On Black Wings
Third Day of the Second Month 294 AC
The Burning One knew only rage for so very long. It had nearly consumed them to the point that even the cinders had burnt out, only a dim awareness of its right to life keeping it afloat, through all the moonless nights and the sunless days which would consume even barren rock in the end. Because it was
fire, it was
might and it was
unbridled ferocity, it would fight and destroy and kill and consume all in its rage unabated, until even the ash had been swallowed whole.
When it had been called back to the world under the great flame and bounded by shallow skies, its rage was matched only by its sorrow. It knew as keen as any dirge its birthplace was just as the ashes it had swallowed. It had taken many moons to kill the tainted things, fire and claw and tooth shattered on endless scales. The Burning One was not bright with thoughts of why or how, but even it knew how to mourn if not to fear. The little one which had rode it had fallen to the
other fire in the body while it had fought through it, but would never grow any stronger, only weaker, even though it had food and endless pastures to roam.
It rose into the air less and less, until almost nothing could rouse them to take flight again, experience the only joy it had left.
The last one to take the Burning One into the air was kin to the next, who had not many moons after breathed its last. He had twisted and spat and cried its rage at their new kin, and then bowed their head. For the first time in long ages the Burning One had its strength, its freedom to sore the skies and a worthy bond to cling onto, to keep its focus and anticipate clashes in the sky and death in the air.
It knew no concept of war, and only a vague semblance of what battle meant. Dimly it knew that was entrusted to the bonded, kin in not form but blood. It need only carry them to triumph of blood and bright claws.
Except the one he was bound to could take to the air on their own wings, was of form with the Burning One yet smaller in size, limited in ferocity, and they were not accustomed to the way of death in the sky, of tooth and claw and endless rage, aimed all to hurt and wound and crush and kill.
But the bound had one thing to its advantage. They were
stubborn. And they would not give up no matter how much the mighty one struggled, which might have meant peril for all else.
Hours they fought the Burning One, and time after time every wound added was a wound erased, where they only grew more tired. Their rage was eventually spent.
It was content.
This one will do, some instinct sang to them.
And so it was.
***
The Burning One lifted its head at the approach of the bonded kin. They raised a wingless limb and rested their claw upon the beast's scaled nose.
"
It's ironic," the bound one said, making an odd sound with their throat, almost too quiet to hear, but the Burning One had keen senses. "
You are the dread of every Lord who ever perked up during history lessons as boys, to learn of the forging of the Seven Kingdoms. The terror which burned itself into the consciousness of millions over the Narrow Sea, and I only brought you back after I made you obsolete."
The Burning One's throat rumbled at that, it did not understand much of the sounds they had made, but the bond made the intent of their smaller kin known. Few would dare take them lightly, fewer still would survive an encounter standing this close. But they were safe, probably safer this close than further apart. It would die before losing another, until long past its rage was spent and the earth itself had ground to dust. It had come back from the sunless lands before, perhaps it would claw its way back a second time and burn what remained.
The bound kin looked up at the Burning One, almost wistfully. Then a playful glint entered their eye. "
We don't need to terrorize the world together, three centuries and senseless slaughter and enough of that to go around. But we can fly
, can't we, Balerion?"
Balerion hustled forward eagerly at the word
fly, it knew that one well, and he jostled their bonded kin until they would mount them and then they would ride and
claim the skies. The odd sound was made by the small kin, shoulders shaking and wingless limbs batting them off fruitlessly. "
Alright, fine, you brute," they conceded, "
I know when words are better spent elsewhere."
They didn't fly nearly enough to sate the Burning One, but in the long hours they did, they
ruled the skies, not merely claimed them, and all who turned their gaze upon them knew it so, as was right.
And for a brief time the rage of the Burning One was replaced by the joy of the Black One again.
Its rage was spent, and it was content.
OOC: The only thing here that is mine is the title. The rest is a great Balerion PoVfrom @Crake.
