Aldwyn

He was born under a pale winter moon, shining down on the nest in the Starfall Isles, and it could have been said that the moon had colored him that night as well. So much the image of his mother, though where she was white and shining like fresh fallen snow, he had the glimmer of a moonless night, dotted with a hundred thousand stars, all calling to be seen.

It was a busy little nest, where he grew with many brothers and sisters...and one by one, as they all did, they wandered far from where they had hatched. Many of his siblings longed to travel, to fly, to see all the world. Aldwyn did not feel such an urge. Rather, it wasn't that he did not want to travel. He did, and wanted to go everywhere he could. But the others of his nest were looking for the sake of looking. They wanted to be everywhere and stay nowhere.

Aldwyn knew that he was looking for something. For someone, perhaps. But he would know where he needed to be, when he found it.

He could not have explained why he stopped in the Tangled Wood. Perhaps it was something in a dream, some subconscious sign from the Arcanist above...he wasn't sure. He didn't think he needed to be sure. Something called him there and he was willing to stay. His pale wings stood out among the shadows, but not enough to make him stand out too much. He stayed quiet...watching...waiting.

Dreams were common, for him. Neither of his parents had been given to them, but neither of them had been born with the Arcanist's eye as he had been. They encouraged him, of course, but could only give limited guidance. He had traveled, albeit briefly, to the Sea of a Thousand Currents, seeking wisdom from the oracles who heard the Tidelord's words, hoping that they would have a sign for him, a path or direction. In the end all they did was lead him home, saying that there was a light in the shadows he needed to awaken, and to stay where he was and wait for the time to find him. He returned to the Wood perplexed and more than a little frustrated, trying to determine how in the blue blazes he was meant to find any kind of light--literal or metaphorical--in the Wood around him.

Until one day a fire burst to life before him.

It took him far too long to see that it was a dragoness before him and not a true fire, and by the time his senses had rearranged, she was staring at him. And for all his wondering, it was as if everything had righted itself with her presence.

He invited her in. What else could he have done? He could no more have turned her away than he could have torn off his own wings. She spoke of lies and deceit, of trickery and falsehood. Of course, he had seen more than his share in the Wood, but the clan he stayed with was different. They would take her, in all her fiery brilliance, and he was certain of it.

And in time, she came to be certain of it too, he believed.

It was with a hesitant glance that he finally asked her to nest, unable to meet her eyes for longer than the briefest of seconds, certain that his innate leanings had finally led him astray. But she gently nudged his head up, met his wine-red eyes with her blazing fire-gold and smiled.

His heart had never felt so light.

He worried for the hatchlings, he worried for their mother, he worried about what a young one's life in the Tangled Wood might be like. Was it wrong to stay here for their birthing? Should he have suggested a return to the Isles, distant though they may be...but strong, and safe? Or should perhaps they have gone back to where Verja herself had come from? The fires which had tempered her surely must do well by young dragons.

But each time he voiced a concern, her smile eased his spirits, and he would settle again. If she was convinced, then he would be convinced. Their children would have shadow amethyst eyes, and he was content with that. It was almost certain they would share the shimmer of their parents' bellies, but he could not make out what colors their scales might show. They were fire and ice, day and night...there was a world of choices, and only time would tell. For now, he would be content.

Perhaps their life in the Wood would not be as perfect as he had once dreamed his future to be. Dreams were hardly ever prophetic, and if they had been, it would not have made for the life he now lived.

Lore by @Hyleoroi at the Olympuswatch Lore Shop