//------------------------------// // Chapter 13: Rivals // Story: Our Little Brother, Spike // by Hope Caster //------------------------------// After two long weeks, Spike’s wounds were finally healed. When the bandages were finally removed, he saw that he now carried three scars on each of his forearms. Some would think this to be a reminder of his and Smolder’s foolishness, but Spike was young, and he could only think about how cool they looked. “Look at them!” Spike said with a happy chirp showing them to his mother. They were perfectly straight, and equally spaced out. Though there was a grim memory of that day in the back of his head, he chose to focus on the aesthetically pleasing look about them. “Spike, those are scars. Stop admiring them,” Amber chided. “I have to agree with your mother. You need to let girls admire them. Jade will probably think they make you look dashing.” Spike turned a deep red, and Amber jabbed her mate’s shoulder. Despite the pain, Flare laughed heartily. “Now that Spike’s better, does that mean that we can finally go out and play?” Smolder asked. That question was music to Flare’s ears. He loved his whelps, more than anything, but they had driven him mad the past two weeks. They went stir crazy at least once every two days, if not sooner. Spike, and to a lesser extent, Smolder, threw several tantrums throughout the day that lasted several minutes and whittled down their patience to the last nerve. Flare had thought about pawning them off with Topaz for a day but decided against it. He didn’t want them getting any more books. Jasper was seeing a new paramour near the Equestrian boarder, which he would rather die than send his children to, and Smog was still banned from the cave. The only other member was Furnace, and could scarcely recall the children’s names. Now they were free to run until their little hearts gave out, and all he or Amber needed to do was watch them. “I don’t see why not. Amber, why don’t you take the day, and I’ll-” Before he could finish his sentence, Amber was curled around their hoard, snoozing soundly. “Let’s leave your mother to her sleep,” He whispered to his children. Putting them all on his back, Flare took them to their preferred play place. Ember grumbled to herself as she scanned the quarry for Garble. In the quarry Whelps sat digging holes and finding gems of various sizes and rarities. However, none of them were her rival. The last she saw him was last week, with his little brother, and Scales, who latched onto his arm. Recalling the scolding from her father she didn’t challenge him, but issued several threats and boasts. “He’s not here again!?” She let out a groan as she tugged at her stubby horns. “What good is a rival if he doesn’t show up to fight?!” Maybe it was the weather? It was a cool day for the dragon lands, only about 102 degrees. If that were the case, though, was he really someone she wanted as a rival if a little bit of cold got under his scales? “Mom, where does Garble live? I’m going to have to drag him out here to fight him!” “He’ll come eventually, sweetie. You just need to be patient.” “But I don’t want to be patient! If he doesn’t show up, I’m going to have to fight Ballista or Prominence again, and they’re barely a challenge! Ugh, doesn’t that boulderhead know how this works? I’m supposed to fight him, beat him, and then he’s supposed to become evil! Then, I’ll have to defeat him again to stop him from, like, setting everything in the world on fire!” She spoke with the urgency of a dragon claiming to have seen a group of dragon slayers. There was one more reason she wanted to fight him, she wanted to make her father proud. He believed in her. For the first time in his life, he believed in her. He believed that she could defeat Garble, he believed that she could be strong, he believed that she could be a real dragon. She had to prove him right. “That’s nice, Ember,” Blaze said. She was never one to humor Ember’s more verbose fantasies. She’d heard from Amber recently that Spike’s punishment was nearly up, so it stood to reason that the three would be together. She saw a bright red dragon, landing near a playpen not too far away from them. On his back was one, two, and she smiled seeing the tallest, third whelp. “I think I see your rival.” “Where?!” Ember scurried up her mother’s back and neck until she was firmly planted on her head. She followed her mother’s gaze and saw Garble climbing off his father’s back. With the speed of lightning Ember was on the ground running towards the Ironscales. “Have fun,” Her mother called after her. She sat quietly with herself for a moment or two, before a feeling took hold. She stood and silently followed her daughter, just to make sure nothing went wrong. Garble could see how excited Spike and Smolder were to finally be able to play once more. Their little tails wagged, they were uncontrollably bouncing in place, and their smiles could melt the icy heart