Part two in an ongoing sequence by  frozedfrenchdragon!

Part 1 -- This is Part 2 -- Part 3 -- (More eventually...)

I could have posted this ages ago, but wanted to work on some more written backstory for these two.
Just a couple of pictures in this set so far, but there will likely be more! Plus I need to get this out there to set these dragons up for other artwork featuring them!

Be sure to fave the artist's original post: https://www.furaffinity.net/view/39585638/

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The town sank farther into the distance with each laborious step. Nurth huffed indignantly between rapid breaths, nearly tripping on himself for about the dozenth time. He concentrated on supporting his low-slung, ponderous undercarriage, and tried to avoid more chafing on the loose trail than necessary. Stupid rocks, he decided. Stupid Dragoness.

“Those were some impressive moves back there,” the dragon who called herself ‘Frissura’ observed lightly. Her voice held no malice, and betrayed only a hint of amusement. She trotted alongside with an infuriatingly carefree swish of her fluffy tail.

Nurth was hardly in the mood to serve as further entertainment the capricious she-dragon. He  grunted noncommittally, stewing in bitterness and the rivulets of sweat running down his flanks in the midday sun. 

“That strategy right at the start, where you caught me gawking in disbelief? Simply brilliant. I was so stunned, you almost rolled right over me.” Without breaking her stride, she lidded her eyes, twisted her head until it was inverted, and let her tongue hang with a dramatic gurgle.

Nurth stared straight ahead, suppressing a snarl. Bad enough that this feathered fiend had unmanned him in front of all of his humans, growling and spitting gouts of flame that easily matched his own -- but then she’d actually tickled his jiggling brisket with her wingtip until he surrendered. That diabolical bitch. 

The actual scuffle was short. His only real injury was his pride. And Frissura hadn’t hurt anybody else, even managing to avoid singeing surrounding buildings. All of this, he knew, was by the dragoness’ mercy alone, and not thanks to the mighty Guardian. He grimaced in disgust with himself, and the expression only deepened when his belly collected a particularly sharp rock and conspired to plow it along for several strides.

The path narrowed, carving more sharply and precariously into the rockface. Frissura hugged the rising edge of the trail, but was still forced to sidle a bit closer to Nurth, who was already flirting with the sheer drop into the valley below. 

“You are strong, you know,” she unexpectedly declared. 

He stumbled, jerking his head in her direction, certain he was being mocked. The dragoness had already slowed to match his pace. Her gaze lingered with interest on his paws, seemingly fascinated with exactly how he went about rearranging himself in order to set his footing. Apparently satisfied he wasn’t about to roll off the edge, she looked up again, and gently explained: 

“I’ve certainly known more fearsome males. The kind who roar, stomp and gnash their teeth. The kind who wink teasingly, twitch their rippling muscles, and expect females to gather from far and wide to fawn over their chiseled forms.”

The kind who actually succeed, Nurth lamented silently. Who claim territory, win mates, and bring pride to their families. A snarl of bitterness pulled at his lips.

Frissura sighed, and grinned knowingly at Nurth’s expression. “Don’t be jealous, O-Bountiful Guardian. That sort of ‘ideal’ entices me about as much as prey that drowned in a cesspit. Such a bunch of intolerably pompous, self-proclaimed prodigies. Worst among them, the actual princes… yeesh, don’t get me started on the princes. Such stubborn, entitled fools.” 

Nurth’s eyes widened at the implication. Frissura didn’t seem to notice this, instead gazing skyward, seemingly lost in her own mind’s eye. A low, almost inaudible growl shook in her breast.

“The most ridiculous thing?” she asked as if she’d said nothing remarkable. “For all the elite posturing, I doubt a single one would be able to, say... take a fallen dragon across their back and carry them to safety. They flex their muscles and practice their charms, but never develop an understanding for real work.” She turned to Nurth again, lifting a paw to lightly bump his flank. “You’re… what? Four? Maybe five dragon’s-worth all on your own? Waddling uphill. In the heat. And not even at your limit, are you?”

Nurth was rather too bewildered to form an intelligible reply.

