RD-07 

Chapter 8: Winter Is Coming 

"Father, what is this?! The kingdom's deadline for surrendering pleasure-whelps to the Dragon was last month! Wait... Is this Duke Barrington's missing daughter? Are those whisker shears?? Did you cut this whelp yourself!? Father, you know it's been proven that the Cut can think and feel, right?? You know the penalty for cutting a whelp, right!?" 

"No court will see the King," King Noon confidently declared. 

"That is correct, Father," Rafael agreed, running the King through with his royal cutlass. "There is only one penalty for abusing a whelp. You will redeem yourself by becoming jerky to sustain our holy Dragon through the winter." 

"Long live King Rafael," Queen Midnight proclaimed, standing in the doorway to the King's royal bedchamber and looking quite satisfied. 

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(The soup is different today. What is this meat, anyway?) Sean asked.  

"Oh, that's just because we've switched over to our stores of preserved meat meant to get us through the winter. Does it taste ok, my Dragon?" Twilight lied.  

(Still delicious,) Sean decided. 

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(I am no longer a white Dragon) Sean said, examining his transformed and scaly right arm. (More of a blue-green Dragon).  

The blue-green scales, shiny and metallic, covered his right arm from the elbow to fingertip, leaving only the inside of his fingers and palms bare but now darkened in color to a blue-black. His fingernails extended beyond the smaller, more flexible scales that covered areas with movement such as the inside of his elbow and his hand, and had darkened to a blue-black more similar in color to his palm than the scales. They were hard and sharp and kept growing like fingernails; he wanted to trim them, but hadn't found any material hard enough to even act as a nail file; both his scales and nails were harder than the squirrel's iron and would scratch the iron instead of being scratched in return. He could still feel with the scales, but the sensation was dulled; he supposed that was optimal for combat. He had full feeling in his right palm and the underside of his fingers, but he would have to be wary of keeping his claws away from the soft squirrels. He could only pet his fluffies with his left hand now and feared the day when he would no longer be able to pet them at all. He supposed that he could always lay still and let them crawl all over him, which is what he was doing right now.  

"Sean, The Great Blue Earth Dragon of Lust!" Twilight agreed, while giving him the head scratches that he loved so much. She was also good at cleaning his scales, using claws which seemed uniquely suited to sweep out leaves and debris that got stuck in between.  

(More of a blue-green, don't you think?) Sean asked.  

"How can one color be two colors?" Twilight asked in confusion. He examined his scales. He supposed that they were a single color, but he would call that color blue-green.  

(What color are the leaves?) He asked.  

"Also blue." He was pretty much the same color as the leaves.  

(What color is... The average human?)  

"Also blue. Just a different blue."  

Sean supposed that not even telepathy could overcome cultural differences in the perception of color. He examined his left arm; flashes of shiny scales peaked out in strips from under the flesh, just like on his legs, and probably, back. Injury seemed to speed development along, and Anthrax had torn his right arm up and led to the current development. He had felt all over his body and found what he identified as scales growing in under his skin everywhere, including his face and scalp. Only his palms, crotch, and bottoms of feet seemed free of scale growth. He thought the latter was a shame; he could really use some shoes. At least he would be able to feel the soft fluffy tails of his Fluffies on the bottoms of his feet.  

(If all of my skin becomes hard, will you still love me?) He asked Twilight.  

"Of course, you silly Dragon! Your scales are beautiful. The color makes you look more human, actually. And now you have claws like me!" That was true, Sean supposed. He wondered if he would grow his own whiskers and a fluffy tail, too. "Besides, you and I can't stay whelps forever. We need to be finished maturing in time for spring!"  

The thought shocked Sean. It had not occurred to him, before. Just like the squirrels, he was losing his soft whelp's fur/skin and growing a shinier, more metallic (in his case, literally) outer layer. Could his original human form, in fact, be that of a Dragon Whelp? Twilight whiskered some anxiety because he didn't respond to the last thing she said, so he followed up with, (I cannot wait to have a beautiful spring wedding with you.)  