of a pony if seen. Their eyes were wide and sparkling, just waiting for their older brother to give the word, and have them begin their fight. A word that never came as a blue blur crashed into him, pinning him on his back. Flare winced, while Spike froze, dumbfounded. Smolder burst into giggles. She always found sneak attacks to be funny, especially when they happened to Garble. “I want you to fight me!” Ember shouted, making eye contact with Garble, while giving him the angriest, and frankly, most adorable glare she could. “You again? What’s your problem?” “You! You’re my problem!” Ember responded. It took a moment, but Spike managed to reboot before scrambling to his sister. “Smolder, it’s the cheater!” He gripped his sister’s arm, shaking it urgently, pointing at the blue dragon, who still had Garble pinned. “She attacked Garble right after he fought Arrow and again at the gathering! Mama grounded him for that!” “Did Garble lose?” Smolder asked. “No.” “Then why does it matter that she’s fighting him?” “Well, attacking him the first time wasn’t fair!” Flare put his head down next to his son, speaking firmly. “The first rule to always remember, Spike, unfortunate as it maybe. Life is not fair.” “Can we help?” Spike asked. “No, no, let’s just see where this goes.” Flare glanced up and saw Lord Consort Blaze, across from him. He was nearly certain that Garble would be fine, no matter the outcome of the fight, but he kept in mind that Torch was a dragon that got angry at the drop of a rock, so it never hurt to double check certain facts. Minding the children, he stepped next to her and whispered, “How much trouble will he be in for this if Torch finds out?” “None. My mate actually encouraged this.” “The dragon that flies off the handle when someone glances at his daughter the wrong way, gave her his blessing to fight with my son.” “I know how it sounds. I thought he was a changeling when he said it, but it turns out that Garble is not as brutal as he looks. I’m sorry for Ember she’s-.” “She’s a whelp, it’s how they are when they’re young.” Flare said with a shrug. “I say we see what happens.” Unwilling to argue, Blaze turned her attention back to the children. “Fine, get off of me, and we’ll fight,” Garble said. Ember did just that. “Mom, can you give us a signal?” Ember asked. “Alright,” she said with a sigh. “When I say begin, you two may start fighting. Ready?” She saw the two of them take a stance. “Begin.” Ember went in and hit Garble with a right hook, she went for a left, only for him to move back, same with the third. Ember went for another tackle, only for Garble to dodge and tackle her from behind, trapping her in a bear hug. “Hey, let me go!” She shouted. She struggled and yelled in his grip for a few minutes, spewing fire and whacking him with her tail, but that only forced him to pin her on the ground, and nip at the back of her neck, eliciting a sharp yelp from the girl. At that moment, Flare finally stepped in and effortlessly pulled the two apart. “That’s enough Garble,” he said. “You beat her, let her go. He did beat her, yes?” “He very clearly nipped her,” Blaze affirmed. Her mother was right. He did nip to the back of the neck, a very old, but universally known rule for victory among whelps. Ember slammed her fist on the ground. “Let’s go again!” She said, getting on all fours and letting out a very gentle, soft roar, that wouldn’t have frightened a mouse. She shrunk when she heard her mother clear her throat. “Did I do something wrong?” Ember asked, becoming suddenly calmer and bit submissive. “No, but you’re acting a bit rude, Ember. Garble was very nice to play with you, but he came here with his siblings. They were nice enough to let you have your turn first, but now its theirs. Once they’re done, you can see if he’s willing to have a rematch.” “Sounds fair,” Flare said. “Right, Garble?” “I guess.” He had a sneaking suspicion that this was one of the times that his father was not actually asking him his opinion. “But they might tire him out!” Ember argued. “It’ll be unfair if I fight him after he fights them! I need to beat him at his best!” It was quickly becoming a no-win situation. If she attacked him, she was certain to be grounded, but if she waited and rested, she’d be at her best, but Garble wouldn’t. If-no-when she won, her victory would be sullied! She turned to Garble. It was better to retreat for now. “We’ll settle this tomorrow! Be ready!” With her threat issued, she ran off into the distance, followed by her mother. “What am I going to do with that girl?” She murmured to herself. Garble let out a sigh, suddenly becoming drained. “Dad, why are girls crazy?” “She not crazy, Garble, just enthusiastic. She thinks that you’re a dragon worth defeating, and she wants to do it when you’re at your best. Honestly, you should take it as a compliment, a sign of respect.” Garble rolled his eyes, and felt his arm nudged. “Can we still play?” Spike