Sins of the Father Part Two: Chapter Sixteen (Patreon)

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Chapter Sixteen

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Valyrym trotted a short distance away from the group. Once clear of everyone else, the dragon ran harder, accelerating. He sprinted across the grassy field, a trampled pathway in his wake. His scarred hind leg ached with every propelling step, but the movements helped to loosen the stiff muscles. Although Valyrym did not need a running start to take to his wings, he found the motions helped trigger his flight instincts. Building up into a bounding leap allowed his body and its ancient muscle memory to take control. Otherwise, he found take-offs more challenging when he took time to think about the act of flight, as if lingering self-doubt about his remaining capabilities were all it took for his wings to free up mid-stroke.

“Fly, you old bastard!” Valyrym snarled at himself when he reached full gallop. By now, the words were less a desperate plea or admonishment, and more a personal rallying cry. He was an old bastard, but damn it, he could still fly. “Fly!”

Valyrym leapt, vast ebony wings stretched to their full extent and pumped against the air in a single, smooth motion. The old dragon tucked his limbs against his belly and ascended swiftly, beating his wings in quick, even strokes. The familiar, excited lurching of his belly remained a thrilling sensation even countless weeks beyond his escape. Not long ago at all, he never expected to experience that feeling again. Then, one night, in his darkest hours away from Alia, a gryphon slunk into his buried kingdom.

A gryphon who set him free.

Valyrym scowled to himself as he rose above the decaying houses and barns. He really was going to have to cut that pompous bird some slack, wasn’t he? Or at the very least, take a moment to more genuinely express his gratitude. After all, if it wasn’t for Krek’s doing, not only would he still be languishing in that moldering tomb, but he never would have been reunited with his beloved son. Hell, Valyrym thought. Even that was partly the bird’s doing. From what Valar said, it was Krek who helped his son make up his mind to try and a find a way to forgive Valyrym. And if that was true…

Then Valyrym owed the bird a debt he could never repay.

It mattered not if the gryphon’s actions were entirely selfish. He had only freed Valyrym in the possibly vain hopes that together, they could stop Kylaryn from taking the Queen’s life. And he might well have only convinced Valar to go and see his father to assuage his own guilty conscience while there was still time. But these things held little significance to Valyrym. What mattered were the end results.

And in the end, Valyrym was free. And Valyrym was flying alongside his son.

“Are you coming, Father?” Valar’s voice echoed back to him from the distance. Already, Valar was far out ahead, lazily circling above a copse of blue-green fir trees. “If this is the best you can manage, just say so! I’d be happy to hunt your prey for you. You can even tell the others you caught it yourself!”

Alright, Valyrym thought, so he wasn’t quite alongside his son.

“I’m coming, Valar!”

Valyrym beat his wings harder, speeding up. By now, the motions came naturally. Flight was no longer a struggle. Valar’s tips and instructions on flying through pain had proved invaluable, and as flight muscles strengthened, so too did the pain lessen. While Valyrym knew he was never likely to fly as well as he had in his youth, with every passing day it nevertheless grew easier. Ahead of him, Valar flew another slow circle. Despite his playful challenge, Valar was clearly waiting for him. Valyrym smiled as they drew near each other, simply savoring the beauty of his beloved son in flight.

“About time, Father!” Valar banked around, and flew up alongside the elder dragon. “I was starting to think you’d gone back to sleep.”

“Says the one who can’t even find a way to rouse himself before dawn.” Valyrym gave his jaws a playful snap. “You know, when I was your age, I was always up long before the sun to go and hunt your breakfast!”

“Oh, gods.” Valar tossed his head, laughing. “We’ve only just gotten to know one another anew, and already I’m getting the ‘when I was your age’ stories?” He snorted, his blue-rippled frills lifted. “You really are old!”

“Yes, I am!” Valyrym grinned, adjusting his wing-beats to match his son’s. “And before long, you will be too. And then you’ll be telling your daughter what you did when you were her age.”

Valar’s eyes hardened, his spines drooping slightly. “With respect, Father. I sincerely hope that Ayly will have a very different childhood from mine.”

“I-oh.” Valyrym swallowed, looking away. He fixed his gaze upon the horizon. “Of course, Valar. She sure as hell deserves a far better childhood than I ever gave you.”

“You’re gods-damned right she does.” Valar hissed through his teeth. “You scarcely gave me a childhood at all! I spent most of it pining for a father I thought was dead, and fleeing from one conquered home to another.”