“Like I said. Strong,” she iterated. “I suppose to be fair, I’d concede that a few of the highborne were nice enough,” she continued, “but I sort of developed a reputation. Drakes in my company quickly learn to open their ear-flaps regarding matters of decent and honorable conduct – especially regarding the concept of consent – lest whatever emerges from their sheath get bitten off.”

This time, Nurth did stumble, all four legs betraying him at once in a panicked attempt to throw himself anywhere not in the immediate proximity of this potentially psychotic dragoness. He careened a short distance ahead, but bobbled and veered askew. Support beneath his outer forepaw suddenly fell away, sending a volley of coarse skree raining down the mountainside. A steep drop yawned before him, and he could feel the unseen ledge bite into his brisket as he toppled with almost comic slowness.

“Oh, we’ll have none of th–thart naw,” Frissura announced, biting down on Nurth’s horn with a visceral CLACK that reverberated through his skull. Almost immediately there was a twisting, competent force pulling on his head, coaxing him back toward the trail. “C’mon nrw. Lrrtle hewp,” the dragoness grunted. 

Nurth scrabbled with limited effectiveness, mostly trying not to upset the whole enterprise by hauling the smaller dragon down with him. He was suddenly particularly nostalgic for a time when he could have simply spread his wings and glided to safety, reconsidering his life choices along the way.

Despite his alleged draconic strength, he remained teetering on the cusp of disaster for several moments. It was only by a desperate spasm of his neck and twist of his body, nearly dislodging Frissura’s grip on his horn, that he finally brought all four paws back to solid ground.

The dragoness held on much longer than strictly necessary before begrudgingly releasing him. She actually looked a bit disheveled now, bearing a light sheen that might have been her own sweat.  “Well, that was exciting,” she observed drolly. “I’d recommend against making it a hobby.”

Nurth puffed vigorously, glancing over the ledge with renewed uneasiness. “Yeah,” he acknowledged. “Good... *huff* ...advice.” He was suddenly very glad his cushy guardians’ lair wasn’t much farther, and that the condition of the path didn’t get any worse. The way was reasonably well-trodden, dredged by his own arduous passage until recently. It could have accommodated a small wagon train.

But apparently not two dragons abreast, if he was among them.

When they ascended the final rise, they beheld a rather unremarkable cave mouth, sheltered slightly in the lee of the wind-swept mountainside. It was deep enough to escape the worst of the elements, as well as casual detection from the air. 

Frissura took a few quick strides, and stopped directly beside the entrance, grinning and politely watching as Nurth sluggishly approached. He paused next to her for only a moment to appraise her supervisory role, before sighing loudly, and proceeding to brush against the walls as he passed through the threshold. His laboured grunting attenuated into the depths of the cave. 

Frissura waited a moment. Then another. Finally she pursed the lips of her scaly muzzle, and followed Nurth inside. “Why certainly! I’d love to come in. Thanks for asking!”

Her eyes dilated in the subdued light. Nurth had retreated to an inner grotto where spring water collected in a cascading chain of small basins. One in particular looked scraped and chiseled into more usable proportions. Nurth was presently very carefully lowering himself into the shoulder-deep pool for a soak. A torrent of water rushed out and flooded the connected basins.

Beyond the grotto, additional branching galleries led deeper into the mountain. As Frissura approached Nurths’ soaking tub, one passageway in particular caught her attention. The walls were honed vertical and true, and bore an unmistakably array of artwork: Framed paintings. Portraits. Children’s drawings. Murals. Various themes and subjects, but more than a few of them featured green dragons in various states of roundness. 

She tried to make out the contents of the other sections of the cave, and came up with a mixed impression of various human-crafted things. Crates and barrels. Stacks of fabric. Wood and ironcraft, some of it rather elaborate-looking. Perhaps this dragon didn’t carry his entire hoard on his person after all.

Nurth said nothing as she approached. He’d settled in a reclined position, with his back easily enveloping the rim on one side of the pool. His paws were splayed forward and outward, with his buoyant belly filling most of the space before him. He seemed torn between relaxing, or using the opportunity to try and address some of his considerable stink. His tip of his tail emerged somewhere from beneath the water, and blandly stirred at the surface in little circles.

“Tired out, Hon?” Frissura asked gently.

