The children were... late.

He'd laid the stones of the lost children, they were already children and I failed- Gembound beneath the arching roots of a mangrove-like tree, piling dry materials as best he could around them as they developed and grew. He didn't want them sinking beneath the mud, drowning before they could hatch; nor did he want dangerous strangers (Baratheon flew fleeting through his mind, all arrogance and teeth) finding the chrysalises.

And then, he fretted. He'd raised a child once before--only once--and everything about these two frightened him. This gave him pause--fear wasn't something he felt often.

But the faint memories of Raheerah's jaws tossing up, crushing the lamb, crushing the bird entangled in its wool--memories of the lamb lying bleating, crying, its face a bloodied mess--haunted him. He feared that he had failed them. He feared that it would happen again. And so the would-be father busied himself with nothing. He gathered dry grass, settling it around the chrysalises, ensuring they'd be warm and dry. He dug out water and filled in mud, so they wouldn't sink when they hatched. He patrolled to ensure that no one drew too near, and he lay silent, guarding, when he didn't need to do anything else. Often, he lay sprawled across both stones, hidden beneath the tree roots, lying in shadows in a strange, hen-like attempt to keep the gemstones warm.

Sometimes, he spoke to them. He murmured to their stones of strength and shadows, of guardians and purpose, of caves and magic.

And he waited.

...And he waited...

They were late, now. Late for hatching, and he found himself studying the twin stones worriedly--the vast black stone with its star-flecked white, and the similar one with streaks of iridescent pink. That worried him most of all. He'd never seen a merged gemstone, before, but it was all he'd been able to find, the only remnants of two dead children. And so he'd given life to them both, but-... Would it survive? Would it be broken, deformed, a failed fusing of creatures? Or would it never hatch at all-?

And what of the other one?

Why were they so late--and how late was it, now..? He wasn't the best judge of time, not that either the caves nor Cetus in particular were particularly useful for timekeeping. But-... they were definitely late.

...Where were they?

@Crown @Sword

The being stirred not for the first time in its chrysalis. Life had been slow to bleed into it- magic flowed lethargically over it, and it tossed in the fluids of its chrysalis.

It was getting tight. He knew that much.

Stories enveloped him and often pulled him to sleep when he grew restless, his starry skies streaked with that pink aura given tales to ponder, to imagine, to experience. There came a time, of course, when all good things had to come to an end.

At a particular turn, his hoof hit a particular angular segment near the bottom, where it had countless times before. A sharp chipping noise invaded his senses and fluid began to slowly seep out. Startled from his half-consciousness, the hybrid raised his head gingerly into the pocket created from bubbles popping in.

The first sense of air awakened him. His eye went wide, and almost instinctively he uncurled from his fetal position, stretching and exploring limbs he was content to let waste away.

His skull hit thin obsidian. It shattered like glass, and the half-awake child's head emerged with minimal streams of clear amniotic liquid. That starry night sky pierced into the heavens as his head swam with the new height it found itself at, bleary eye blinking hard to try and look around.

It was dark. Another chrysalis surrounded him (and unbeknownst to him, they were the roots of the tree). He didn't say anything- why would he need to?- as his swooping one-eyed gaze cast around with a mixture of wonder and confusion. Why had he woken up- was he asleep? ... What was sleep?

His baby brain had broken the moment it hit oxygen. It looked like he was just woken from a thousand-year nap, head tilted, eyes squinting, and chin drooping in a yawn. White canine-like teeth were only marred by his upper fangs inheriting the mixed nature of the crown on his head.

Where one went, it seemed certain that the other would follow.

The other child - pure starry skies marred by no light or streaks of glimmering auroras - had been tossing and turning restlessly in an unyielding shell. Some days, he'd be turned towards the ceiling; others, upside-down completely. On this fateful evening, though, he was simply lying squarely in the middle, facing the roots his shell was so fondly nestled into. It was a comfortable position, discovered only through mindless trial and error.

And, he'd intended to settle there and stay there in his dreamless slumber for the rest of eternity.

But, again, they moved hand-in-hand, not one step before the other.

Jarred by the cracking next to him, he jolted - and his chrysalis spit him anticlimactically into the cold, misty world. His eyes didn't open at first, amniotic fluids creeping into the ducts and burning slightly. The child shook himself, a shrill whimper emerging from his throat without purpose. Slowly, his eyes opened, letting in the dim (but altogether too bright!) light. His ears flickered back, and he squeezed his eyes shut again, shaking and trying to retreat back into his rapidly collapsing chrysalis's warmth.

But, there was none to be found, and it was all he could do to shuffle towards the warmth at his side, wet flank pressing against his unseen brother's and bleating softly.

