A Wraith in Winter

The dragon had stopped shivering, which was either very good, or very bad. Thorax poked at the snarling wolf with ruby eyes in the pommel of the sword while he waited. You’re a damn fool, his brother said in Thorax’s mind, and for once changeling agreed with his imaginary brother. Every changeling knew the one rule when dealing with dragons: Don’t. Dragons weren’t worth the time and effort; they put the bare minimum in with their whelps and hated each other more than anything else.

As a counterpoint, Thorax’s stomach growled again. He crawled over to the black and white dragon, then hissed softly as he felt the emotions pouring off him. The dragon dreamt in his restless sleep, dreaming of something or someone that he loved deeply. It went against everything Thorax had been told about dragons back in the hive, but he was too hungry to care. Perhaps he dreams of his hoard.

Thorax opened his mouth and drank, siphoning away the love and filling the gaping hole inside himself. The dragon twitched and Thorax closed his eyes. Forgive me. Every changeling needed the innate magic of emotions to survive, or else they went feral, then starved to death. Unlike every other race in the world, the changelings couldn’t replenish their magic naturally; they had to take it from others. The Queen always said they were the ultimate predators, but Thorax only ever felt like a parasite. Now look at you, brother, Pharynx sneered again. The ultimate parasite, hiding in a cave and waiting to die.

Thorax had been hiding in the cave for a moon, working up the courage to approach the shielded city just beyond the horizon. He had been drawn there by the wave of pure love that emanated from the city, but the shield frightened him. It was like the shield in Canterlot, during the wedding. The small changeling had fled before that defeat, and when he saw the pink shield again, he fled again into the snow. He only stumbled across the cave by pure luck and took shelter from the wind. He had ventured out a few times, watching the ponies work and in their green fields beyond the dome, but he never exposed himself.

He could feel their emotions at a distance; they were wary, uncertain, frightened. Of what, he wasn’t quite sure, but a solid guess would be changelings. Changelings worked in the shadows, always and forever, until Queen Chrysalis decided to launch and all-out assault on the ponies.

Thorax had a decent life before he had flown away. Sure, the other ‘lings made fun of me, but most of them are probably splattered against the mountain. He cut that line of thought off with a grimace. His brother could be cruel, but he didn’t wish him dead. The emotions turned to ash in his mouth as the love churned into despair, guilt, and regret. Thorax skittered back, holed legs fumbling on rocky floor of the cave. The dragon mumbled indistinctly and Thorax’s wings drooped again; he overfed and turned the dream rancid. This had happened several times during the night. At least now, he didn’t feel the hunger clawing at the edges of his mind.

Thorax leaned against the far wall and watched the dragon toss and turn. He was small and lean for a dragon, barely more than a whelp, and Thorax carried him easily enough to the cave from where he had fallen, despite the changeling’s emaciated state. Surely, this was meant to happen, Thorax thought. The dragon’s emotions had drawn Thorax out of the cave, and he would have surely died in the chill winds, dragon or not. The changeling only had Queen Chrysalis to pray to, and Thorax didn’t feel like invoking her gaze.

Thorax didn’t have any wood to burn, or any supplies. He had nothing but his chitin and fangs. If the dragon knew what a changeling was, this would likely turn bloody. The sword lay at his hooves and Thorax touched the pommel again. The sword resisted his magic, and the blade had a deep purple hue that swirled along the entire length. He had carried it by mouth into the cave, curiosity driving him as much as caution. Thorax hadn’t seen many swords, but this one seemed different. It was sharp enough to gouge the stone when he set it down. Kill the dragon now, Pharynx whispered. You’ve had your fill. He’s useless. Thorax shook his head. No, I won’t do it. I came here to be friends. There's another way.

Damn fool. He will kill you. Thorax gulped. He didn’t want to die, not out here in the snow. Surely, the dragon doesn’t either. Thorax summoned all of his courage, and waited against the wall, ignoring the voice of his brother. By the time the dragon stirred awake, the light of dawn crept through the mouth of the cave. He stretched awkwardly and scraped his claws against the rock, then abruptly withdrew his arm to his muzzle. Thorax watched as the dragon hit himself in the face with a hiss, then hold a claw out into the light.

Thorax stayed against the wall in the shadows; the dragon’s eyes were blood red, matching the two short horns on his head. He looked terrifying, even as a whelp barely larger than a pony. The dragon rubbed his muzzle with a claw, grimacing, then whispered, “Ygritte?” It sounded like a name. He sat up with a hiss and repeated, “Ygritte?” with obvious confusion and a hint of longing.

Thorax didn’t know how to respond to the strange, dragon-like name, but froze when the dragon’s eyes swept around the room and locked on him. The dragon didn’t look away, nor move. He laid his claws on the stone floor. He sees me. Say something. Anything!

“H-hello,” Thorax awkwardly hiccupped. The dragon did not reply. Thorax felt the absolute confusion emitting from the dragon, although that was clear from the puzzled frown on his lips. “I-I, uh, I found you outside,” Thorax explained. “I brought you in here.” The dragon’s eyes flicked down to the sword. Thorax blanched. “It’s a v-very nice sword. I was just taking a look,” he lied and pushed the sword over. The blade stopped between them, point facing the dragon. Thorax cringed. That looked hostile.