Princess Twilight radiated pure joy, and got back to work scratching with renewed determination. His and Twilight's relationship had progressed in the last couple months. Their speedy jogs after each bathroom break had awoken mature needs inside of her, and he had become bolder at fulfilling them with his kisses and tongue. He also, finally, let her fluff him, which she dutifully did at least once a day. It wasn't as soft as the fluffing of a whelp, but he felt her love when she did it and it made it better.  

When he asked her if she minded that he allowed others to fluff him, she seemed surprised as she replied, "I never expected to have you to myself. You're the Divine Dragon and I'm just one lucky little princess that happens to be your Rider. I figured you would also take Dawn as your bride when she matures; everyone knows that Dragons like Princesses. Besides; there's no way one person could satisfy a mature Dragon of Lust; don't get me wrong, of course I would fluff you all day if you told me to. But then I wouldn't have any time to talk to you and serve you in other ways. It just makes more sense for a Dragon of Lust to have an army of concubines."  

Sean wasn't sure if he was "maturing" or not, but he certainly got into the habit of being fluffed all day long. There was only so much to do during the winter, and it seemed to raise his own body temperature, as well as that of the city; the inhabitants saw it as merely logical cause and effect; give the Dragon gifts, he bestows warmth to blunt the harsh chill of winter. He had put Dawn in charge of the constantly rotating heaps of ex-pleasure-whelps that pleasured him with their tails every minute of every day. She and her second in charge, Dawn2, were very good at that job, and made sure to take multiple shifts themselves every day.  He had impressed the importance of making sure those that served him sexually were as enthusiastically consensual on Dawn, now that they could actually communicate with them via New Draconic. He didn't want to rescue the whelps from sexual slavery, rehabilitate them, then take advantage of their abusive programming and make them sex slaves once more.  

To his surprise, as soon as the rescuees started talking, he learned that only about half of them never wanted anything to do with sex again, while the other half eagerly studied New Draconic in order to beg their beloved Dragon and Savior for the privilege of pleasuring him. And so, roughly half of the fluffy ex-pleasure-whelps that lived in Sean's Respite in the hundreds were on one long rotation in order to have the privilege of fluffing him. Sean reasoned that even if some of them were doing it for the wrong reasons, or that he was taking unfair advantage of their gratitude, that it really wasn't going to do too much harm since it was only a couple minutes of exercise (and perhaps getting their fur a bit sticky) once every couple weeks.  

The biggest issue facing Dawn, his fluff commander, was dealing with all the girls that tried to break in line. The situation was happy and stable now, and his town was a fluffy, crimeless paradise of happy squirrels. No one would dare even steal a piece of food when their God-Dragon was large, visible, and for all they knew watching and judging them that very instant. On the contrary, the presence of a resident goodly god encouraged everyone to act more righteous and defend those who could not fend for themselves, as their Dragon had done, leading by example. Not everyone had the same concept of "mercy" and "equality" but they all made time to listen to the sermons of the Terramancers, who studied and explained the lessons of the Tomes of the Earth.  

The House of the Young was no longer a completely closed institution; formerly, the young were transported there during times of low Titan activity and stayed until near maturity, with the exception of the offspring of Nobility and Royalty, who would graduate early, or in some cases, never make the trip to the House of the Young at all. The House of the Young had closed up for a while, after the escaped whelp that Sean allowed to flee to safety gave them a scare with her story. But they had learned that the kind and merciful Dragon loved and protected whelps, and had made sure that such things would never happen again. Now they often wandered about the city, safe in the knowledge that the very last thing anyone would EVER want to do in Sean's Respite was hurt a whelp.  

It brought Sean joy to watch them frolick and play in his city, or crowd at the edge of his personal circle, hoping the Great Dragon would come by and play with or pet them. Sometimes the adults would have to shoo them off the Dragon Road, Sean's personal runway for entering and leaving the city. 'Just think about how sad you would make the Dragon if he accidentally stepped on you' they would say.  

