Chapter Text
No one could have known what would happen to the banished heir. He was unpredictable, with a wild heart. Many thought he'd never be seen again, many thought he'd die.
But with a willed mind, and a dragon's soul, he did more than survive.
He thrived.
Dagur ran after the dragons, quicker than any man, yet slower than most dragons. Including the ones he sought to follow. Their silhouettes stained the cool rock under his feet, covering the sun with their large size and long wingspan.
He stopped at the edge of the rocky nest, before the soles of his feet could run past the edge, and slumped. As he watched the dragons cut their way through the clouds, he imagined a view he's seen before. Their roars boomed through the sky, the beats of their wings growing imperceivable the farther they soared.
At the age of 5, though he couldn't remember, he had made a big mistake. Young, too young for a brutal punishment. He was banished. Playing close to the water, he had cast off his only sister. They were only playing.
By the time she was found, the girl had become ill and weakened. He was judged on his prior actions and was punished for attempted sororicide. She was just a baby, after all.
Though that was hardly the first thing he'd done. Whispers of arson, and the loss of farm stock were frequent. There were more than a handful of times that his village was torn between banishing or keeping the heir.
Though a girl, if raised correctly, his sister could always make a fine replacement for the boy.
--
Dagur looks down from the cliff. It's high up, but he isn't scared. There are more dragons below. His brothers and sisters. They'd catch him if he were to fall.
It's beautiful, he feels, from way up high. He can see so much, the trees, the sky, even invaders, if there ever were any.
He almost feels like jumping off, just for the rush of air beating against his ears. To feel as if he's just dropped his wings and is free falling, able to catch himself whenever he so chooses. He leans over the edge, staring at a dragon watching him carefully from below. Like they're reading his mind. They know he wants to jump.
But he doesn't. For him, being able to fly with one of his best friends is enough. He inhales, preparing to call for his friend. “Sleuther fly with?” He hisses out the words, turning to look behind him. Sure enough, Sleuther is there.
The draconic dialect comes out harsh, his body not made to make some of the deeper growling sounds needed. But he's understandable to his brothers, so it matters little.
He doesn't want to talk to any others anyway.
A deep growl penetrates his thoughts. It's his brother Sleuther, answering his question.
When his nest mates say his name, they say it as he first did many years ago. Or at least they try. But when Dagur hears “aa’grr” he knows it's him.
“(aa’grr) Dagur? You want to fly?” The dragon asks him, able to make more complicated and well-formed sounds.
The boy only needed to nod once, before the triple strike gripped him with his tail and placed him on it's back. The dragon crooned proudly when he felt his smaller brother lay against his back, getting ready to fly.
“Good.” His small brother said, the draconic word for ready apparently being one of his least favorite words.
The big dragon spread his wings, and would take off for his little brother.
---
Without a mother, or father, Dagur was lost. A child with no one, no friends nor uncle, nor friend of the family to take care of him.
He was too young when he met his first friend, too young to recall it now as a teenager.
If he tried hard enough, he might remember brown hair, maybe even his green eyes. He'd remember playing with him like they were brothers.
It would take a long time before he'd remember that he nearly drowned the kid.
--
The only things he liked better than flying, was violence, and his brothers.
The air rushed past his face, peeling back any worries or fears he's ever faced. The warm scales under his legs made the colder air more noticeable against his skin. His hair flew freely as a red mane, dancing with the sky as he and his brother sliced through the air, much like the other dragons.
Dagur knows he's different from his family. He's off. No scales, no wings, and no claws. But this. Flying through the air with his nest mate is what reassures him.
He's not a monster. He's not some overgrown animal that wandered into a dragon's nest when he wasn't supposed to.
Flying through the air, despite his physical faults, reassures him.
Dagur is a dragon.
And he always will be.