The dragon still hadn’t answered the changeling, so the pair sat in silence for several moments. Thorax grew concerned when the dragon didn’t even blink. Damn fool, he’s going to eat you, Pharynx whispered again. Thorax glanced to the mouth of the cave. If he ran, he might make it, but the dragon would certainly chase him. Thorax had another thought. Dragons might have their own language. They don’t spend much time with the other races. “C-can you understand me?”

“Yes,” the dragon replied bluntly. The confusion was replaced by mild surprise.

“O-oh,” Thorax said lamely. His wings chittered. "Uh, t-that's good."

The dragon frowned and his tail swished across the floor. He grimaced and turned to look at it, then returned to Thorax. “Are you one of the Children of the Forest?”

Thorax blinked. “What?” He lost his stutter.

“Are we beyond the Wall?” the dragon asked again.

“What wall?” Thorax frowned. The changelings in charge of cleaning the muck from the hive weren’t given geography training; that was for infiltrators.

The dragon narrowed his eyes, but Thorax didn’t feel suspicion, just more confusion. “The Wall,” he enunciated. “It guards the North, protects all of Westeros. The Night’s Watch have guarded the Wall for thousands of years. You can see it for days.”

Thorax decided on honesty. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. We’re in the north right now. There's no wall anywhere near here.”

The dragon was quiet for a while. Thorax felt the confusion fade to grief, then heartbreak and a deep sense of loss. “Are we in the Seven Hells?” he said lowly and looked down at his claws.

“I don’t know what that is,” Thorax shook his head. “My name is Thorax.” He bit his lip with a fang, then added, “I’m a changeling.”

The dragon blinked at the name. “I am called Jon Snow.”

“Snow?” Thorax attempted a laugh. “Are you from here?”

“I doubt it.”

“O-oh.”

Snow flexed his claws again, then wiggled the talons on his feet. “Changeling?” he asked softly.

Thorax felt his hopes sink. “Yes,” he sighed.

One of Snow’s wings shifted. “Am I a dragon?”

Thorax didn’t reply immediately. He tasted confusion, hesitation, and melancholy, but not deceit. It was a genuine question. Not a changeling. What kind of dragon doesn’t know he’s a dragon?

“Um, yes,” Thorax offered. “You are a dragon.”

Snow nodded like it was the expected answer and picked up the sword. He held the snarling wolf's hilt easily in one claw. Thorax tensed, but the dragon pointed the sword away from him and towards the mouth of the cave. “I thank you for saving my life,” Snow said gravely, radiating honesty.

Thorax was taken aback by the sincerity. Then he immediately felt guilty about feeding off him. Fool, he doesn’t know. Tell him and he will kill you. “I-it was nothing,” Thorax deflected. “You were right outside.”

“Still, I thank you for your hospitality. You live here?” Jon asked and peered deeper into the cave. He hadn’t stopped frowning, seemingly at everything.

Even by changeling standards, the cave was awful. “No. I, uh, don’t really live anywhere. I was traveling to the city.”

The dragon's tail swished in thought. “What city?”

“The city,” Thorax repeated slowly. “The only city up here, really. It has a shield around it.”

“Like a wall?”

“No, uh, a shield.” Thorax waved his hooves in a circle, but the dragon just stared at him with those red eyes. “A magic shield?”

“Magic,” Snow repeated. He looked down at his claws again. The swirl of emotions was hard to parse for Thorax. “You know magic?”

“A little?” Thorax replied hesitantly. The dragon was beyond strange, but he made no aggressive moves with the sword.

“Who would know more?”

“Well, the Crystal City is half a day away,” Thorax answered.

“You were headed there?” Snow stood up with another hiss and shook his legs.

Thorax immediately realized his mistake. The dragon clearly didn’t know anything about the area, about changelings or ponies or the war. “I, uh, I was waiting for the storm to clear,” the changeling desperately tried.

Snow walked to the entrance and stared out into the snowy fields. He kicked some of the piled-up snow and climbed out. His legs slipped a few times, as if he was unused to them. He vanished for a moment, then returned. “The storm is gone and the sun is out.” Snow crouched down and stared into the cave.

“It’ll come back,” Thorax lied. He stayed against the wall.

“We have no wood for a fire, nor any trees. We must move.”

“You’re a dragon. You can make fire.”

“I do not know how,” Snow said with a shrug.

Thorax opened and closed his mouth, searching for another excuse. Fool. He sighed and slunk towards the mouth, climbing through and getting snow in his legs. He shivered and extended his gossamer wings, fluttering them in the sun. Thorax felt renewed confusion and glanced over at Snow with weary eyes. The dragon was staring at his legs. “Are you injured?” The wary concern, concern for him, was welcome.

“No,” Thorax answered and shook some snow from a leg. “Uh, changelings have holes in their legs.”

“Right,” Snow said dubiously, then looked toward the pink-tinged sky.

“The city is that way,” Thorax advised and pointed his snow-free hoof.

Snow looked to him, then nodded and gave a small, lopsided smile that showed too many teeth. “I thank you, good sir Thorax.” He stood in the snow and waited, sword in one claw and held casually.

“Um, you’re welcome?” Thorax guessed. The dragon’s archaic speech had thrown him off.

They stared at each other for a heartbeat before the dragon spoke up. “If you do not wish to enter, would you mind showing me the way?” The dragon was making the choice to be brave for him, and Thorax was relieved deep in his heart. I'm a coward.

“N-not at all.” He set off, trudging through the fresh snow, and the thin dragon followed.