The waiting list to move into Sean's Respite was huge, and would continue to be so for a long time even though King Rafael, a devoted and loyal follower of the Dragon and a supporter of the transition to the Path of the Earth, sent any and all supplies Count Gaston requested, and then some. It was learned that the Dragon was fond of the great Warla the Warlord (whose popularity was now second only to that of the Dragon, himself) and that she had a legendary audience with the Dragon, during which she had calmed his great, righteous rage by offering him tea.  

Honeyflower tea, formerly thought of as an economy beverage, had skyrocketed in popularity and was a common sight everywhere in the Kingdom; after all, it was the favorite of both Warla the Warlord and Sean, The Great Blue Earth Dragon of Lust. Anyone of importance, with any taste at all, could now explain exactly why Honeyflower has always been an underappreciated flavor, precisely because it was inexpensive and easy to produce. They had been drinking it for years, of course. They had always been saying that honeyfruit was overpriced and overhyped.  

Nobles would pay for houses to be built as close to the Dragon as possible, despite Count Gaston's warning that Sean's circle would inevitably be expanded, requiring the demolition of structures on the perimeter. Sean had expressed a preference for shorter structures on the inside and taller ones kept to the outside so he could have a clear view of the city, and that had become Gaston's design strategy. The amenities of Sean's Respite were still quite primitive compared to that of the capital and other large, well-established cities, but the safety and feeling of security from living in view of the Dragon, the general level of happiness and reduced crime, and the unseasonably warm winter was enough to entice the Nobles, if not the Royals, to try to move in early and claim real-estate in the city that everyone thought would become the new capital in 10 years.  

There was talk of trying to prepare the capital for Dragon occupation, but Sean himself shot it down; the Throne of the Dragon of Mercy was meant to be next to, and thus protecting, the House of the Young (his Fluffies). Everyone knew the Dragon loved the little whelps, which is why he kept rescuing them. So did Dawn, who was begging him daily to let her be stunted and thus permanently have the fluffy, downy fur he enjoyed (not cut, now that she knew the difference). Sean was against it, but he was about to give in; he figured she would probably do it anyway, one of these days, as she began to panic that her maturity was getting closer. He would rather a professional do it to her then she herself, possibly killing herself. Besides, it would be nice to have one furry bride and one fluffy bride, even if it made him feel like a hypocrite. Jafaar assured him that no one would question it and it wouldn't cause an issue; the Princesses that would carry on the Royal line would be King Rafael's future daughters, anyway.  

The winter was cold, but Sean kept warm with a blanket of a hundred fluffy squirrels and the warm Honeyflower tea that the whole kingdom tributed to him constantly. His treasure trove grew mightily, but was too cold to the touch to do any more than just stare at during the winter. Some of his rescuees still enjoyed playing in it, and would run back to him to warm back up. The rescuees were, for the most part, doing well. But there was a rough start; several had committed suicide after moving in, completely unable to adapt to the changes. This had been remedied by making them live in pairs, pairing the well-adjusted ones with the problem ones as often as possible.  

The rescuees that already lived in Sean's respite and had fully adjusted to a carefree life of frolicking in the Dragon's circle made it their business to visit and give love to the new arrivals as often as possible, along with cleaning them and bringing them food, eventually dragging them out to play and/or join Dawn's New Draconic classes (which were starting to be taught in the House of the Young, as well.) Sean unfortunately couldn't really read the signs made with the little hands of the squirrels, unless he were to spend a long, tedious time with his face real close to their hands. Mostly, those with whiskers who also could read New Draconic would translate the rescuees for Sean and help the rescuees understand the more advanced signs that Sean used. It warmed Sean's heart, making him shed non-electric tears, whenever another precious little deaf whelp would approach with Dawn to shyly declare her undying love for the Dragon and express her desire to be one of Sean's brides when she grew up. 

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"Come on, Draggy, I have to compete with this, you know?" Complained Dawn one day after another of those heartfelt confessions. "At least let me have a fair chance and stay fluffy for you!!" Her unique light blue fur WAS the fluffiest of them all...  