With every word, Valyrym withered a little more inside. His heart ached, trapped within an icy vice that squeezed him tighter with Valar’s every syllable. He opened his jaws, wanting to apologize, to tell Valar how desperately sorry he was for what must have been the hundredth time. But no words came out. His lungs were nearly frozen, his chest so tight he could scarcely even breath.

Valar took a slow breath, then looked over, sorrow and regret etched within his silver-gold eyes. “I’m sorry, Father.” His ears drooped. “That was coldhearted, and you did not deserve my ire. For what it’s worth…” He paused, licking his muzzle in thought. “And before I say this, please understand I do not intend it as a slight. Merely a statement of fact.”

Valyrym nodded, forcing air into his lungs. “It’s alright, son. I hope you know by now I should like you to speak your mind to me, no matter how deeply your words may rend my soul.”

“But that’s just it, Father.” Valar snorted, waving a forepaw between wing beats. “I don’t want to rend your soul. We’ve been over this. I’ve said my piece, and you have said yours, and there is nothing more to be had from it. Nothing either of us can ever say, will ever change what happened. What’s done, is done. What remains are the lives still before us. Yes, they will be difficult at times. Yes, we will say things that will hurt the other. But damn it, Father.” He turned his head, glaring at Valyrym. “Stop acting as if you deserve it. Whatever you deserved is…” He gestured with his paw again, this time indicating Valyrym’s body. “Writ far too large and painfully across your hide as it is. All the hell they put you through is atonement enough.”

Valyrym quieted, awed anew by his son’s inner strength, and wisdom. After a few heartbeats, he forced himself to speak, if only to break the sudden silence. “You’ve grown into a far better dragon than I ever was, Valar.” A few tears threatened to build in his eyes, and he quickly blinked them away. “I’m so very proud of you.”

“Yes,” Valar said, tucking his foreleg again. “I have. And you’d damn well better be. Because I’m clearly the only one in this family with any gods-damned sense.” He snorted, then shot Valyrym a sly smirk. “Or so I’d have thought, before I decided to join my absentee father and my estranged lover on a mad quest to stop my murderous mother’s vengeful assassination plot.”

Valyrym couldn’t help but smile anew. He turned his head and made a show of looking Valar over. “Yes, son, when you put it that way, I’m starting to question your sensibilities as well.” He chuckled to himself, then tilted his head, his spines lifted in questioning expression. “So, was there something else you intended to say, a moment ago? Something you feared I would take as an insult?”

“Ah, right.” Valar banked away, slow enough for Valyrym to easily follow. “I was simply going to say that for what little portion of my childhood you were a part of, I have very happy memories. I could not say only happy memories, because…” He glanced back at his own scars, reminders of the horrible injuries that nearly claimed his life as a hatchling. “You know. And…” He looked over at Valyrym a moment, then turned his eyes to the horizon. “And Amaleen.”

Valyrym swallowed hard. “Of course.”

“But, while you were there?” A happier look crossed Valar’s face. His muzzle parted in a smile, his frills lifted and his ears perked. “Tragedies aside, I have only happy memories of our time together. Even when I was healing, I still remember us playing together in Amaleen’s back garden. I would ride around on your head.”

Valyrym laughed, a gentle sort of laughter. “We called it playing conqueror. You’d lay claim to everything you set your little eyes upon.”

“Of course I did.” Valar flashed him a grin. “Because it’s mine.”

“That it was.” Valyrym rumbled happily. “You know, Valar, if things had gone differently, I’d have given you the world itself, if I could.”

“I know, Father.” Valar pointed towards a stretch of water on the horizon, where a lake reflected the cold, gray clouds. “That’s where we’re headed. Last night there was herd of deer near the waters. With any luck, they’ll still be there.”

Valyrym bowed his head. “On your lead, Valar.” He banked again, following his son. “So, Ayly. Does she take after you, that way?”

“You mean does she claim everything she can get her greedy little paws upon?” Valar chuckled, pumping his wings harder. “That she does, yes. She’d build herself quite the little horde, if we allowed it. Over the years we’ve had to return quite a few bits of stolen property to the local humans.”

“Ooh, I don’t think even you were that bad. Although…” Valyrym tilted his head. “That may have just been because most of what you claimed belonged to Amaleen, so it didn’t have far to go to be returned.” He watched Valar for a moment, his ears perked. “Has she taken after you in other ways? Oh! Does she enjoy smoked fish?”

Valar burst into laughter. “I shall never quite get over the fact that one of your enduring memories of me was smoked fish.” He tossed his head. “Of all the damn things to remember.”

