*Peeks over garden hedge* Um... hi!
So... I've been following Wings of Dust for a while (quietly, from the bushes). It's a beautifully written story about dragons, and... well, I have a soul dammit! Of course I love it! The idea of it never getting an ending made me sad, so I started writing one.
If you haven't read this masterpiece yet, stop what you're doing and go fix that! (It should show up under my favorites, or you could just use the good old-fashioned search bar.) I can promise that none of what is about to follow will make sense on its own, since I don't want to rewrite/rehash what's already there.
Concerning the outline that was posted, I tried to strike a good balance between including lots of plot points, but also changing things and moving them around so that those who have read it will still be surprised. Hopefully that works out well!
Also, um... since this is someone else's story that I'm adopting, there's going to be bits of it that don't fit my strengths, exactly. Uh... ships. I'm talking about the ships. I don't know what to do with those. I've poked 'em with a stick before and it was quite fun, but I'm also kinda just... awkward around writing them. So! I will make my most valiant effort! But uh... well, honestly I'm mostly just glad the groundwork is already there, and that all these people are complete dorks about romance anyway. I figure I'll just write lots of emotional intimacy and cuddling and hope for the best. We'll see how it goes!
Right, last thing—as of the time I'm posting this I should have a decent buffer going, so I plan on updating this every Tuesday. So uh... yeah. Let's get right to it!
1. The Loneliest of All
Dawn broke slowly over Beacon. Watery sunlight filtered through crisp morning air, birds sang in the trees, and a lone fire dragon emerged from her stall to roam the grounds.
The first students stirred. Nora slid out of bed and tickled Ren's face with a piece of string, to see how long it would take for him to notice. Sun twitched in his sleep, turning over so that his tail hung down over the edge of his bed and collected dust bunnies.
In RWBY's dorm, a cheerful electronic jingle started to play. Very insistently.
Blake opened one eye to locate the source of the disturbance. The other was still gummed shut with sleep. "Weiss... Make it stop." A hand emerged from Weiss' blankets and slapped half-heartedly at her scroll. It fell to the floor with a thump, still making the noise. Dark muttering started from somewhere under the mass of Yang's hair.
Ruby groaned and jammed a pillow over her head. A second passed. Then, finally, the sound stopped. There was silence. She squeezed her eyes shut, tried to think sleepy thoughts—soft blankets... warm milk... Professor Port's voice...
Their window was open—she could hear birdsong.
"Ugh... I can't go back to sleep."
Weiss twitched. "Ruby, no."
"I can't help it!"
Blake heaved a resigned sigh and swung her legs out of bed. "Classes start in..." She checked her own scroll. "...four hours."
"Weiss." It was Yang's first coherent word of the day. "Why...?"
"It was a call, not an alarm. I didn't set it on purpose."
"This is the second time! Shut off the ringer!"
"I can't!" Weiss snatched her scroll off the floor and slammed it down on her bedside table. "What if something happens and one of you needs to contact me?"
"So block the number! And who the hell is calling you at five in the morning?!"
There was a tense, awkward silence. "I can't do that either." Weiss fled into the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her.
"I'm gonna feed that thing to Fang, I swear..."
Ugh. It was too early for this. It was too early for anything, even by Ruby's standards. The sun still wasn't all the way up yet. "Yang, she's right. If someone comes after Blake and we can't reach her—"
"I know, I know."
Being up this early wouldn't have been so bad, except they weren't supposed to leave their dorm until eight. Ruby's teammates spent that time doing homework, reading, or giving up and napping. She tried first one, then the next, then faceplanted on her bed. It wasn't much use—once she was up, she was up.
Two minutes before eight, Blake's scroll beeped. Ruby dashed over to the window, stuck her head out, and waved.
"Hey Mocha!"
Several stories below, a pair of dark brown eyes blinked back at her. Mocha let out an answering bugle and wiggled a forepaw, mimicking Ruby's wave.
It had only been a couple weeks since Junior's warning, but Ozpin had already set up a makeshift security system. They couldn't get official help, since they couldn't tell anyone official why someone might be after Blake, but he'd recruited a few of the older students and their dragons to walk them to their classes. It had taken a long time for Velvet to stop asking questions. Coco still hadn't.