(Alright... If we all survive the Cromag invasion in the spring. That way, if I die, you can still marry a human and have whelps if you want to.) Dawn burst into giggles as if Sean had told the world's funniest joke.  

"My Draggy... My Draggy... LOSING to the CROMAGS... Teeheeheeheeeheehee!" When she finally recovered from her giggling fit, she continued, "Silly Draggy. You're just going to get hurt then get stronger like you always do. Then you'll rip the bad guys to pieces! Snip, snap, pow, pow!" She made adorable fighting motions with her hands and feet, pretending to be a Dragon. Sean had no idea how the battle would turn out, but Dawn's supreme confidence made him feel a lot better about it.  

(Come here, you) he said, then reached to grab Dawn and give her kisses and snuggles.  

"Yay!!" She cried, flinging off her clothes for enhanced snuggles.  

(Can you stay fluffy for me that long?) Sean asked after the snuggle session, when he laid the fur-mussed snuggle-drunk whelp on his chest.  

"That's perfect, Draggy! My fur won't start to darken for years, still! As long as you promise to marry me before Warla the Warlord." 

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Warla stood in front of her mirror, naked, feeling lost. She had cleaned and brushed her metallic blue fur for hours; it was shiny and healthy looking, and now far more fluffy than was currently fashionable for an adult. But everyone knew the Dragon liked fluffy whelps (who didn't?). What she didn't know was what the Dragon liked in her. Her fur was the plain, single-color blue of a commoner, without a single streak of the rarer colors that distinguished the Royals from the common folk. King Noon had the bright red fur of the rarely seen sun, Queen Midnight was a cool black, Twilight was the colors of a late sunset and Dawn the light blue of an early dawn sky. Prince (now King) Rafael had only a golden streak from head to tail, while his late brother Edward had many such streaks, guaranteeing his ascension to the throne (had he survived).  

And yet, rumors spoke of the Great Dragon being interested in having her, Warla the Warlord, become one of his brides. The thought terrified the Warlord on many levels; she had no idea what being a Dragon's Bride meant, but she was certain it would be painful and humiliating, like the fate of a pleasure-whelp. Wasn't she a useful Warlord who could serve her Dragon in more ways than that of merely a pleasure toy? Then again, she had personally spoken (through a translator) to the Dragon himself, on multiple occasions and found him kind, patient, considerate, even loving towards all his people. She had a hard time imagining that a creature like that could enjoy making a virginal young woman such as herself cry.  

But she was even MORE terrified that he WOULDN'T want to. Warla was a career soldier ever since she graduated from the House of the Young, serious and devoted to King and country. She hadn't been interested in love or sex, or even had a single suitor, until she became Warlord. Even then, she always politely declined the attentions of others; she was a dedicated warrior woman, a fighter, not a lover. Little scared the brave commander of men; death in service to Humanity would be the ultimate honor; both her parents and their parents before them had died in battle against either the Cromags or the Titans.  

But she was terrified of suddenly needing to fulfill the role of a female suitor, to express a femininity she had thought she would live and die without once needing to understand or emulate. She examined herself in the mirror, stressing. She couldn't excuse any more time brushing her fur; it wasn't going to get any fluffier. She was somewhat pleasantly surprised; she had no idea that she could look so shiny and pretty. She actually thought she could pull off the childish fluffy look well, even though it went against her self-image as a tough, no-nonsense warrior.  

She couldn't waste any more time; she would have to make the impossible decision of what to wear. It was only an hour until the Dragon arrived for his weekly visit to the capital during which he would have an audience with King Rafael to discuss the general state of the Kingdom, and then an audience with the Warlord, herself, to discuss preparing for the yearly Cromag invasion. He originally met with Gerard as well to discuss the disposition of the Occultists, but there was really nothing to discuss; the more Occultists the better and that was all there was to it. They would focus on preventing the Dragon from taking critical damage so that it could fight on longer.  