“Because it always made you happy.” Valyrym laughed with him. “Even if you had no how it worked.” He circled a forepaw in the air. “We could go to the fish market, you’d snatch a fish out of a barrel and carry it back to me, insisting that I ‘make it smoked’ for you.”

Valar snorted. “You’re making that up.”

“I am not!” Valyrym put a paw to his chest. “I swear upon whatever remains of my heart, that I’m telling the truth. Make it smoked, you’d say. It was as if anyone time we had fish that wasn’t smoked, you took it as a personal insult.” He stretched his forepaws out together, as if clutched a fish. Then he lifted his voice, imitating a hatchling. “Father! Make it smoked!”

Valar pinned his ears back, cringing. “Firstly, never do that voice again. Second, if they knew how much I loved smoked fish and presented it to me otherwise, then clearly it was an insult.”

Valyrym only grinned. “Flawless logic, son.”

“I thought so,” Valar said. “And to answer your question, yes. I have introduced Ayly to the wonders of smoked fish. If anything, she loves them even more than I do.”

The older dragon snorted. “That would be impossible.”

“Just wait until you meet her.” Valar looked back at him, mischievous amusement shining in his eyes. “Not only will you be utterly amazed at how much smoked fish she can put away, but you’ll be ever so glad you’ve got scales, and not feathers like Krek.”

Valyrym snorted. “Oh, trust me, Valar. Every time I look at Soot, I’m glad I don’t have his malodorous pelt. But why do you mention it in this particular instance?”

“Because Ayly’s at the age when she enjoys climbing people like trees. For us?” He stretched a foreleg, brushing the pads of his other paw across the scutes there. “Not a terrible ordeal. But poor Krek must be covered in tiny, pin-prick scars from his haunches to his head at this point. She scales him like a mountain whenever he’s around her.”

The old dragon gave a delighted rumble. “Oh, now that sounds entertaining. I think I am already looking forward to seeing that, almost as much as I am to meet my granddaughter.” With his forepaws tucked against his body, he idly drummed his fingers against his belly scales. “What more can you tell me about her?” Just then, a fat rain drop splattered against his nose. The sudden, cold jolt was a thrill, though it remained an isolated one for the moment. “Does she like playing in the rain as much as you did?”

“More so, I should think.” Valar adjusted his course, starting to descend slightly. “Not only does she enjoy splashing about in the mud, but she prefers to find the deepest puddles she can, just so she can paddle about in them. And, she’s taken to making enemies of the ducks.”

“The ducks?” Valyrym lifted his ears. “Giving her hunting lessons already?”

“Not exactly.” Valar cocked his head, as if in deep contemplating. “But rather, for some reason she suddenly declared them to be her ‘foes.’ She’s been trying to rope her mother, Krek, and me into some manner of imagined war against an army of quacking menaces. And I imagine that whenever we are able to introduce you, she’ll attempt to recruit you to her side, as well.” Valar shook a single digit. “But don’t be swayed by her blatantly anti-duck propaganda.”

Valyrym placed a paw across his chest. “I shall do my utmost. Though I must warn you, I am susceptible to the wiles of adorable hatchlings.”

“Aren’t we all.” Valar gestured ahead of them. “Now, look to the west. There’s a deer herd in the meadows near that lake. When they see us, they’ll break and run for the shelter of the forests to their north. So, we’ll split up. I’ll circle around, and come at them from the north, driving them away from the wood. That’ll give us more room to work with. You stay here a little while, until I dive on them. Then you swoop in, crossing behind me, towards the lake, and pick off a straggler. If you miss, don’t fret. I’ll drive them back towards you again for another shot at it.” He glanced back at his father. “So don’t press yourself too hard. We’ll keep going until you’ve snared one. Once you’ve secured prey, I’ll catch one myself. Normally, I’d say we eat our fill and take the rest back to the others, but with the rain coming, we’ll fly straight back. Clear?”

“Crystalline, Valar.” Valyrym smiled at his son. “And might I say, a fine plan.”

“I’m not your overlord, Father.” Valar broke away, turning towards the north. “You needn’t kiss my ass. I’m just trying to help ensure your successful return to hunting.”

“Normally, I’d argue that I didn’t need the babysitting, but…” He looked at his own, graying forepaws. “I suspect I do.”

“That you do!” Valar beat his wings faster, calling back as he sped away. “But look at it this way, this helps us both out. If you prove you can hunt again, I can start sending you out to catch breakfast in the morning. Krek and I can sleep in!”

Valyrym couldn’t resist calling after his son. “You already do!”