asked. “Yeah,” Garble hopped to his feet, and got ready. The children played until the sun was starting to set, and Spike and Smolder could hardly keep their eyes open. As Garble helped them onto their father’s back, he caught one last, small glimpse of Ember, her glare still as intense as always. A month, this little spat between them was going to last a month at most. It had to. A year passed, and Ember was still a constant presence in Garble’s life. She was relentless in her single-minded pursuit of victory, so much so, that their days had become formulaic. “I’m not going easy on you this time!” Ember would shout as she took a fighting stance. However, be it a few seconds or several hours, Ember was overtaken and pinned or nipped. She would monologue about how this victory meant nothing, and that soon, she would defeat Garble, and claim the mantle of strongest dragon, and become Dragon Lord, before running off to fume. Torch never batted an eye when Ember recounted her fights to him. He only encouraged her as best he could, and for his efforts received smiles and nuzzles from his happy daughter. As their fights went on, Garble learned more about Ember, mainly that she was not the helpless girl he stood-up for that day in the quarry. Ember was quick and fierce like a savage beast out of the woods, but so devious and cunning that she could have been mistaken for a pony. Her favored approach to opening their fights was a sneak attack. Sometimes she’d attack him without warning, other times she purposely threw something to make noise, drawing Garble’s attention to one area, and then jump out of her hiding space, and unleashing a barrage of strikes. Yet even this he learned to counter. While he couldn’t see or hear her, he could still use his nose. Dragons had a keen sense of smell, seldom used, but still a tool in their belt. Though it sounded strange, Ember smelled pleasant. He didn’t notice it at first, but after fighting with her nearly every day for months, he began to take note of her scent. Most dragons smelled of sulfur and ash, but Ember shockingly smelled of flowers and wild berries. Though he didn’t know it, it was because her mother took her to a special hot spring away from the crags and cliffs of their lands, to bathe and spend time with one another talking. It was one of the few times Ember laughed, smiled, and talked calmly with her mother. Ember especially had fun splashing in the water, which was littered with berries and flower petals. Bushes grew around the pools of water, and occasionally a few would fall in. Thanks to that scent, Garble knew whenever Ember was coming. He would simply sniff the air, find her general direction, and brace himself. The little princess was not happy when Garble began to thwart her sneak attacks, nor when he adapted to her more underhanded tactics. Barring weapons, she used everything she could to get an advantage; dust to blind him, round marbles to trip him, one time she even used oil on herself to make her harder to grab, a tactic that she still regretted using. Ember would even try to lead him into hazards, bait him into punching a wall, have him trip in a pothole, anything. Garble knew in his heart that had she been just a bit stronger, he would have lost a long time ago. He very nearly lost a fight thanks to his carelessness. He twisted his ankle after falling into a trap and was barely able to put pressure on it. Ember didn’t take note, she was too focused on defeating him. It was only thanks to the timely arrival of Spike that the match ended in a draw. Thanks to the injury, Garble had to wait to recover before going outside, and Ember had to issue an apology, which was very sincere. He made sure to know where he was stepping after that. It was like were doing a repetitive dance. Ember would come up with a new strategy, and Garble would brute force his way through it before adapting. She would grow stronger, but so did he. The endless cycle infuriated Ember to no end. What irritated her most was that Garble was starting to use underhanded tactics of his own. The other day, after she had finally pinned him on his back, and was about to win their fight, he blew a steady stream of fire scarcely hotter than a candle and hit her neck, purely out of desperation. To any other creature, such a blow would have been fatal, but for dragons, fire breath tickled at worst, and Garble? He’d managed to hit one of Ember’s worse spots. The fire gently brushed across her scales and Ember jerked away, falling onto the floor, hysterically laughing. Garble capitalized on her weakened state and swiftly defeated her. He took note of the weakness and used the cruel tactic when things got hairy for him. Worse, some of the older dragons would coo about how cute her laughter was, something that Ember took as an insult because she. Was. Not. Cute. When she complained to her father about it, he asked, ‘You mean, you don’t like it when someone does this?’ before blowing a tongue of fire along her stomach. The whisps of flame gently tickled her, sending her once again into hysterics for a good minute, despite her pleads for her father to stop. She was still giving him the silent treatment. The only constant variable was Garble’s very small, irritating little brother, who intervened at critical points in their fights. He would sometimes jump on her back and nip her, tug her tail as she was rushing, or just bend down behind her as she was moving backwards, tripping her. “This is between me and him!” She would warn after restraining Spike. The max she could do to him without incurring her mother’s wrath was restrain him. Easily done considering their size difference. “You’re starting to get annoying!” “Well, you’re more annoying!” Spike would snap back. “Shrimp!” “Loudmouth!” “Brat!” She would shout back. “Cheater!” He would call her. “Boulderhead!” “Boulderer-head!” “That’s not a word!” “You’re not a word!” They would continue insulting each other until Garble got tired of the bickering, took Spike, and delivered him to his caretaker for the day. “Just let me fight her with you!” Spike would often complain. To Spike, Garble was one of, if not the greatest dragon in the world. When Ember hit him in that moment of weakness, it was too great a sin to be forgiven. He often tried to get Smolder involved, but she always said no. She couldn’t care about Ember, her ‘slight’ against Garble, nor Spike’s irrational distain towards her. She had her own problems to handle. “Dragons don’t team up to fight, Spike.” “You don’t say that when Smolder and I gang up on you. It’s really easy to win fights when we work together!” “That’s different, Spike.” Garble explained, knowing deep in his heart that Spike had a point and he was being hypocritical. “You’re fighting me when you do that. It doesn’t make it unfair; it just levels the playing field.” Spike’s face scrunched up into a pout. “You always say that you’re holding back when we do that. You could at least stop holding back when you fight her. You don’t even throw a punch!” That earned him a very soft bop on the head. “You don’t!” Spike said, rubbing his crown. “Just shut it, Spike,” Garble would growl. If Spike was going to complain about Garble holding back, then he should at least demand that Ember stop holding back every time he joined the fray. He loved his brother dearly, but he needed to stop involving himself in their scuffles. As bad as it might have seemed, Garble did enjoy their company. However, there was one dragon that he dreaded seeing on even the best of days: Scales Sunwing. He never hit a girl before, but she was starting to make him reconsider. Her voice was so grating that it left permanent, earsplitting echoes in his mind. “Garble, do you really think that Scales Ironscale sounds good?” She would say in a sickeningly sweet voice. “We should change it to Ironhide. Scales Ironhide sounds a lot prettier.” “Garble, how many eggs do you want? You should want two.” “Garble, how big of a hoard do you think we’ll have? Whatever you think it is, double it.” “Garble, who do you think is pretty?” She’d asked, expecting him to answer with her name. “Don’t answer,” She would say after about five minutes of silence. “I know it’s me.” “Garble. Garble. Garble.” Some small part of Garble might have thought she liked him, that she wanted to know about their future together, but a few questions tipped him off to her true intensions. “Do you want to start courting before or after you become Dragon Lord?” “How are you going to rule when you become Dragon Lord?” “What do you think a Lord Consort should wear? I think platinum and rubies. You’ll have plenty of those when you’re Dragon Lord, right?” If it wasn’t about their future, it was about the title of Dragon Lord. She was more interested in it than anything or anyone else. Was that why she tolerated him and his complete indifference towards her? Every snide remark, every time he let her fall, or refused to help her up, did she willfully and foolishly justify it to herself just because she was desperate to be Lord Consort and thought that he’d be the one to claim the mantle? He couldn’t help but wonder where she’d be if he lost to Arrow all those days ago. Would she even care about him, would Ember? Would she even still be interested in a few years? It wasn’t as if the future was set in stone. What if he died during his molt? What if someone came along and beat him, be it in a game or in the Gauntlet? What if he became disinterested in the title all together and passed is birthright on to Smolder or Spike? What would she do then? She’d move on, and forget he even existed. His friends all thought that he was a likely candidate to become Dragon Lord, so did he, but that was in the now. It earned him respect, but it also put target on his back. All of them were just waiting for their moment to take him down, and prove their strength. He knew that