The only obvious exception was the Druidic Mossers; Sean, Gerard, everyone agreed that the more of those they had, the better. They had already saved the Dragon twice, making them the most valuable combat unit after the Dragon itself. All the other combatants understood that they would only receive the healing moss once it was confirmed that the fight was over and the Dragon wouldn't need any. The Dragon was unimaginably strong but also highly vulnerable to damage; it was now widely believed to be the case that the Dragon was reborn each time as a Dragon Whelp, and would need time to grow its scaly armor.  

The possibility of just paying the horrible tribute to the Cromags for one more year and letting the Dragon continue to mature and come into power was discussed, but when Sean learned that the tribute was of Humanity's own whelps, he would hear no more of it. He promised to at least slay the enemy Dragon, even if it cost him his own life, which was the minimal requirement to save Humanity from paying the tribute and allow it to go back to fighting the Cromags on even terms along its border.  

No one doubted that Sean could make good on this promise; Humanity's Dragon was a brutal brawler that would grapple with opponents and choke, smash, tear the life from them, while ignoring horrible injuries that he himself had taken. But nobody wanted their Dragon to fall in battle. Sean made it obvious that he would die to protect his people, and so they were heavily motivated to die, if necessary, to protect him (Warla included). So far, Sean had only shared one piece of wisdom related to battle and made one request: Iron could be strengthened and made flexible by adding other kinds of metal, but he left it to Humanity's craftsmen to figure out which. He requested a pair of shoes, explaining that the bottoms of his feet were a weak point that likely wouldn't get armored in scales one day, and that perhaps stomping would be his best attack against the similar-to-human sized Cromags. This gave Gerard's Occultist's and the combat engineers something excellent to work on: a weapon for their great Dragon.  

Warla was lost in thought and now had wasted most of her time away. She looked at the three dresses she bought on a whim, but couldn't bring herself to try any of them, certain she would look ridiculous. Surely Sean must like girls in armor, since that is the only way he had ever seen her? What else did she have... Just the dull iron full plate she wore into battle and most of the rest of the time as a statement of battle-ready simplicity; the fancy, but far less protective dress-armor of a Warlord with its stylish gold and silver inlays, and the blue/green leathers and cloak of a scout, meant to hide one's form in the leaves of the forest floor.  

On impulse, she pried the gold inlay off the Warlord dress armor that she had never once wore, then put the chest piece on top of the scout leathers, which she reversed to the night-time black side. She just happened to have a silver pommeled sword with a black and silver sheath (one piece of the Warlord's heirloom equipment that she had actually taken a liking to) but she buckled it on her hip instead of over her back as was standard, then threw her scout cloak over it all, black side out. It caught on the sheath of her hip-mounted sword, and she liked the way it hung there, showing off the shiny black leathers and fancy silver breastplate, instead of hanging closed and obscuring it. There, she thought. I'm all black and silver with a dramatic black cloak. Both mysterious and regal. Fluff it, she thought, and strode off to her audience just like that. 

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"That's when King Noon said, all furious and spitting, 'I thought I told you to stop the Dragon!' 'Stop it from doing what?' I answered. 'From destroying the capital!' That's when I looked left, looked right, then shrugged and said 'mission accomplished?'"  

Sean, the Blue Earth Dragon (more blue than white, now, as the bioluminescence under the skin had reached his heart and spread everywhere, painting his white skin dark blue, where it wasn't already such from the scales that peeked out from underneath) made his amused, chuckling roar. Sean thought that Warla was making an extra effort to be charming, today. He always enjoyed her witty, sarcastic humor and deadpan delivery when they had their weekly meetings. Today she was extra funny but also tense, and had spilled hot tea on herself when he complimented her new "sexy dark warrior" look. Perhaps that compliment was going too far? He really did like her outfit and wanted to express it correctly.  

(You know, without the gauntlets and pauldrons, you still look strong, but somehow more feminine.)  

"Th-thank you. I was thinking the same thing." She managed to say while staring into her tea, face hot. Was the professional translator smirking at her? She didn't know, because she had avoided all eye contact on the way here in her unusual get-up.  

(I did not realize that you were female until today. You talk like a male and all humans look the same to me when covered in armor.) Warla visibly deflated, whiskers wilting in disappointment and self-pity. Warla normally kept an iron control on her emotions, but Sean could feel them this time.  

