to their leader.

The wildclaw was slowly coming to realize her mistake. She was weak, fragile, alone. She had attempted to make no new allies during her stay, expecting the dragons here to simply bend to the will of one so 'clearly' superior to their current leader. She hadn't expected to be rebuked so wholly.

Even if she didn't cause the famine, she was no leader. She held power because it was her right, not for the good of her tribe. It was no wonder she was driven from her old home. She was no queen; she hardly held the right to serve one.

Ophelia found herself slowly shutting her wings, the bandages going slack as she relaxed them. Her leg shifted backwards, and she nervously dipped her head to the ground. The motion was anything but graceful, but her intention was clear as she practically lay her snout to the dirt at Viola's feet.

Submission. Every drake in Viola's territory knew the gesture by heart. The blade at her neck was swiftly removed, and Ophelia let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. However, she didn't relax, as Viola still didn't look satisfied. The wildclaw remained bowed.

"Kneel," came the next command, and, to her credit, Ophelia did without complaint. Her dress was trampled with the gesture, and she made herself as small as possible. She dared not look up at the fae.

"Remove your crown." The wildclaw paused, but did so, laying it delicately at the foot of Viola's stone seat. While Ophelia kept her eyes cast downward she could hear movement from the fae, and moments later felt the crown being placed once more on her head.

"You may rise, Ophelia. Rise and stand beside me from here on. You may know much about how to rule, but I will teach you how to lead."