The elder dragon dipped a wing, banking into a lazy circle. As he waited for Valar to loop back around and take position, a few more rain drops struck him. Several of them splattered his wings with tiny bursts of icy sting. The sensation made him shiver, his anticipation building. He could not wait to dance in the rain. Valyrym found it odd, but he was even more excited about the impending deluge than he was about finally catching his own prey again. The truth, he suspected, was all too obvious. Valar had always loved the rain. And now, at least, Valyrym could share that joy with his son anew.

In the distance, a large herd of deer in a field grazed on tall grasses sweetly flavored with morning dew. For a few moments longer, they remained in pleasant morning reverie, blissfully aware of the coming doom. Valyrym circled again, watching them from a distance, careful his shadow did not spook them. They had red-brown fur, and a few of the males already had velvety antlers developing. The old dragon knew not what type of deer they were, nor did he care. All that he cared about was that all deer were delicious. He could not wait to sink his teeth and claws into one of them.

To the north, Valar looped back around. Valyrym turned his attention back to his son. Soon, Valar was descending towards the herd. It was all Valyrym could do not to lose himself to joy, and pride as Valar broke into a swooping dive. Though it would do his patchwork heart a lifetime’s good just to watch his beloved son swoop and dive and catch his prey, this was not Valar’s hunt.

It was his.

Valyrym broke out of his own circling pattern, beating his wings. He accelerated towards Valar, his heart thumping against his sternum. Nervousness and anxious voices filled his mind with doubting questions. Could he still hunt? What if he failed? Should he even be trying? Was he going to injure himself? No, Valyrym told himself. No, he would not fail. No, he would not injure himself. He wouldcatch prey. A lifetime’s imprisonment be damned, he thought. He was a dragon, and dragons could hunt.

Sudden, blind panic erupted in the herd when they finally spotted the dragon shooting through the skies towards them. They broke ranks, tails up in silent alarm, scattering in all directions. Many of them started towards the nearby forest, only to realize that was exactly where the dragon was going to be. They turned, bolting and bounding across the fields in the other direction. Most of them surged for more distant trees, well to the south. A few others ran towards the lake, or out into the open fields.

Instincts took hold of the old dragon. The sight of dozens of deer fleeing in terror was all it took to quell the uncomfortable questions and the anxious voices. Now, for a few blessed moments, there was only the hunt. As Valar swept in just overhead, the deer scattered further. Just as planned, a few stragglers soon emerged. An older doe, too slow to keep pace with the others. A buck with a wounded leg, unable to run. Valyrym’s blood ran hot, his wings and pads heated. Excitement knotted his belly. His ruined fire glands tingled, struggling to produce the fire bile they could no longer make.

Hunt.

Kill.

Eat.

Valyrym focused on the buck with the lame leg. It hobbled in the same direction as most of the herd, headed for the distant wood. But all too soon, it was left behind, struggling to cross the field alone. Valar beat his wings, ascending above the herd, making room for his father. Valyrym gave into age-old instincts, allowing them to guide his wings, his claws. He banked into parallel course to the deer, then pulled his wings in tight. The dragon quickly dropped into a dive, his stomach lurching into his tail. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, the questioning voices tried to return. Surely, they said, he was diving too steeply. His wings could never safely break his fall in time. Valyrym ignored them, telling himself instead to follow his instincts. It mattered not that he had not done this a century and a half. All that mattered was that he had done this a thousand times before. His wings, his body, his mind, they all knew just what to do. If after all this flight, his wings were still not strong enough to support him, then they never would be.

All too quickly, the ground was rushing up at him, and the deer was nearly in reach. Valyrym grit his jaws, willing himself to do this. To catch it. To prove to his son, and to himself that this wretched old bastard could still hunt. At the last moment, Valyrym threw his wings open, arresting his dive. The sudden weight and pressure against his wings hurt, but no more than he expected. Nothing snapped, nothing broke, and nothing tore. His wings were simply sore from long days of flight, nothing more. Valyrym leveled off just in time, hurtling towards the deer. He unsheathed his foreclaws, beat his wings once, and then sunk every single claw his front paws had into the deer’s haunches. It mewled in pain and fear as the dragon plucked it off the ground like fruit from a vine. The sudden weight left his forelegs aching, but just like with his wings, there was no terrifying pop, no disconcerting eruption of agony. There was only the simple ache of exertion.

Valyrym beat his wings again, rising away from the earth. The stricken deer cried out again, flailing and thrashing his grasp. Blood ran down its legs, dripping from its hooves. Valyrym cocked his forelegs back, intent on hurling the deer back to the ground head first in order to snap its neck, and end its suffering. Some dragons might well eat their prey, or gorge upon its blood, while its heart still beat. Valyrym had to admit, for his first hunt in decades, the idea was tempting. But while there was certainly sport in hunting prey, Valyrym took no enjoyment in prolonging it’s pain, or fear.