Together, they made their way down the stairs that led to the courtyard. "I still think this is pointless," Blake grumbled. "It's not like the three of you plus all four of our dragons isn't enough protection."
Yang tried for a grin. "More security is better, right?"
"More people definitely isn't."
"Between classes is when you're most at risk," Weiss pointed out. "The professors' dragons are patrolling around the dorms and besides, he has no way of knowing which room we're in. Plus, well, he'd have to be a complete moron to try anything in the middle of class."
"I know."
"Better to overestimate how many people and dragons we'll need than vice versa."
"I know." She sighed, ran a hand through her hair. "I'm just... this is exhausting."
Weiss winced, glancing guiltily at her pocket. "I can turn it off at night, if you need me to. I just worry about forgetting—"
"That's not what I meant."
"Uh." Yang raised a hand. "I definitely wouldn't mind that. Just saying."
"I wasn't asking you."
Ruby pushed the door open. The argument trailed off into nothing when they walked outside and were greeted by Mocha and her rider.
"Hi Yatsu!"
He smiled and patted Storm on the nose. "Hello, and good morning."
"Nothing good about it," Yang grumbled. "Someone had to wake us up at—"
"I don't control when h—when my scroll goes off!"
"Would both of you drop it?!" Blake snapped. "It happened, it's over, can we please just go to class?" She strode off towards the open field where their flying lessons were held. Ruby and the others had to jog to catch up with her, and when they finally did she ducked her head and sped up.
"My apologies," Yatsu said, "But I believe we're supposed to stay with you, in case something happens."
"Right. Sorry."
She slowed down, but stayed a few paces ahead of the rest of them until they got to class. Yatsu left them with a final wave, and Ruby had to part ways with her teammates—the wind dragons would be able to fly with riders sooner than the rest, so they were way ahead of the others on the theoretical stuff they had to learn first.
Ruby shot a last concerned look over her shoulder at Blake, who winced when she noticed. Oops.
Maybe they could try doing something to help her relax later. She liked books... reading night in the dorm? A trip to Vale for—okay, no, that was a terrible idea. Ruby scuffed the ground with her boot. It had only been a couple weeks and she was already going stir crazy. She couldn't even imagine how cooped up Blake must be feeling.
It's only temporary. That Adam guy had to get caught at some point, and when he did they could all head into Vale to celebrate. Yeah.
"Nneh... Nnehh—" Nymph tried to pop the 'p' in Neptune's name, but only ended up blowing a raspberry.
"Give it a rest, will you?" Huo flicked his tail irritably. His sister had been stuck on the same syllable of her rider's name for weeks now. He'd say it was getting annoying, but it had already been annoying when she started.
"Oh, shut up. You're not even trying!"
"Yeah, 'cause I think it's stupid."
The four of them, and their riders, were relaxing in the fields near the earth stables. The others' humans were still whining about the cold, though Sun had exchanged his winter coat for a sweatshirt, so Huo figured it probably wasn't as bad as they were making it out to be.
Zircon hissed and let his head flop to the floor. "I still can't get farther than that..." Sage gave him a pat on the nose anyway. Nimbus mimicked the noise, then shook his head and snorted.
"Please," Huo scoffed. "It can't be that hard."
"Maybe if I skip that part..." Nymph drew herself up and said, "Nneh... Tuh..."
Neptune let out a little squeal and hugged her around the neck. "Guys! Guys, did you hear that?"
"Nneh... Ooh..." Her rider squealed again.
"It looks like they're all trying." Sun grinned at Neptune. "Except Huo."
"I'm sure he'll figure it out," Sage assured him. Huo growled. He could talk if he wanted to.
Nimbus perked his head up. "So we can just skip the hard parts?"
"Sage's name is all hard parts," Zircon groaned.
"Ahh..." Nimbus tried. "Ahh... Ahh... Arr!" Within seconds he had his rider hanging off his neck, too, while Sun and Neptune started laughing.
"Arr, mate-y!" Sun said, clapping Scarlet on the shoulder. "Have yeh a bottle o' rum?"
"Don't listen to him," Scarlet cooed at Nimbus. "You're amazing!"
"I don't get what all the fuss is about," Huo complained. Fighting was hard—this was just talking. Besides, none of them had actually gotten the names right. Not the way the humans said them.
Nymph arched her neck haughtily and said, "Nneh... Tuh," again.
