Blood Ties

“You knew,” Morwyn choked out in a fearful whisper. “You knew, and still you let me approach the egg?” Shivara snorted again, black smoke billowing from her nostrils and between her teeth as her lips pulled back in an offended snarl. Vicious black lightning crackled angrily in the back of her throat but didn't leap from her maw to obliterate Morwyn... yet.

Do not doubt my choice! Shivara roared in her mind with a sudden fierceness that made Morwyn shrink into herself, hoping to disappear. Yes, I know what you are. I know what it is you are capable of becoming. I have lived through the doom that your kind brought into being, and I know better than most the havoc you could wreak upon this world! And yet here you are. A guest in my cave, a friend of my soul's mate, bonded to my surrogate daughter whose egg I have protected since the death of my only son! I do not weigh the consequences of your existence lightly, Morwyn Shrike. I simply choose to give you a chance, on behalf of Argoth and Rennock and the child that chose you. A mother knows who she must destroy to protect her young, and she also knows when to give grace. You would do well to take that to heart before it becomes your undoing!

Morwyn quailed before the fury of the dragon's rebuke, mortal terror gripping her so tightly that she couldn't move. Her hatchling, perhaps only understanding enough to know that there was a potential threat to her mother, arched her back and hissed up at Shivara with her little tail thrashing in warning. At the sight of the extraordinarily brave and incredibly foolish child, the great black dragon relaxed her bristling posture and her temper seemed to cool. An unexpected flicker of amusement gleamed in her black eyes.

A long moment passed before Morwyn was able to draw in a shaky breath. She shot a quick glance to Argoth, who let out a deep sigh and gave her an apologetic look.

“As Rennock told you, I only know enough about your circumstance to know you need my help. Shivara saw through whatever it is you've got goin' on the moment she laid eyes on you. Either way, I don't care to know more since Rennock said that'll make things worse. This is between the two of you, I'm afraid.”

Morwyn nodded, clenching the fabric of her trousers in an effort to conceal the trembling of her hands. She'd felt so welcome, so secure, that she'd nearly allowed herself to forget the danger that she brought to her new home. The stark reminder of that fact as well as Shivara's unexpected clemency clashed in her mind and made her head spin. She bowed her head to the dragon, unable to meet her stern and unwavering gaze.

“I sincerely apologize, Shirava,” Morwyn murmured in a small voice. “Thank you for taking such a chance on me. It's been... difficult navigating this new life since I learned the truth about myself. I didn't mean to offend you.”

There was a moment of palpable tension within the cave before Morwyn felt it begin to ebb away. Shivara huffed loudly, dispelling the smoke that had gathered around her snout, and lowered her head to rest on her forelimbs.

Perhaps I reacted strongly... You are hardly more than a hatchling yourself. You have much to learn and not much time to do so. For your sake and that of the child, I hope that you are a quick study.

Morwyn released her grip on her trousers and wiped her sweaty palms on her knees. Her pulse, though still elevated, began to steady and slow. The little dragon on her lap relaxed in kind and with one final hiss of defiance she curled up into a tight ball on Morwyn's lap but her eyes remained cautious and alert. Morwyn stroked a trembling hand along the silvery scales of her neck. The gesture was as much to soothe herself as it was to soothe her hatchling.

“She's got spirit, that one,” Argoth chuckled nervously. The orc sat up straighter and wiped a hand down his face as if to wipe away the remnants of the unpleasant confrontation he'd witnessed. “If you two have settled things for now, can we carry on?”

Shivara bowed her great head to Argoth and blinked slowly, saying nothing. Though many questions swarmed through Morwyn's mind she relaxed her tense shoulders as best she could and gave a silent nod as well. If she were meant to know how Shivara had identified her, she supposed she would learn in time. Morwyn absently fingered the white stone pendant beneath her shirt as she swallowed hard.

Fat lot of good you've done me, she thought as privately and securely as she could.

“Your little guardian is, as we've mentioned, the last of the mithral dragons,” Argoth began, sounding more like himself now that the situation had calmed. “We found her egg a long time ago. Shivara's carried it to the Hatching ever since but it hasn't made so much as a peep until now. The others thought it wasn't viable after sittin' alone for so long. You sure proved 'em wrong today.”

“Exactly how old must an egg like hers have been?” Morwyn asked, her curiosity quickly replacing the guilt and fear caused by Shivara's outburst. The black dragon shifted her head to face her and responded in place of Argoth. Her velvety tone masked the fury that had charged her words mere moments prior as well as the darkness of which she now spoke.