Oh, crap, did I say something wrong again? Why is it so tense and awkward today? Feels like we're on a date, Sean thought. He had forgotten about that random comment Dawn had made about marrying Warla sometime ago and could not have guessed that it had sparked a rumor that had eventually made it back to the capital, which was why today's audience with Warla was so weird.  

She tried to change the subject, asking, "Where is Princess Twilight today? I have never seen you two apart."  

(She's visiting the Palace right now, trying to be mature and balance her duties as a Dragon Rider and a Royal.)  

"She really does seem to be maturing lately," Warla agreed, and her tail seemed to "accidentally" brush against his hand when he reached for his tea (for the third time).  

(Excuse me.) He said, moving his hand away.  

This is so hard. What am I supposed to do? Warla moaned internally, feeling hopeless and unattractive. But then, a break.  

(I've been meaning to ask, but are you a fully matured human? You have that metallic blue color, yet your tail is so... Attractively soft and fluffy.)  

*Doki-Doki*  

Warla's heart beat rapidly and she felt a giggly, heady high like a schoolgirl with her first crush. She supposed that for her it was, in fact, her first crush. Feeling these Whiskered emotions that Warla forgot or wasn't able to hide, Sean thought, Ooooooh, I get it now. What is up with these kinky little squirrels with a giant Dragon fetish?  

"Y-you know... If you wanted to... I-I wouldn't mind if..." Get yourself together Warla! She chastised herself, you are the supreme Warlord of Humanity's armies. If a man you like makes such a clear and obvious pass at you, you woman-up and respond to it! "Ahem. What I meant to say is that I spent hours grooming it before our audience because I heard you like, uh, Fluffy girls. I am, in fact, a fully matured young woman."  

The translator quickly indicated that Sean was excited before translating, (Wow, really? I had no idea that adults could be that fluffy! This changes everything. Would you mind terribly if I touched your tail?)  

"By all means!" Warla agreed quickly, turning slightly and laying it on the ground between them.  

(Are you sure you don't mind?) Sean asked. (Just because I am your Dragon does not mean that I feel like I have the right to touch your body without your consent.) Warla couldn't help laugh at this. She was fairly certain that as Humanity's Dragon and especially a Dragon of Lust, that he had exactly that privilege. She suddenly could relax; it was obvious that she was dealing with a gentleman here, titanically large Dragon or not. (What's wrong? It's really ok if you'd rather I didn't. I was just curious, but it's no big deal.)  

"It's nothing my Dragon. Please feel free to enjoy touching my tail. That is exactly why I spent hours brushing it for you." Sean was relieved to hear that she sounded more normal, now. Her usual confident self. Sean gently stroked her tail, enjoying the fact that it was both soft like that of a Whelp's and thicker, more substantial like that of an adult's.  

Guess I'm getting a brush so I can brush Twilight, he thought, wondering why he didn't think of that before. The experience for Warla was mind-blowing. She was being touched by a God that was infinitely strong, capable of crushing life from her without any effort. And yet, it was the gentlest touch she had ever received, that of a considerate, yet dominant lover, whose touch both made her feel desired and promised to give her pleasure in return. She became aroused for the first time in her life; she had wondered for a while if she were lesbian, but of course didn't pursue that path because it was illegal. Nope. Turns out she's just into really big, really strong men. Really big, really strong.  

Being familiar with the feeling of Whiskered squirrel arousal and seeing how embarrassed the translator looked, Sean decided to wrap things up for now before it became a rumor that the Dragon of Lust would visit your city and ravage its young women as he pleased. He already had more than enough squirrel girls throwing themselves at him at home and appreciated the break from it when he got to travel. He stopped stroking Warla's tail and she let out a satisfied sigh.  

(About time we practiced the battlefield signals and maneuvers, don't you think?) he asked.  

Feeling like the invincible, fearless Warlord that she was once more, she asked instead, "If we both survive the Cromag invasion this spring, would you be willing to go on a date with me?" 

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