Indignant, Huo rose up onto his haunches. Then he looked his sister dead in the eye. Paused for effect.
"Sun," he said—perfectly, and smugly, on the first try. Sun yelped and slid down from where he was leaning against Huo's side.
"Did he just—"
"It's really not that hard," he told his sister. She glowered at him.
"That's because your rider's name is easy to pronounce."
"I still think you're all just wimps."
"Why don't you try Neptune's name, then?"
Huo puffed himself up and smirked. "Nnn." Okay, fine, maybe this was a little harder, but—"Nnnuh. Nneh!"
All of his siblings were laughing at him now, though Zircon was trying to hide it behind a wing.
"Nnneh—fuck!"
Their riders were in hysterics. Even Sun, who patted him affectionately on the shoulder and said, through fits of laughter, "Figures he only says my name when he's trying to prove a point."
On the same day, on a different continent, the sun had only just struggled up over the rim of Atlas to light its surface instead of its underside. Solitas didn't get much sunlight during winter at the best of times—it was only in the last month or so that the day had gotten longer than six hours. Today it had even less, since it had been snowing heavily since yesterday afternoon.
Whitley watched the storm from his window, the snowflakes melting whenever they touched the glass. It was fogged over from his breathing. The world outside was muffled and whisper-soft. Hushed, like it was holding its breath. Waiting.
He'd stood by this same window last September, when the sun hadn't set properly in months—just dipped languidly behind the mountains for a few hours, then rose again before its stain left the clouds.
He was in bed the night after Weiss left for Beacon, taking advantage of the darkest part of the twilight hours to finally get some sleep. Whitley always hated that about summer—it wasn't until after eleven that his room finally got to be pitch dark, even with the blinds drawn.
Then Glacier had started howling. He groaned and pulled his pillow over his head, wishing the stupid dragon would get the message already. Father had tried to keep the stupid lizard quiet, but the next night—just when it got darkest, at the exact worst time—he let out the same long, high-pitched sound. It was almost pretty, like ringing crystal, but he wouldn't stop until Father came and made him.
On the third night, Whitley gave up. He rolled out of bed, put on his warmest coat, and threw the window open. A frigid draft rolled over him, banishing any hope he might have had of sleep. Glacier's voice was clearer, and he realized with a shock that it wasn't just howling. He was alternating between three notes.
Whitley pulled himself up onto the window seat and leaned partway out the window, breathing the freezing air and listening to Glacier sing. He was chilled to the bone within seconds, but he didn't move to shut the window and go back to bed. Instead he just sat there, staring at the closest thing Solitas currently had to a night sky.
A hot tear rolled down one numbed cheek, and he wiped it furiously away. He pitied Glacier, that was all. It was hard not to—he must be feeling very alone right now.
"Get over it," he told the dragon. "She's not coming back."
Minutes later, Glacier's voice cut off abruptly. Whitley waited for a while, and when the song didn't start again he closed the window and crawled back into bed.
Glacier had been silent at night, after that. Whitley wondered if the dragon had somehow heard him, then dismissed the idea as being idiotic. He got back into the swing of his lessons. Proper night returned, then swelled up and strangled the daylight. Snow fell. He stopped going outside.
Mother, now confined to the manor like just about everyone else, drifted through the halls like a wobbly ghost. Whitley got into the habit of leaving his window open at night, on the off chance that Glacier would sing again. Father went on a long business trip to Mistral to escape the weather, and missed the night in January when the northern lights descended on the manor.
Glacier sang again that night. It went on for hours, until Whitley had to slam the window shut and run into the bathroom to wash his hands and face with hot water—only to thaw them out!
Now Father was back, and the manor had settled into its usual routine once the winter night was over. Whitley held his hand over the latch, then sighed and let it fall. There wasn't much point. It hadn't happened since the night with the aurora, it wasn't going to start again tonight. Glacier had finally gotten over it. He'd shut up for good.
Two minutes later, Whitley grabbed his coat and walked out into the hall.
By now there had been a few sunny days warm enough to melt a bit of the snow that had fallen during the winter. Traveling the grounds still wasn't for the faint of heart, which was why most of the buildings were connected with tunnels—the exception being the three dragon stables. There wasn't really a need for them to have an easy route to the manor, since the only ones that went there regularly were the stable hands. And giving them access to the house itself in the dead of winter, when snow blocked all the exits... Whitley shivered.