Few mithral dragons survived the Great War. They attempted to remain neutral, to bring peace before it could devolve into a war of annihilation. A tragically foolish venture in my opinion... gallant, but foolish nonetheless. They were always few in number and, caught between us and our foe, they never stood a chance. Those that escaped from the initial slaughter fell one by one until their race faded into nothing but a memory carried on by a too few survivors. I believe that the egg was laid by the last of her ancestors at the end of their decline, perhaps five or six centuries ago. Argoth and I found her nest in a savage land far to the north, surrounded by the long-dead bones of her mother. The egg has been mine to care for ever since.

Another eerie, mournful resonance escaped Shivara's throat and raised the hair on the back of Morwyn's neck. A shiver ran down her spine followed by a pang of empathy for her little dragon. Their lives, though separated by a gulf of time, seemed to have run along a parallel course. They both suffered from the choices of their ancestors... though, she thought bitterly, the fault for it all lay entirely with her own kin and not with those of her hatchling.

“I'm getting the impression that old wounds are reopening,” Morwyn said cautiously, testing the air between her and Shivara now that she didn't feel on the brink of imminent annihilation. “That things that have been dormant for many years are... awakening, so to speak. My bloodline, the egg... and some months ago Rennock mentioned the possibility of old enemies stirring. It can't be a coincidence. Something is happening and we're in the thick of it, aren't we?”

Astute, Shivara murmured approvingly, and unfortunately correct. Your arrival is not the only ill omen we have discovered in recent days. However, that is a matter for the Council to discuss, not you. Your concern should be nurturing your child and strengthening your bond.

“And it's our job to show you how to care for the little one,” Argoth said, his long-absent grin returning as he leaned forward with his elbows on his knees and rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “It ain't easy to balance the responsibilities that come with life at the Vale while raisin' a dragon, but I know you've got what it takes. Might even keep all your fingers attached if you're lucky.”

By the end of their first lesson Morwyn was grateful for the archer's gloves she'd become accustomed to wearing. Her dragon's teeth were, in fact, quite sharp.

***

Warmth spread down her throat as Morwyn sipped conservatively from the small bottle of wine and watched as Hazel played hide-and-seek with a surprisingly agile little dragon. Her wobbling awkwardness had all but disappeared and she'd become adept at bounding over the soft sand of the dunes, darting between the clumps of tall grass with unnatural ease as she hid from or sought out the halfling. Content to watch their antics, Morwyn lay back on the sand and let her troubled mind wander toward more pleasant things. The fierce determination in her dragon's eyes as they scanned the sparse brush of the dunes, the slight sunburn that colored Hazel's exposed skin, the gentle lapping of the water against the shore... each detail softened the foreboding that lingered at the back of her mind until she was finally able to relax.

Hazel had been among the few remaining behind to wait for their return. Each of the newly bonded had someone waiting for them even though the rest of the Vale had gone back to their business. The children had been bombarded by proud parents and siblings while a laughing Yvonne and her hatchling had practically pounced on Eronir when they'd been reunited. None now remained near the shore of the lake except for Morwyn, Hazel, and their scaly child. She wouldn't let her worries ruin the peace and joy of their private, perfect moment.

Hazel squealed and rushed up the dune toward her as a flash of silver pursued her up the gentle slope, breaking Morwyn from her reverie. Just before she was able to take cover behind a clump of grass the dragonling leapt into the air and landed on the halfling's back. The impact, though gentle, caught her off balance and drove Hazel to the ground. The two became a tangle of limbs and wings, auburn hair and glittering scales. Morwyn covered her face with one elbow as the rambunctious duo kicked up sand in a fit of giggles and triumphant hisses.

“Are you two alright?” she asked, suddenly concerned that their roughhousing would injure either or both of them. Hazel, out of breath but glowing with elation, panted as she lay on her back and held the dragonling above her at arm's length.

“Aha! Can't get me now, can you?”

The little beast hissed and wriggled in protest but to no avail. Morwyn breathed a sigh of relief to see that her fragile wings were undamaged and that Hazel didn't appear to be bleeding. She shook her head slowly and took another long sip from the wine bottle.

“You two will be the death of me, I swear,” she muttered under her breath with a chagrined smile. Hazel brought the dragonling down to her chest and hugged her carefully, planting a smooch on her scaly nose.

“You worry too much,” she panted as she turned to Morwyn with a mirthful gleam in her eyes. “We're just having a bit of fun, aren't we, beautiful?”

