Ragadar had never imagined blueberries being a source of so much misery.

    Firstly, blueberries in the heart of Fimblewinter were rarely good. Why the royals wanted any was beyond him. Yet the Merwyss wanted a blueberry tart for breakfast, and the cook had none in the kitchen, which meant a long, steep walk into the keep's cellar to look for frozen blueberries.

    He ambled down the shimmery stone steps, his talons spiked with pain as they struggled for balance on shaved claws. The fantasy of gliding down the steps on unshackled wings was too painful to dwell on.

    The fact that the descent had stairs at all was a sign of servitude. The only dragons to need stairs were the young, the old, and the enslaved.

    The eternity of steps finally evened out to an arched cellar, the walls lined with shelves that reached all the way up to the ceiling. Sacks of flour slumped on shelves and dried meats and herbs hung strung from the roof. He passed through the dimly lit space as till it grew darker and the stone went cold beneath his claws.

    Enchanted ice soon replaced the stone. He repressed a shiver and quickened his pace through the long stretch of frozen supplies, scanning the shelves for the ever elusive blueberries.

    A shuffling around the corner made him halt.

    He flicked his ears, searching for the source of the noise. It wasn't uncommon for thieves to loot the Keep's cellar. Usually they were poor ryns and ryss's trying to bring food home to their family, but cornered dragons were dangerous. Especially to those with blunt claws and clasped wings.

    Rag wanted to run for the guards, but he couldn't. He had to get a look at the thief first, estimate race and age, or the guard would scoff that he'd been scared by a rat.

    Tentatively he crept forward, pausing before each branch in the hall to check it before proceeding.

              It occurred to him the tragic fact that if he was killed by the interloper, his death would have been brought around because of blueberries.

             A life lost for want of blueberries. He would have found that more poetic if the fear of death wasn't so real, chilling him to the core.

          He slid out an iron skewer from a rack of frozen meat as he walked. Rag wasn't trained in any sort of weaponry, but he felt safer with something sharp in his blunt claws.

         Something crashed around the corner, like shattered pottery.

         Slowly, ever so slowly, he poked his snout around the bend...

        Large, alarmed green eyes stared right back at him, a deer caught in torchlight. "Rag!"

        Ragadar's heart jumped, then relief flowed through his veins like waves. "Halvar. You scared me half to death."

       Halvar swallowed, slowly returning a linen sack against the wall. His chubby black talons and mouth glistened with moisture. "And you me. What are you doing down here? Don't you work with the kitchen staff?"

     Rag gave the sack a pointed glance. "I was sent down for blueberries. The Merwyss wants them." He reaches out and inspected the contents of the sack. "If I'm not out of place in saying, m'lord, but it appears you've inherited her taste for them."

     Halvar hastily licked his talons. The forest naturae was stocky for his age, much rounder than his race normally was. "I thought you weren't a runner ryn anymore. Got promoted from that or something. Working in the pretty parts of the Keep now."

     Rag flicked his ears and straightened his posture. "There's no shame in being a runner. You think the cook has time to go up and down all those stairs?"

      "Well, it would only take him a few minutes to get down here. But he's just too lazy to use his wings."

      The words made his stomach turn sour. "I need to get these to the kitchen. If I'm fast enough the cook said he'd show me the recipe."

       Halvar grinned. "Still dreaming of becoming his assistant?"

        Rag hadn't realized that he'd still been holding the iron rod, nor how tightly he'd been squeezing it. He set it on the ground by the wall. "Its really the highest I can get here. Since you don't want me as your personal servant. A decision you may come to regret, considering my cooking skills."

      Halvar laughed, his voice high and free with youth. "Oh no, I want you in the kitchens. Who else will make me midnight blueberry tarts when I'm Lord here? Anyone can sweep my floors and polish my armors. You can be my personal link to my favorite place in the Keep."

      Ragadar smiled and took a bow. "Forever at your service, my liege. Infinite blueberry tarts for the lord-to-be." He turned towards the exit, throwing the sack of blueberries over his shoulder. "But if you'll forgive me, the Merwyss is the one currently deciding whether I get my rations. So these are for her."

      Halvar reached out longingly. "Goodbye my lovelies... we will meet again..."

      Rag quickly made for the stairwell to avoid further conversation. He shook his head and chuckled. Halvar was a decent, for someone of his bloodline. Yet the idea of the ryn sitting in the onyx chair always amused him.

     Halvar, Lord of Blueberries.

    The way up was more tedious than going down, but his talons were spurred by the excitement of moving up. Every step he took brought him higher. In space, but also in status. Closer to the kitchen, where he'd learn a new recipe from the cook. Where he'd work hard, please the High Merwyss and Arwyn. Earn their favor with loyal service. All that would bring him closer.

     Closer to rising.

~~~~~

Meet Ragadar! Third of the three... I'd love to hear what you think of him! Please comment and vote if you liked!