A quick backhanded splash of water shot toward her face. She didn’t bother to dodge. After a quick wipe from her tufted tail, she delicately settled onto her haunches next to the pool.

“Why?” Nurth asked, voice quiet and resigned. “Why did you force me to bring you here, little miss rogue princess?”

She glanced again at the galleries before returning her attention to the pool-clogging drake. “I wanted to see. Because I wanted to find out if there was more to you; to know whether the gluttonous, fiercely protective ‘Guardian’ facade was the least... or the whole.”

Nurth gritted his teeth. “I see. So does my lair meet your approval? You should probably know I don’t even spend much time here any more...”

“Aye, it holds a few surprises. As do you.”

Nurth wasn’t quite sure how to take that. “Have you considered that the ‘Guardian act’ is all I really am?”

“I think not,” she solemnly. “But even if it is, I think it’s awfully cute.”

The soaking dragon gave her an incredulous look.

“I’m serious,” she said, standing upright to spread both paws in entreaty. “I’d never imagined a circumstance where a male would be allowed to... thrive so prolifically. You’re an unlikely marvel.”

A muffled burble issued from Nurth’s stomach, the noise a striking contrast against the steady echoing trickle of water. “So you’re saying this pleases you?” Nurth asked, gesturing to the gelatinous mound that dominated his form.

“It does.” Friss gave a single crisp nod. “More than I’d ever have imagined.”

Nurth craned his congested neck, eying the feathered dragon warily. As much as his pride had suffered this day, he was also acutely aware that this dragoness could have done so much worse. She seemed genuine, though he suspected the biggest part of it was genuine trouble.

“When I wake tomorrow,” she mused softly, “I shall have to remind myself to trust my senses. In a week, or perhaps a month, I might learn to stop doubting my good fortune. And I think by then, perhaps… so will you.”

“No,” Nurth said flatly, emphatically. “Absolutely not.”

She looked disappointed, but undeterred. “If nothing else, perhaps consider the benefits of having someone who can play a support role alongside your burgeoning Guardianship...”

Nurth sighed in frustration. It seemed the unwelcome shadow of dragonwings had now fallen upon him, and their owner definitely seemed intent on meddling… 

It wasn’t like he could force her to go – that much had been vividly illustrated already. And even if he resisted the urge to frolic near any more cliffs ledges, he had to admit the dragoness might prove useful. Especially with the direction things had been going…

She was not offensive to the eyes. He found himself unreasonably distracted by the folded outline of her wings, and the way her fawn-like spotted patterning and rich coloration seemed luminous against the reflections from the water. The elaborate feathering that adorned her lower legs wasn’t even particularly dirty, somehow– a detail that suddenly struck him as immensely unfair.

“And… and if I was to get…” Nurth twisted, splashing the water’s surface, and hugging his chest demonstratively. “*huff*...even fatter than this?”

Frissura, from where she sat facing Nurth, looked altogether too serious. Her yellow gaze grew more intense. An absent flick of her tail sent a chill breeze across the drake’s dripping forequarters. 

“If you get fatter?” she repeated in perfect deadpan. “Seems unlikely, doesn’t it?” Her composure slipped all at once, and she broke into a devious grin, her shoulders shaking in silent mirth. “But I suppose you might develop a perfect natural defence against my bite.” She winked, and clicked her jaws together daintily.

Nurth didn’t appreciate the cheeky evasiveness. Exotic charms aside, this abrasive dragoness presumed entirely too much. “You... you don’t know me! You don’t... know what this is like! Not at all.”

The pink dragon sobered, and settled back onto all fours. She didn’t argue. She remained seated, attentive… and listened patiently. Dull sounds bounced off the cave walls in the hushed silence.

“I’ll bet the moment you get a real good whiff of my reality, the novelty of a pet blubber-drake will wear off overnight... and you’ll just… *huff* ...pick up and fly to greener pastures!”

She cocked her head in consideration, noting the rasping breaths that issued from Nurth’s throat. His outburst had stirred the musky air, leaving a few subtle notes of charcoal, cinnamon and honey.

“No,” she said finally, gently smirking to reveal a thin line of predatory teeth. “I don’t think I will.”