Fun, mama. Fun!

“If you say so,” Morwyn chuckled. “I can't begin to tell you what this means to me, Hazel. To see the two of you like this, I mean.”

“She is our daughter after all,” Hazel replied with exaggerated emphasis. She released her writhing captive and rolled onto her side, laying a casual arm over Morwyn's midsection as she recovered her breath. “Your life isn't the only one that's been changed today, dear. I was fairly proud of myself for domesticating you of all people, but I think you can understand why I never expected the joy of having a child. We aren't exactly equipped for such things.”

Hazel leaned forward and gave her a tender, teasing kiss before slipping beneath Morwyn's arm and laying her head atop her chest. Their hatchling squirmed and slithered her way beneath Morwyn's other arm and the three of them lay together in the shade of the tall grass for a moment as the halfling and the dragon recovered.

“I love you,” Morwyn whispered to both of them, her heart full with a painful mixture of affection and worry as dark tendrils of her earlier conversation wormed their way back into her mind. Hazel tilted her head up to look at Morwyn with concern knitting her brows. Clearly she'd sensed something off in Morwyn's tone.

“I love you too, dear. Is something wrong?”

Morwyn swallowed the lump that was forming in her throat and reflexively wrapped her arms protectively around Hazel and the dragon.

“Yes. I'm happier with you- with both of you, now- than I've ever been, but the danger isn't gone. It haunts me like a phantom, and now that I have so much to lose...”

Hazel traced her fingers along Morwyn's cheek and rested her hand atop her chest.

“I haven't forgotten,” she whispered back as her fingers drummed lightly on Morwyn's collarbone. “Let me tell you something a wise old orc told me when I first joined the caravan. When you find somethin' worth holdin' on to, you fight like hell to protect it. This life we're building, dare I say this strange little family of ours, is that something to me.”

Morwyn let out a short laugh at Hazel's rather good impression of Argoth's gravelly voice and twirled a lock of her hair around one finger.

“He said the same thing to me. Maybe he's on to something.”

“We're with you, dear. Always,” Hazel reassured her as she nuzzled into Morwyn's neck. The hatchling on her other side lifted a tired head and lay it on her other shoulder, blinking slowly at her.

I love you.

Morwyn closed her eyes and allowed herself to smile softly once more, her anxiety held at bay for the moment. She felt Hazel reach across her body and stroke her hand along the dragonling's back.

“See? She may only know a few words now, but she already knows the most important ones.” Hazel suddenly rose up on one elbow, prompting Morwyn to open her eyes. “Oh my gods, Morwyn. We're terrible mothers!”

“What? What's wrong?” Morwyn asked with a grimace as she began to rise. Hazel's firm hand on her chest kept her down and the halfling's chuckle assuaged the sudden spike of concern. She shook her head with a dramatic huff.

“We haven't even named this little beauty. Any ideas?”

Morwyn rolled her eyes and slumped back down on the sand.

“I swear you find joy in my panic,” she grumbled with amused consternation. “But yes, I've been thinking about it. Shivara told me it's an extremely important moment in a young dragon's life, more than it is for humanoid races. A dragon's name isn't just something you call them. Apparently it guides their identity as they grow up.”

“Hmm... I suppose we shouldn't call her Blossom or Laurel as I was thinking,” Hazel teased, giving Morwyn a wink. “It wouldn't do to have her grow into a houseplant. What did you have in mind?”

“A tribute to my homeland, in my native tongue. Skeldrûnar is more... poetic, in a way, than the common speech. No offense.”

Hazel jabbed her in the ribs with a smirk.

“None taken. Were it not for the common speech you and I wouldn't be able to communicate, since I assume you don't speak Halfling.” She whispered a soft monologue into Morwyn's ear that she, indeed, could not understand. It was a whimsical, musical sort of language but from her cadence and the way Hazel breathed heavily against her she guessed that the words she spoke were anything but silly and lighthearted.

“You'll have to teach me sometime,” Morwyn murmured as a flush rose to her cheeks. “I'd very much like to know what it is you just said.”

“In time, my love,” Hazel purred, evidently satisfied that some messages could transcend language barriers. She cleared her throat and the sultry tone left her voice as she continued. “Come on then, out with it! What's your idea?”

Morwyn reluctantly pulled her gaze away from Hazel and passed a glance over the length of her little dragon. The afternoon sun glinted off of her iridescent scales, casting an almost rainbow reflection despite the shade of the tall grass.

