Winter

May 21, 2016

Icicle lay curled in the moss-covered cavern she shared with Gloaming. He'd already departed, having taken such care in unravelling his wings from hers and untwining their necks and tails that she'd slept through his gentle leave-taking. It was like him, to go to such effort. It would have been simpler to wake her, so they could separate themselves quickly from their usual slumber-tangle.

But she'd been restless lately. Irritable and uneasy. So he'd gone to all that effort. Hours ago, judging by how little of his warmth remained in the cavern. He was always warm, like a summer night wrapping her in heat and peace.

Purring at the thoughts of her mate, she stretched all her limbs. Legs, wings, neck, tail. Only when everything was properly awake did she feel a strange sensation wash over her.

. . . . . . .

She found herself inside a vast glacier. The cold was unrelenting, punishing. Her eyes stung as they froze. Her wings were weighted with ice and her legs secured in place by mountains of frozen crystals. Her tongue was frozen to the roof of her mouth and her tail felt as if it would break into pieces at the slightest tap.

Then it was gone, her body absorbing the ice, the chill, the frigid air.

It felt delightful. Like a cold bath at the end of a hot day. She felt invigorated and renewed. Giddy.

"Indeed," a crisp and glacier clear voice emerged from the ice itself. "Indeed you are a daughter of the Icefield. How then, do you bear eyes of green and the scent of forests?"

Oh Icicle knew this game. She'd used it enough herself on the clan's hatchlings. The all powerful act.

"My mate," she replied with a bit of coolness in her own voice. "His Charge is a section of the Gladekeeper's own Viridian Labyrinth."

"Is this so?" The voice mused, echoing faintly off the walls of ice that surrounded her and reflected her own self back at her.

Her reflection had a very sardonic look on its face. She tried schooling her expression to something more neutral. She was an adult, after all. The matriarch of a great clan. Her reflection's expression melted into something more polite.

"And what is your Charge?" The voice asked, more frost and less curiosity in its tone.

Icicle raised an eyebrow. "What business is it of yours?"

"You speak so freely of your mate's Charge, yet not your own."

Icicle snorted, steaming plumes of air jetting from her nostrils, only to cloud over and freeze. Her condensed breath crashed to the ice floor and shattered with a tinkling rush.

"My mate's Charge is clear to anyone who sees him. Not every dragon is as forthcoming as he."

The voice filled the cavern with a hissing laugh. Unpleasant and cold, it creeped up Icicle's spine and nipped at the tips of her wings.

"Then what keeps me from recalling you to the Icefields? If your mate is saved from those who would summon him to the Sea of a Thousand Currents by his devotion to the Gladekeeper, what spares you?"

"We cannot be recalled. We are nature. We are our own bloodlines, none may claim us, save those we claim." She scowled, stating the obvious.

Dragons who were the start of their own lineage went where they willed, regardless of family or connections. It had always been so. Some hatchlings were born to the nest and carried the lines of their mothers and fathers. Some were born to the world, free of their home clans. Free of any tie until they chose one.

"I say you can be recalled. Contrary, Charge-less hatchling." The voice was filled with menace now, and the tips of her wings, her claws, and her belly and horns were beginning to freeze over again.

"My Charge is my mate," she said defiantly. "And only him."

The chamber cracked apart. Giant pieces of ice, several tons each, began crumbling and falling with the sound of a forest being torn apart. Cracks and booms and whistles filled the air until she thought her ears would bleed. Shards of ice rained down on her.

"I take your name," the voice hissed, enraged now. "I take your name if I cannot take you."

"You aren't the Icewarden!" She roared in anger. "You aren't anything!"

"And you?" The voice mocked. "Who are you?"

. . . . . . . .

She woke in the vast meadow that was the gathering and greeting place for her clan. She ached. Examining the worst of her pained places, she was not surprised to find her wings and claws and belly had been partially frost bitten. Though everything had feeling and worked fine, the color had been altered.

Gloaming, her mate, backwinged deftly as he settled beside her. His comforting warmth melted away the last of her fright and anger and indignation.

"Are you well, beloved?"

She nuzzled his face. "It appears I must rename myself," she said, and explained her transformation and what led to it.

Gloaming was beside himself with fury and concern. That took longer to soothe than did telling her tale. Which was as it should be, she supposed, she was part of his Charge. And he was all of hers.

"What then? Will you take a Nature name?" Gloaming asked, when he'd gotten himself under control.

"Oh no, my darling. Nothing of the kind." She grinned evilly. "I shall call myself Frost. And whoever it was who sought to subvert me can kiss my tail-tip."

Gloaming growled. "Whoever that was had best hope to never cross our paths."

Frost rumbled in agreement and twined herself around her mate, basking in his warmth. And soothing him, in turn, with her frost-laced calm.

March 17, 2024

Summary: Frost becomes Winter. The lair has reached maximum. Gloaming's endeavors are a success. He stretches himself even farther and a mere frost is not enough to give him rest or bring peace to the restless energy that drives his fervor in serving the Gladekeeper. So Frost reaches within herself and brings the full potential of her power to bear so that her true love does not exhaust himself to death.