Chapter Text
Winter couldn't help wondering why it had to be this way. Why did he have to hate returning to this place that, for nearly his entire life, he had called home? Why did he have to dread confronting the dragons who were supposed to be his family? Why did he have to plaster on a fake smile the whole time?
Why did he even bother coming here?
Okay, he knew the answer to that last question. Icicle's trial was to be held in barely more than a week. Indestructible family ties and primal curiosity had forced him to accept the invitation. She's still my sister, he reasoned, and this is still my tribe. Even if both are utterly deplorable. He squashed all of his confusion, fear, and anger with that simple, bitter thought.
A light snowfall had begun. He glanced up and saw that the sky was sarcastically beautiful today. Delicate flakes of snow fluttered all around him, dusting the blue tinge of his scales with hints of brighter white. He glared down at the ground.
As he neared the First Circle, painful memories began to resurface in his mind. He couldn't stop them, no matter how hard he tried. This is where Lynx and I hunted together. That's where Icicle caught a caribou. Hailstorm got lost in those mountains.
The familiar landscape rolled on beneath him. Winter felt a building sense of frustration.
He beat his wings faster. Better to get the awkward arrival out of the way as soon as possible. Then he could hole himself up in his room (it would probably be the smallest one in the palace, to make him feel extra insulted), and spend the next week avoiding everyone he used to know.
Ahead, the shimmering palace glowered at him like an angry mother. Winter spotted several IceWings darting about in its courtyard and circling above. He flew toward the gates - once so beautiful to him, now just another obstacle - and prepared himself for more unpleasantness.
The fresh layer of snow cushioned his landing. If he were in a better mood, he would have appreciated the comforting feeling of cold between his claws. As it was, though, his nerves prevented him from seeing the good in anything.
Three guards stood in front of him. Winter blinked, surprised. He looked at the rest of the palace, the tall towers and walls, and saw more lower class dragons stationed everywhere. Interesting, he thought, I guess Snowfall is more paranoid than her mother. Did the rest of the tribe approve of this change?
"You're...Winter?" the shortest guard asked. Four silver circles gleamed on her necklace, showing that she was the highest ranked of the guards. She stared at Winter as if he had a penguin sitting on his head, her voice dwindling as she spoke his now title-less name.
Behind his fixed expression, Winter shared her confusion. So I'm just Winter? I guess that's simpler than Former-prince-who-left-but-wasn't-exiled-but-basically-was Winter. What am I suppose to do now, bow to a fourth circle dragon? He nodded his head curtly. "Yes."
The guard quickly turned to her two companions, pointing her tail at the silvery-scaled one. "Ptarmigan, you will show him to his room." She then looked back at Winter, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. Winter wondered if she was remembering his funeral ceremony, since only a few months ago everyone had thought he was dead.
He frowned at her until she finally dipped her head to him. Maybe he was rankless, but he wasn't without some dignity.
"This way, uh, Winter," Ptarmigan said, faltering just as the other guard had. Winter followed the meek IceWing through one of the central courtyards, past an ice sculpture garden, and up a winding staircase toward a room at the top of one of the northern towers.
Winter stared at the dancing designs that had been carved into the lavender-stained ice of the tower's inner walls. Surely this was one of the palace's finest parts. Why in Pyrrhia's name was he being invited to stay here? His brow furrowed at the sight of the door's rich, imported wood. He recognized that door.
"Wait." Winter stopped Ptarmigan, who was already trying to rush off. "This is Flurry's room! There's been a mix up."
Ptarmigan shuffled his wings awkwardly. "No, no, this is yours." He glanced away and added, in a quieter voice, "Flurry was recently banished to the Outer Circles. There was an, uh, a scandal with a servant..."
"Oh." Winter went to try the doorknob, hiding his outraged expression from the guard. Then he remembered that, since he was no longer a prince, he probably owed the other dragon something like a bow or a nod or a 'thank you'. He turned around, but Ptarmigan had vanished down the stairs.
One of the best rooms in the palace, he thought bitterly, stomping into what would be his home for the week, and it still feels like fire in my face.
As much as Winter wanted to keep feeling offended, he had to admit that it was a nice room.
Its previous owner had been a great patron of the arts. Winter recalled visiting the eccentric noble a few years ago. His mother had given Flurry one of Winter's grandfather's paintings in exchange for some political favor, and decided to let Winter and Icicle witness the transaction. Trading family heirlooms for status. True IceWing values, right there, Winter thought, determined to stay sour.
Back then, this large, circular room had been filled with beautiful artwork. Elegant statues, intricate tapestries, tasteful paintings. Most of that was gone now, probably given back to the queen in the wake of Flurry's disgrace. Even the boring old thing that Tundra had given Flurry was missing.
All that was left of the once magnificent collection were the embroidered curtains, a faded purple rug, a writing desk, and a lonely glass sculpture of a tern.
The room itself was a work of art, with walls of smooth, precisely carved ice and a glittering pattern of fractals on its ceiling. Winter, however, couldn't care less about the architecture.
He paced around a few times, regretting his decision to come here and feeling very sorry for himself. He closed the curtains and straightened out the rug. He glared the little glass bird. It was lopsided and remarkably ugly.
Realizing how pathetic he was acting, Winter tried distract himself. He sat down at the desk and was pleased to find a some parchment and ink left in one of its drawers. There were no quills. Fortunately, Winter had picked up on the SeaWing habit of using his claws for writing.
He focused on his plans for Sanctuary, specifically the ones related to scavengers. The idea of creating his own habitat for them was exciting, but also daunting. Winter knew that there was much more research to be done before they could start bringing in scavengers. Still, he thought, it wouldn't hurt to draw up some sketches.
A rectangle enclosure? It would have to be bigger than that. How much water did they need? How much forest? If only he had thought to bring his notes!
Winter balled up his piece of parchment and threw it on the floor. It rolled unceremoniously across the fancy rug. Usually his scavenger project was his go-to cure for stress. Clearly nothing was going to help him now. Not while I'm surrounded by dragons who hate me and waiting to see if my sister is executed, he reasoned pessimistically.
He went to the western window and peeked through the curtains. The sky had stubbornly stayed bright blue. Maybe once it was dark, he could slip out for a brief flight.
Or, he thought, I could visit Lynx and Hailstorm. Is there anyone else who might not hate me? His mother's face flitted briefly through his mind, before fading with a twinge of sadness. He sighed. Nope. Short list.
He went to pick up the wadded parchment, a gloomy look settling on his face. This was going to be a very long week.