The old dragon hurled the deer to the ground, aiming to break its neck. Instead, it hit the earth at too sharp an angle, and toppled across the ground head over tail, over and over. Limbs flailed and snapped. It hit a large rock, and pirouetted over it. A trail of blood followed through the air. Finally, it tumbled to a stop in a bloody, mangled heap, twitching. At least, Valyrym thought, it was dead.

Valyrym dipped a wing and spun back around towards his slain quarry. He stretched his hind legs, and touched down back paws first upon the grass. Valyrym hopped a few paces on his hind legs, then dropped his front feet down and padded towards his prey. Steam rose from its wounds, the scent of blood strong. Valyrym’s belly rumbled. He licked his muzzle as he reached it. It was all he could do not to eat his fill then and there. But a few more stinging raindrops reminded him they were meant to take their kills back to camp as quickly as they could.

Valar landed a short distance away, a dead deer clutched in his own forelegs. He set it down, then looked over at Valyrym’s maimed beast. He cocked his head, grinning. “Well, that’s one way to do it. Congratulations, father. It might not be pretty, but you’ve caught yourself a deer.”

As Valyrym’s instincts faded, it settled in on him. He stared at his dead prey, his heart still hammering. “I caught a deer.”

“Yes, Father, you-”

“I caught a deer, Valar!” Brassy joy grew in his voice, rising with every word. “I caught a deer! I can still hunt!” Valyrym rocked back and forth, from one set of paws to another. “I caught a deer!” He bound forward, trotting a victory lap around his son, his gait bouncy. “I caught a gods-damned deer!”

Valar could not help but laugh, shaking his head. “Yes, Father, I had noticed.” He tilted his head, watching Valyrym bound around like a giddy hatchling. “You know, this is about what I expect from Ayly whenever she catches her first deer.”

Valyrym did not care. “I!” He bounced a few few steps. “Caught!” He waggled his haunches, then pounced a second imaginary animal. “A deer!”

Valar lifted a forepaw, gesturing at his father as if to quell his enthusiasm just slightly. “Alright, Father, alright. Easy now. You’re going to break your hip.”

Valyrym spun in place, running in a circle as if trying to snatch his own tail. “I caught a deer, Valar! Did you see me? I can still fly! I can still hunt! I’m still a gods-damned dragon!”

“You’re a gods-damned hatchling, from the looks of things,” Valar said, laughing. He shook his head. “And yes, Father. I saw. I’m proud of you. Now…” He swept a wing back the way they’d come. “I’m going to fly my kill back to camp. Whenever you’ve burned out all your hatchling exuberance and excitement, I suggest you follow me.”

“I’m coming, I’m coming.” Valyrym slowly came to a stop, panting. His chest heaved. His running and dancing had left him more out of breath than even the hunt itself had. “Excuse me for being a little excited. In case you’ve forgotten, it’s been over one hundred and fifty years since I’ve caught my own damn prey.”

“Has it?” Valar sucked in a breath, putting a paw to his chest. “I’d never have guessed! Why didn’t you ever say so earlier, father? This is certainly the first I’ve heard of it.”

Valyrym stared at his son, a sly grin slowly spreading over his muzzle. “Well played, Valar.” He flicked his tail. “To steal the old human expression, I see the sarcastic apple does not fall far from the tree.”

The younger dragon tossed his head. “I hate that expression. I’m not an apple, and you’re not a tree. Although…” He made a show of looking his father over. “You are rather withered and dried out looking, just like old tree bark. So I suppose there is a bit of a resemblance.”

Valyrym looked himself over. “Fair enough. Besides, I suppose if I was a tree, I’d have incredibly bitter apples.”

Valar snorted. “Oh, the jokes I could make, father, were I not a classier dragon than that.” He waggled a forepaw, ticking off a few unsheathed claws. “I could suggest that sounds like something mother used to say. Or, I could comment about your age, and low hanging fruit. If…” He set his paw back down. “I was not such a classy dragon.”

Valyrym nodded with feigned solemnity. “But you are.”

“That I am, yes.” He turned and sunk his claws into his deer. “Now carry that mangled corpse back to camp, you old bastard.” He leapt into the sky, vast wings beating swiftly. “Let us race the rain!”

“That is a race we are going to lose, Valar!” Valyrym plucked his prey off the ground, then jumped and pumped his wings, following his son into the air. “And I cannot wait!”