Still, it would've made what he was about to do much easier. Which was really only yet another reason why those tunnels shouldn't exist, since he had definitely lost his mind and was making a huge mistake. He ought to turn back. Now.
Whitley slipped out a side door. The wind cut right through every layer he was wearing—it felt like it went right through his skin, too. He foundered for a moment in the snow, which still reached his calves despite the fact that all the manor's walkways had been shoveled just this morning. People would be out clearing them again soon. He picked up the pace.
He was red-faced and shivering by the time he arrived at Glacier's stable, and a misstep had left him with a clump of snow in his boot. It still hadn't finished melting into his sock. There was no possible way he wouldn't be sick by tomorrow morning.
As cold as he was, Whitley stopped to stare at the doors. Would the stable hands have gone home by now? He wasn't sure if there were any posted to make sure Glacier was comfortable during the night. Did one dragon alone really warrant that sort of attention? How hard was it to look after a fully grown ice dragon?
"How long are you planning on standing there?"
Whitley let out a high-pitched yelp and tipped over backwards into the snow. He flailed, managed to dump some of it down his collar, and finally went still just in time to see a hand extended towards him. It stopped about a foot short of his chest. He finally realized he was supposed to take it, and then the stable hand deposited him on both feet on the path outside the stable.
"You may as well come in, now," he said, frowning critically at Whitley. "It's no greenhouse, but it's warmer than out here."
"I—" Whitley caught sight of the man's fox ears and stopped mid-sentence.
"I'm Rusty." The faunus backed up to the stable doors, holding them open. "I can call someone up at the house, if you like. They'll send—"
"No!" He coughed into his hand. "That won't be necessary. I was..." Whitley looked around, hoping a plausible reason for being in this part of the grounds would present itself.
"You wanna see Glacier."
There wasn't much point in lying, not when there was nothing else out here. Whitley nodded.
Rusty frowned, glancing over his shoulder into the stable. "He's been testier than normal lately. Your sister almost lost a hand last time she was here. Don't get close. Y'hear me?"
Whitley nodded quickly. He could hardly believe this man was actually doing this. Wasn't he worried someone would find out? Well, Whitley certainly wouldn't tell, but that was only because he'd have to explain what he'd been doing out here first.
The inside of the stable was warmer than the grounds, but not by much. Rusty watched him shiver for a moment before sighing and shedding his overcoat. "Take it."
"But—"
"C'mon. I'll get in trouble if you freeze on me."
Whitley lay his own jacket on the door of one of the empty stalls to dry. Rusty's coat was much too big for him, scruffy and patched and smelling like hay. He scratched his shoulder and hoped he wouldn't get fleas. But the longer it sat on his shoulders the more he found he liked the weight of it, and it was much warmer than it looked.
Finally he worked up the courage to look at Glacier. Rusty opened a window in the stable door for him, then held out an arm almost eight feet away from it. Whitley stood behind it, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of Father's dragon.
"Say hello, Glacier," Rusty called.
There was a rustle from inside the stall. Then nothing.
"Shame. Nothin' to do with you, though. He's never liked people much, and it's only gotten worse lately."
"You said he almost bit Weiss."
"Not bit." Rusty sighed, and his breath fogged in the air. "Froze."
"At least he let her get that close," Whitley grumbled. "Glacier—"
There was a flash of white through the stall window. Then a single eye was staring at him with a cold intensity that made his breath catch in his throat. It was blue, not icy blue like Father's but deep and dark. A thin layer of ice over a lake that went down and down...
"Back up." Whitley bristled at being ordered around by a stable hand, but a moment later he was glad he'd obeyed. Something slammed against the door, hard, and white mist drifted out into the stable. Even from several feet away he could feel the temperature drop. He shivered and drew Rusty's coat tighter around himself.
"Best get back. He's not in a good mood tonight."
Whitley retreated to the other side of the stable. His teeth were chattering. "I w-want to know why he d-doesn't sing anymore."
Rusty took Whitley's coat down from the stall door, beating the snow off of it with one gloved hand. "He's muzzled at night, now. Kept waking your daddy."
"Oh."
From then on, Whitley slept with his window firmly shut.