Part one in an ongoing sequence by  AnotherFatDerg!

This is Part 1 -- 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/38739772/

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He lifted his muzzle from the empty basket. “Yer sure I’th not taken too mush?” he asked rather sheepishly, chewing the words through a mouthful of honey-glazed puff biscuits. “I’d feel, mmmrph... I’d feel horrible depriving the others of your culinary gift. Especially on a .... MMrrrm… day like this!”

Jerold – a baker and chef of uncommon talent – simply smiled and poked the rotund dragon’s nose affectionately. “Take, enjoy, and worry not, Guardian Nurth. I’ve done my best to account for your appetite, and I’d dare say we all have. The Festival of Bounty is practically held in your honour, after all.”

Heavy wagons trundled past, stacked high with food, drink, and various fairground-like novelties. Hammers rang out with urgency against the final few tent pegs, betraying an eagerness to tap waiting kegs of ale. Vendors called out samples for the first wave of patrons. Nurth could literally feel the bustle of the town square through his well-cushioned reptilian hide. 

Snorting, Nurth conceded the point. The townsfolk had a good sense of what he liked, and should be reasonably well prepared.  “I suppose time will tell if your ‘best’ is good enough,” he joshed, peeling back his lips back in a toothy grin. This day had all the makings of a good one!

Pleasing scents teased at the dragon’s nostrils: an impressive selection of oven-fresh pastries and decorated candies. Cook fires sizzling with succulent mutton, dripping cuts of beef and oily strips of pork. A growing stockpile of kebabs and greasy drumsticks. The mingling aromas of smokey wood, cooking oil, and various comforting confections all hung thickly in the late-morning air. The dragon salivated, licking his chops sloppily, barely aware that somewhere in between he’d vanquished yet another mouthful of Jerold’s biscuits. The man chuckled quietly, and moved to prepare another tray.

None of Nurth’s conservative blood kin would have abided such excess... or any of this ‘human business’, really... but he had long since given up trying to please them. None had bothered to follow him to this valley, and he had no intention of returning to the deep forests of his homeland… even if he thought for a second he could still manage the trek.

For the gathering townsfolk, the spirit of celebration was infectious. Most paused and greeted Nurth with familiarity as they filtered around his bulky flanks, while a few formally dipped their head in reverence. The youngest and boldest liked to brush their fingers across his distorted hide, hoping to snag a loose scale the groomers had missed. None of these folk showed any wariness for the massive, often noisily gorging, dragon who lounged in their midst; not even the horses, which was saying something. He was welcome here. He belonged. 

Nurth spotted a convenient opening in the press of people, and drove his forepaws firmly into the hard-packed street, bracing and heaving himself upward. He grunted bashfully as weight sucked at his shoulders and back, triggering a nervous flutter from his disused wings. The effort mostly parted his draconic muzzle from the supportive press of his thick neck and brisket, and shrank the spread of his fleshy undercarriage where it remained draped across the cobblestone. He didn’t bother to seriously set his shoulders, or lock his leg joints. (It wasn’t like he was preparing for any significant travel-- nothing like the increasingly regrettable slog to reach his mountain cave!) Instead he shuffled just a couple of brazen steps, forcing his belly to rake across the ground in uneven lurches. He twisted his body to favor a new and slightly more comfortable resting position, and allowed himself to settle down again.

A lucky girl swooped in and plucked a newly-exposed scale, tittering with glee before rejoining her friends. Nurth’s cheeks glowed a little, hugging the base of his ears as he turned his head to watch her go. She and some other like-sized humans filtered into the crowd, then disappeared between a pair of freshly-refurbished storefronts. 

The town looked good, with plenty of fresh paint and new construction. Almost everybody wore bright, clean clothes. The latest fashion was apparently pointless strings of baubles woven into the females’ hair, courtesy of traders from the coast. Nurth saw an almost endless sea of warm smiles. These people were thriving. So happy, healthy, and proud...

“I should be proud too. Proud of all of this. Shouldn’t I?” Nurth asked himself.

He wondered, not for the first time, how things could change so much, and so quickly...

Back when Nurth first cast the shadow of his dragonwings upon this valley, it had been in the midst of back-to-back harsh winters and extended summer droughts. He was glad to find an unclaimed cave in the mountainside. It featured a welcoming trickle of natural spring water inside. He found enough viable game cowering in the nearby hills. 

Nurth was also quite aware of a humble farming settlement nestled in the foothills below. Human pests were hardly ideal for the peace of mind of a roosting dragon, but the place was such a damned sorry sight, he dismissed them as an immediate threat. Clearly the people were starving. Nurth was only a little better off in that regard -- still soft around the edges, but very much diminished since he’d left home. “Almost a proper dragon”, his father would have said. If he was honest, Nurth had been very tempted to turn tail, go back, and admit they’d been right about him. 

But then nothing else would ever change. 

The cave would have to serve. He’d make due. And a few scraggly humans were of no consequence.

Nurth had little taste for suffering, even if it was from only a few chattering, emaciated, hut-building mammals. He shared some of his own meager hunting, surreptitiously leaving it where it could be discovered in the pre-dawn light. He also meddled in other little ways, like scouting and actively driving off pillagers. It was no great hardship, since he was often out hunting anyway. 

While on a hunt one day, he spotted one of the littlest humans toddling aimlessly. It was quite some distance from the others, and making pitiful mewling noises that attracted the interest of smaller predators. There was no real choice to make. Nurth delivered the scaleless-hatchling (exhausted but unharmed) into the laps of a frantic search party. He could still remember their stunned faces.