@Black

The black dog's tail began to wag--slowly, at first, until it had accelerated into a whir. The stones were breaking. At last.

Twinned excitement and worry threaded down his nerves: would they be healthy? Would they be all right?

Would they remember?

Soft woofs, laced with quieter whimpers, escaped him twice as he waited. Incisors delicately clamped around shards of stone and helped pull them away from wet bodies, and then the dog set about inspecting them there in the dim dark, under the tree and the mist.

They both held elements of the sheep, one more than the other, but it was clear that one--the one with pink in its gemstone--had a little bird in it, too. So they did meld. They can, he thought, in wonder--I hope it is... safe. Not sickly. Not deformed.

"Children. I am sorry that you died. You are here, again. I am the Black Dog, and I will keep you safe," he promised them. An... odd start, to be sure, and certainly an odd introduction, but his tone was warm and gentle.

His joy flickered through him, and he thought briefly about what they might need. Magicka flared.

A moment later the hound was pressing alongside them, providing warmth--and two large bananas, which he carefully split with his long canines. "Food," he offered, perhaps a little prematurely--but he would make sure, this time, that all their needs were met. That they did not go hungry, or cold, or ever get lost.

That they didn't get thrown to a dragon.

@Sword

Sword's eyes blearily blinked to the warmth pressed at his side. A darkness in the mist stood by him, mirrored by one that looked like him- one which he looked to with a glance of mysticism. The latter was helping. Sword saw his opportunity and placed a hoof out through the clear path, shakily standing on it as he tried to lift himself to twig-thin, childish legs.

Blue feathers clung to his back, to which he struggled to twist his head around to to inspect, falling right over into the dirt below with his stomach to the air. Horns bonked against the ground when he rolled to his other side, pawing at his limbs. He gave up on the colors and instead kicked at his hooves with his thing dog-paws. There was a sense of exploration of the digits, and he was about to place one on his mouth before the adult spoke.

Sword blinked, mouth still open and leg still in the air ready to be received. He didn't understand the weight behind the words- didn't understand a lot, really, and he cocked his head. "You... was died?" he came to the conclusion. His leg dropped and he stood up, shaking like a newborn deer.

He did a mixture of tittering and bleating when the second body was pressed into him. This was nice. He decided that quickly, as he looked down to the food offered.

He pawed at his at first, kicking it around before taking it in his mouth. He about looked ready to eat it, before- throwing it up in the air with a burst of play and dropping it down with a hoof in a play-bow. His tail wagged with excitement.

But, he was hungry... Cautiously, he bent forward his head and took one end of the banana in his mouth, running his tongue over the skin before biting in with a noise of contentedness.

It was good. He chewed in a mixture of side to side and bird-like bobs, catching it further back and back with each bite.

@Crown

What an odd start to a child's life, indeed.

While his brother explored and sought, the plainer hybrid simply laid in place and shivered like the too-bright world was chilling him to the bone. A few times, he tried to open his eyes again, but was met with the harsh light and immediate overstimulation that shook him further.

Even still, the gentle - but steady! - voice approaching was soothing, full of promises. "Safe," the child bleated, latching onto the word immediately and snuggling into the Black Dog's flank. It was fortunate that his horns were small and dull, yet, since the hybrid seemed to have no qualms with burying his face into the folds of the Dog's armpit.

Pale little eyes peeped open slowly, after a moment (intrigued, clearly, by the concept of food.) Crown carefully drew his head backwards, tail flicking limply behind in as he let the light of day in. At first, he focused only on Black's shiny hide, gaze trailing a shimmer of light down to his paws and a sparkling thing offered. It was partially peeled open, and the scent was tantalizing. Crown shuffled forwards on yet-useless limbs, stumbling towards the object and watching through the corner of his eyes as his brother nibbled away.

Food.

Crown gave the banana a few cautious licks, then a wary little nibble with his dull front teeth. Little pink tongue flicking out to lick away the remnants, the hybrid ate away contentedly, his tail whipping side-to-side in complete dog fashion.

@Black

He was not one of those particularly good at articulation, at the natural flow of conversation. He was pleased, at least, as the children responded, ate; they seemed healthy and aware.

But there was something strange in the way he acted--perhaps unnoticed by the inexperienced newborns, but there nonetheless. He cared--there was warmth in his tone, and gentleness in his eyes, even awe--but rather than relaxed, parental patience, Black went through parenting as though there'd been a list. As though it was a duty, and he was determined to do it right.