“Lysbrynja,” she said softly. “Its literal translation is light or bright armor, which I think is appropriate if a bit on-the-nose given she's a mithral dragon, but it has another meaning as well. Armor of light. Protection from darkness, from evil spirits and...”

Her voice trailed off as her dragon's head stirred and rose at the end of her long and slender neck, her sky-blue eyes locked on to Morwyn's own. An understanding passed between them then, though through their bond or at the approval she saw in those intelligent little eyes Morwyn couldn't say. The hatchling tilted her head curiously as her tongue flicked out and tickled the tip of Morwyn's nose.

Lysbrynja, the little voice said, testing out the name.

Mama, she said, nipping gently at Morwyn's chin.

Mama, she said once more, stretching to nuzzle against Hazel's cheek.

Lysbrynja, the dragon said with finality as she tapped her snout against her chest.

“I think we have an answer,” Hazel said, beaming with pride. “A beautiful name to match a beautiful dragon. It's perfect.”

“That was certainly easier than expected. I thought I'd be stuck for weeks trying to come up with the right name!” Morwyn laughed and tickled her dragon under the chin, eliciting an excited trill. “Lysbrynja... Lys for short. It really does suit you, doesn't it?”

“That it does,” came a deep voice from nearby, startling the trio who turned as one to face the newcomer intruding on their private moment. Rennock stepped from behind a nearby boulder and bowed deeply to them. Though his hands were clasped together in a gesture of atonement, the mischievous smile peeking out from his long beard told Morwyn that he wasn't altogether apologetic. The two women scrambled into a more dignified sitting position and brushed the sand from their clothes. Lys let out a grumpy hiss at having her repose disturbed but merely jumped onto Morwyn's lap and curled up again, her eyes on Rennock and her tail flicking curiously.

“I am sorry to have disturbed you,” the old man said, “but I grew worried when you did not return with the others. You three have been gone for quite some time now.”

“I wasn't aware that we were needed elsewhere,” Hazel challenged him before Morwyn could answer. “We were enjoying a picnic and some much needed solitude, thank you very much!”

“Again, my apologies Miss Willowbend,” Rennock replied, more earnest this time as he wrung his hands together nervously. It appeared that the power of Hazel's authoritative tone hadn't faded with the end of their journey as it still worked on a fully grown dragon. “Forgive me, I can be a touch overprotective on Hatching Day.”

“There's something else, isn't there?” Morwyn asked as a sinking feeling grew in her stomach. “I can't help but notice your sister is absent, even though you've been practically joined at the hip since we got to the Vale.”

“Well... yes. Yes there is,” Rennock admitted as he slipped his hands into his opposite sleeves. He looked around as if afraid that he were being watched. “I dearly love my sister but I cannot get a moment to myself when she is around. I would like to discuss some important matters with you. Privately. At the library.”

“Alright then,” Hazel huffed dramatically as she got to her feet. “Just give me a moment to pack up and we'll be on our way.”

“I am sorry, Miss Willowbend. I am afraid I must insist that I speak to Miss Shrike alone this time. I would not ask if it were not of the utmost importance.”

Hazel shot Rennock a dirty glare but Morwyn put a hand on her shoulder to stop the halfling from going on a warpath. She scooped up Lys and placed her in Hazel's arms before tidying up their lunch as quickly as she could.

“You can introduce Lysbrynja to our cabin while I'm gone,” Morwyn muttered to Hazel while shooting Rennock a sideways glance. “I'm sure she could use some time to settle in, right?”

Though she was clearly unhappy at being excluded again, Hazel perked up slightly at the mention of bringing the dragonling home.

“Fine, fine. I'll be the dutiful housewife. On one condition.”

Morwyn and Rennock shared a look and Morwyn shrugged. Rennock's shoulders sagged in defeat but he drew in a deep breath and put on his best and most friendly smile.

“And what is your condition, Miss Willowbend?”

In response to Rennock's overly polite inquiry, Hazel replied in a sickly sweet tone.

“That you use some of your fancy magic to take us home before you abscond with Morwyn yet again. I'd rather not walk back, if you please.”

Struggling to conceal a smile, Morwyn raised one brow as she turned to Rennock.

“I have a request as well... Please don't blow up our house if you can help it. I'd never hear the end of it.”

Fortunately, Rennock was quite capable of teleportation without his signature dramatic flair and penchant for bursts of lightning. Unfortunately, Hazel was violently sick after her first experience with teleportation magic and vomited directly onto the old wizard's boots.