Word quickly spread; accounts and rumors about this unlikely green and yellow beast. Even so, some villagers remained doubtful. How likely was it, really, that they shared their valley with an actual dragon? Nurth hardly fit the bill. He wasn’t savage enough. Terrible enough. Convincing enough.

Such was the story of Nurth’s life, it seemed.

But he’d become quite fond of that humble cave and his new territory in the picturesque mountain range. He didn’t move on, and as a result more encounters were inevitable. There were some tense moments. But when didn’t try to eat anybody, neither did they seem particularly inclined to test his scales with their arrows. Some villagers came to realize he was not only quite capable of speaking, but also of providing boons like aerial scouting, finding herbs or game, and even escort and protection. Nurth found it satisfying to assist his pets, and demanded nothing in return, save that he be allowed to hunt and see to his own needs. 

There were still skeptics, of course; those who expected the deceptive beast was only biding his time, preparing an ambush. Nurth was always tempted to point out that he’d need not have waited at all, if that were his intention, but wisely held his tongue. Even the most stubborn of the humans began to accept he was quite real, quite reasonable, and hardly the looming terror they originally feared.

Relief from the drought finally came. A promising planting season led to a harvest better than any in living memory. Some of their sickly trees bore fruit once more. The humans worked hard to capitalize on the bounty of their fields, scurrying and laboring like ants possessed. By this time, Nurth was making appearances in the town proper, assisting with the movement of grains, and with picking from tall branches. He found utility in construction and heavy lifting. He helped fell trees, prepare new fields, dig foundations, and raise new storage houses....

That exceptional harvest was chased by yet another, offering even greater returns. Nurth became more comfortable with the occasional trade or offering from these people. It was pleasant to have arts and crafts to decorate his cave, and admittedly more convenient to eat things that weren’t actively trying to escape. He even enjoyed the occasional human-prepared dish. Some of the seasonings were strong and excessive, but not altogether unpleasant.

The following year, after the humans had completed the bulk of their planting and preparations for another encouraging season, Nurth spotted a group of representatives venturing up the mountain to reach the mouth of his ‘hidden’ mountain cave. He thought of intercepting them, but the group, a dozen strong, seemed intent on meeting him where he lived. He waited, and fought to quiet lingering doubts that perhaps they meant to poach him, or try to drive him off. 

Instead, they formally asked Nurth to serve as their honorary dragon of luck and protection: their “Dragon Guardian”.

To Nurth, the proposal sounded like a lot of foolishness. Just some unnecessary fanfare to spell out what amounted to “business as usual”. But what harm in playing along?, he had reasoned. It wasn’t like he planned to leave. He saw no good reason to deny his amusing little pets’ arrangement. Could he dare to hope such a fancy, official-sounding position might finally impress his family?

Sourness at where that tangent led suddenly filled his mouth, snapping him out of his reverie.

A basket of sweet biscuits hovered near Nurth’s face. “Don’t tell me you expect to be hand-fed.” Jerold chided. “Make the most of that cavernous golden gut, my friend! These desserts are exceptional, to be sure, but don’t discount the myriad delights you’ll devour this night!“

Nurth smacked his lips, dismissing the lingering distaste on his tongue. He obliged by plunging his snout into the basket with an intensity that started even the faithful Jerold. Let these folks have their living symbol of bounty, Nurth thought. He had a good thing here, damn it. And it was certainly simple enough to act the part of the spoiled pet. All it took was not dwelling overmuch on his grossly swollen, spreading haunches. 

An unmistakable sound interrupted his thoughts. He froze mid-chomp, instinctively tracking the distant whisper of large wings. His gaze shot skyward, causing his neck-wattle to jiggle with uncharacteristic sharpness. Some others around him noticed, and followed his attention. The general din of the crowd hushed, then swelled with inquiries and shouts of alarm. 

A dragon. Another dragon, and it was circling toward them. Not the ‘tame’ dragon these people all knew, for obviously this one was actually airborne. It didn’t really matter what the approaching– dragoness, Nurth discerned as she drew closer– had in mind. She hadn’t come for afternoon tea. She could only be a threat to these folk, and to the security of his creature comforts. His breathing quickened.

The mauve dragoness alighted in the square, shaking out and gracefully stowing a pair of uncommon feathery wings. Not from his clan, that much was plain. But still very much a dragon.

“Why?” he lamented bitterly. “Why would the heavens see fit to dredge up a piece of my past today? Why ruin this for me now?”  Best case, the feathery interloper would simply wreak havoc, seek plunder, and in all likelihood spread word of Nurth’s personal little empire.

There was no alternative. He must make a stand, here and now. 

Summoning strength he had seldom found of late, he arched his back and neck, powerfully launching the meat of his chest into the air with an explosion of force from his forepaws. His wings cut and buffeted the air with a barely controlled and largely ineffective flap. The entirety of his tail briefly parted from the ground, countering some of the weight and resistance. He growled, straining, capitalizing on his tenuous momentum. The leading edge of his belly sluggishly heaved skyward, exposing far more hidden scales, begrudgingly rolling back upon itself in a sort of reverse wave. It spilled against his hind paws. His ass and tail hugged the ground, spreading wider. 

A puff of smoke spilled from his nostrils. He had succeeded in levering himself upward so his unenviable stash of lard was (mostly) centered somewhere above his hindlegs. It was balanced in an offensive stance. Upright. 

Their Guardian. 

“These humans are under my protection! Back Off!”