"I will protect you, and teach you. There is magic, and you must learn to use that, and to hunt. Do not go near any dragons," he added. The dull obsidian, with its scattering of stony snow, pressed into him; he eyed it. "You have a crown," he informed it, "Throne Blackstar had a crown." He studied it. Its precedessor--that had been its name. Take my stone, if I don't make it, Throne had said; and now here he was, in a sense, as if reborn.

Strange--and melancholy; for it wasn't him, was it?

He looked to the other child, the one who was eating in shakes and twitch-back gulps, pondering it with a peaceful expression. He had no helpful half-name forthcoming for this one, but he had fallen silent now, anyway: a sort of contented vigilance shrouding him beneath the tangled mass of roots above.

At length, he spoke. "I am a guardian. You may be whatever you wish."

Black was, alas, not the best at empathy and adapting to others' mindsets. Children or adults, he tended to speak to them the same. Never mind that they were more interested in play, in food and sleep, than grand questions of purpose and death.

Black was Black. But at least he was watching over them. And no dragons, this time, he warned the universe at large.

@Sword

Sword had downed the banana quick. Granted, he'd barely swallowed it- giving him a slight hiccup as he looked to the dog speaking. Teaching and magic triggered a wisp of an idea in his head, non-avian ear perking up with interest. "What is 'dragons'?" His head cocked this way and that as he sat up.

Though, at crowns... Sword lifted up a hoof to his own head, tapping at the gem at the corner of his eye curiously. "Crown." His mimicking was said with a tone of determination, looking to his brother with a hard look in his eye. Throne, Star- the words felt regal, though Sword couldn't place the idea of it. Instead, his head only raised from his reduced mane. His expression softened to one of ease then morphed to excitement. "Crown!"

His chest met dirt as he lowered to the standard play-bow, his own tail wagging high above him. An idea was coming over him- if a crown was horns, then he'd have even more! Jumping up in place and stumbling around in the den, Sword turned to pull at a root and tumbled backwards when it released, holding it like a weapon in his mouth.

"Morh crwown!" His words were mumbled around the wood as he whipped back, side-stepping to hold the root in his mouth. Look at that! He had a new horn, and now he had a crown! (That was, despite already having one, he figured this was the qualifier of having whatever a crown was.)

@Crown

Crown was content with the list (and name) his father? father had made for parenting, even as he failed to immediately understand what was being placed before him short of the tactile. For instance, he knew well enough that this food was delicious, and should not have required hesitance to consume. Assured by Black's voice and presence, the child ate much more vigorously, focusing briefly only on eating the entire banana.

The great dog spoke of protection and magic and hunting as he ate, things that continued to elude his baby brain in pure word form. His brother, at least, latched onto one word. As the saying went, where one went, the other was certain to follow. "Crown," the little thing bleated, stubby horns cutting through the air as he parroted. White eyes blinked once or twice, widening. Crown shoved one hoof out from beneath himself, then another, repeating himself as he went: "Crown! I Crown!"

Once he managed to escape loafing position, the child shoved up and took a few wobbly steps in the muck. Crown's hooves slipped once or twice, and he fell into a number of faux-play bows as a result. Each time, his chin smacked into the muck and he gave a displeased whine.

It took a few more tries for Crown to gain the confidence needed to walk steadily. His tail wagged eagerly, adrenaline flooding through him with just this small success and rendering him stock-still for a moment. Watching his brother approach with more crown, the child gave a feeble bleat and moved to press against him again - inadvertently smacking his baby face straight into the makeshift sword that was being swung about.

Crown cried out again, legs sticking straight out as he tried to pull himself out of the slop.

@Black

Black regarded Crown Two steadily.

"You are born of the crowned one, and the bird. It was a small bird," he informed it, "but it was brave. You also have a crown. You are both Crown," he stated, puzzled.

But--ah! A question, and one that he could answer. He turned, peering at the sheets of mist, at the wall of roots that half-surrounded them, at the gaps between them and the tree overhead. At length he picked an area that was flat enough, pale enough, to work with, and then he called upon his magic. "A dragon is very large," he told them, "with very broad wings. It is covered in scales, and it has a long tail, a half-long neck," (and this was a strange description, of the neck, given after a moment's hesitation; it was long, but not that long, after all) "and many sharp teeth. It has horns, and talons, and it breathes fire. There is fire in them. In their eyes. You can see it," he added thoughtfully, thinking of Raheerah's internal flame.

Nothing came of his attempt to form a shadow of a dragon, a vision that might have perhaps been more useful than mere words.

But the thought fell away as he watched Crown One stumble in the muck--and he pushed up, offering himself to lean on, if need be.

Determined to be a supportive father, but again not exactly the best at it, he added: "What do you want?" to them both. Apparently, their wish was his command, no matter how vague his offer may have been.

@Sword