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It wasn’t exactly easy, the process of growing into a fearsome creature of myth and legend.
There was quite a bit of molting involved as your growth spurts progressed in earnest – and perhaps an accidental fire or two. Hay-fever season was especially onerous, but that was nothing that hazard pay for the servants couldn’t fix – or so First Believer liked to chirp in his lilting, sing-song voice. First Believer didn’t understand why Her Majesty was encouraging something called unionization, but he was determined to be a modern and progressive One True King to Unite Them All. It was imperative that the monarchy evolve with the times, or else face revolution – which you already know to be The Absolute Worst. It gave First Believer bad tummy-quivers to even think of the word.
Besides, Her Majesty is part of your clutch now, and you regard her almost as highly as you do First Believer. She gave the best belly scratches, even if she maintained that you were now far too big to sleep on the bed and scolded you for sneaking out of the castle to steal cattle from the serfs. It was approved livestock or no livestock, she wagged her finger to chide, her scent stinging your nose with that specifically sour note of pickled turnips and Hortensian scorch-peppers.
There was nothing worse than the smell of Her Majesty when she was not-angry-just-disappointed. It made you bow your head and rumble-whine deep in your throat until she sighed that she could never stay mad at those big brown eyes. You made it a point to avoid Her Majesty’s ire whenever possible – much as First Believer himself did. A happy wife, First Believer maintained, equals a happy life. And I’m determined that my Bobby will be the happiest of them all!
Besides, First Believer liked to sneak you choice cuts of meat from the kitchens when he thought that Her Majesty was maybe being just the teensiest bit too strict – just like he brought you shiny baubles and random left shoes for your ever growing horde. You may have been too big for the bed – far gone are the days when you once fit snug inside a pocket, and human bedding was very flammable, truth be told – but First Believer came and bunked down in your nest in the castle's (former) dungeons on the nights when you struggled to scratch your dry old scales or you were miserable for the ache in your swollen wing-buds or even simply when the storms were so very loud and singed the night sky in twisting forks of blazing light.
“I don’t know if dragons are scared of storms,” Her Majesty sounded dubious, but she trusted her mate’s instincts – so she came down to sleep in your nest, too, just in case. Her warm wool and bellflower scent next to First Believer’s smell of dogwood and leather permeated all of the good textures of your nest, making your horde shine even brighter for that cozy and intangible sense of safetysecurityhome.
“Even storms are bigger than dragons,” First Believer reasoned. “And besides – our little guy isn’t quite a dragon yet.”
While you were no longer a mere hatchling afraid of storms – someday, you shall be the storm itself – it was still soothing to hear First Believer sing, purposefully louder than the thunder when it rolled, seemingly shaking the foundations of the castle with its wrath and fury.
“Soon you’ll grow big and you'll grow scary
Just like my best pal Gary!
You’ll stretch your wings and up you’ll soar
Breathing fire so hardcore!
Just wait and let it happen
You’ll be one high-flyin' dragon!
You’ll prove to that mean ol’ Galavant
There’s no such thing as ‘lizard can’t!’
You’ll make all the bad guys wary
But to me you're legendary!
You’ll always be super-duper
Because you’re my good boy, Tad Cooper!”
You warbled for the familiar refrain – easy and content as you curled your tail around your humans – and closed your eyes to dream of wide open skies, with all the world below yours to command.