any of them could do it given enough hard work. According to his father, Torch himself was once a pudgy whelp, scared of his own shadow. No one thought that he could even hope to become Dragon Lord, let alone a strong dragon. Then he went ahead and shocked everyone when he won the Gauntlet with little effort years later after losing most of his weight in fat, and gaining nearly all of it back in muscle. Embarrassingly for all involved, Torch didn’t even realize that he was participating until after he won. (His father came in third, behind Kalamet Steelspine, but ahead of Stratus Sunwing.) It wasn’t as if Scales seemed to enjoy talking to him either. Everything about her seemed forced. She struggled to keep her smile up, her body seemed to contort and tense when she wrapped her arms around him when she managed to get a hold of him, and her voice would sometimes become stiff and robotic, like she memorized everything she had to say the day prior. The only real part about her were her eyes. Her eyes gave him just a glimpse behind her façade, but only a glimpse. She wasn’t happy, but that was the most he could discern. There was another question that was gnawing at him. What was keeping her from trying to take the title? She had to have yearned for the mantle like everyone else, but she seemed content to latch onto whomever won. Perhaps it was her strength, or lack thereof. She was too weak to get it, and so she decided to settle. If that was the case, that attitude irked Garble, burning him to his core. Scales wasn’t just weak; she was weak willed. As his grandfather Furnace put it, Dragons were made to rise above themselves. If there was a challenge, a dragon would work until it was overcome, through brawn, brains, or sheer force of will. It was a concept so simple that even Spike understood it. It was what he practiced every time he, with or without Smolder, challenged Garble to a fight. It was what Ember did every day in fighting him. Yet, Scales spat in the face of such a philosophy. It wasn’t even that she couldn’t improve, she was a dragon. She just didn’t want to. If that wasn’t enough to put him off, she was of the belief that truly insulting him would win her his favor. Ember habitually called him a boulderhead, which was irritating, but she called everyone that, especially when things didn’t go her way in a fight. Perhaps it was a metaphor, or a double entendre like with his poems. Boulderhead could mean less of an insult, more of a way of saying ‘I’m frustrated’. But Scales? Scales’ insults didn’t have a deeper meaning. She meant what she said. “When I become Lord Consort, I think you should get my input when making decisions.” She would say. “Why?” “I think I could help you!” “I mean why do you think I need you or your help?” “Well, I’m smart, but I’m not that strong. You’re the strongest, but you’re a moron!” She said in an innocent little voice. “You’re just going to need help when you become Dragon Lord. That’s where I come in. We’ll be the greatest rulers ever. I can make the hard decisions; you can enforce them!” He was wrong, there was a deeper meaning. She really meant, 'You're too stupid to be the Dragon Lord, so give it to me instead!' He was used to his intelligence being insulted, but he never let it get to him… not much anyway. He knew he was smarter than the average dragon, especially a manipulative twat like Scales. Yet, even knowing what she thought of him, he refused to strike her, but this may be because Ember did it for him. Scales would get possessive most days, but the moment that she got in the way of Ember’s mission, Ember would retaliate. “You’re in my way,” Ember would warn, giving the whelp a chance to run. Scales would normally except the challenge, perhaps thinking that Garble would intervein on her behalf. He never did, mostly because he loved it when Ember took Scales down a peg or three. Her every movement was fluid, graceful even, akin to a performance in Smolder’s Princess books. When Scales tried fighting back, Ember would hit harder and faster, which was always fun to watch. Nowadays, all it took was Ember giving Scales a look before the girl bitterly slinked away without a word. Scales’ façade usually slipped for a few moments and he would see the despondent rage mounting. Ember never really cared for her fights with Scales, in fact they were all meaningless to her. He was the target. He admired that tenacity; truly, he did. Ember was small, she had below average strength, but she would sooner die than give up. Unlike Scales, Ember was undeniably a dragon in every sense of the word. Though he would never admit it aloud, a small part of him enjoyed their rivalry. She kept him on his toes, forced him to improve, and in turn, she was given a training partner. It was a relationship that he wouldn’t trade for all the gold in the land. How unfortunate it was that the very foundation of their rivalry was about to change the very next day.