Most places were easy to climb in the Redstone, if you knew the trick. Some stone had horizontal handholds, some had vertical, some were simply irregularly textured; those you could simply spider up to the top with very little effort.
This stone, however, was different. It resisted handholds, it was nearly completely smooth. Sheilah had to embrace it as wide as her arms could go, digging with her feet, fingers aching and tense.
She’d lost track of time again. How long had she been climbing? Hours? Minutes?
Davian wasn’t her father. She had no family in the Redstone. She was alone. Her mothers were strangers, her sisters were strangers.
Worse, she was the dreaded enemy. Stormheim. No one from there was allowed into the Redstone lands.
She was as alone as alone could possibly be.
“What makes someone ‘belong’ to the Redstone?” A voice asked her.
She jolted, cursed as she nearly lost her grip.
She didn’t dare turn her head in search of the owner of the voice. Turning her head would push her away from the wall just the tiniest of bits, sure, but she was only hanging on by the tiniest of bits.
“Blood.” She replied.
“Well, you’ve lost a lot of it. Does that mean you belong here?” the owner of the voice asked.
“I don’t belong anywhere.”
She squirmed up a bit, leveraging her foot against the stone. If she could dig in just a little bit further, she’d have the leverage to push herself up a bit more.
“You’re making this harder than it has to be, you know.” The voice observed.
“I don’t belong here!” She yelled.
“Who said that?” The voice asked.
“Everyone.” She replied.
“Everyone.” The voice repeated.
“Everyone has a family here. Everyone has a history here. Now I know why my ancestors didn’t look at me so long ago, back when Caidi died.” She sobbed. “They didn’t see me because I didn’t belong here!”
“Your ancestors didn’t look at you because they weren’t there for you. They were there for her.” The voice replied.
“Eh?” The surprise nearly made her lose her grip.
“The Wild Elves- do they belong here?” he asked her.
“Of course!”
“They have no blood kin here.” The man’s voice replied easily. “And yet they were accepted, welcomed, and embraced. They accepted the Totems, they made the contract.”
She was quiet.
“If you move your fingers just a bit on the left hand side, you should have a better grip.” He encouraged.
She took a small breath and moved her hand, a grip appeared, as if by magic, under her hand.
“Which Totem do you belong to?” He asked.
“Isn’t it obvious?’ She complained, and he laughed, but said nothing.
“...the dragon.” She finally replied.
“Lift your right foot a bit, Dragon.”
She dragged her right foot up, and again, there was a foothold for her. She pushed herself up.
“Who is your father?”
“I don’t know.” She replied sullenly.
“You belong to the Clan of the Dragon, but you don’t know who your father is?” he asked curiously.
It tore at her heart. “The King of Stormheim.” She replied.
He snorted. “Did he teach you how to hunt the Dragon?”
“No.”
“Who taught you to hunt the dragon?”
“My fa-” she cut herself off. “Davian.”
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“Did he teach you how to climb? You’re doing a poor job of it.”
“Bastard.” She spat, and he laughed.
“That’s an interesting word. A bastard is someone who doesn’t know who his father is.” He observed. “Do you know Davian?”
“Of course I do!” She complained.
“Good. There’s a handgrip to your right, you know.”
She shifted her weight and experimentally tried to grab for it.
It seemed to come into her hand naturally.
“Did he teach you the songs? Did he tell you the stories of the First Dragon, the first man that traveled into the Burning Wastes and made the first contract?”
“Yes!”
“He taught you the songs and traditions, taught you how to hunt dragons... How could he be anything but your father?”
“I’m not his blood.” She replied.
“There’s that ‘blood’ thing again.” he replied.
Suddenly exhaustion washed over her like a wave. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to fall.” She muttered.
“You’re not going to fall unless you want to.” He replied condescendingly.
“I don’t think I have a choice.” She replied fatalistically.
He laughed again. “The climb is as easy or as hard as you want it to be. If that’s true, then whether or not you want to fall is also up to you.”
She said nothing, but the exhaustion burned in her limbs.
“If you have the blood of the Dragon in your veins, you should be able to climb up here.” He suggested. “It’s not that hard. Embrace the blood within you. Embrace the love you’ve been given. Embrace the home you were given. Embrace the kindnesses and instruction you were given.” He added. “If you’re really a Dragon, you shouldn’t be pressing your face into the rock. A Dragon doesn’t bend or bow to anything.”
“I’ll fall.” She growled.
“We talked about that already. Raise your head, Dragon, and look at me.”
She looked up and suddenly realized she was inches from the top. All she had to do was pull herself up.
The man himself was simultaneously young and ancient beyond words. His eyes boiled with the fires of the Dragon, unquenchable and unyielding. He smiled at her, and held out his hand to her.
She shifted her weight, and reached up; his hand, strong and weathered, wrapped around hers and she hauled herself up to the top.
“Sit down.” He encouraged as a blast of wind threatened to force her off the top, which was barely wide enough for the both of them.
She sat herself down and let out a ragged breath as the icy winds dried the sweat on her body. She felt curiously lightheaded and dizzy.
“You know... my son, he was a son that would make anyone proud. A bit fond of drinking, but still... a good son.” He offered.
She didn’t say anything. She didn’t really have the right.
“My grandson...” He sighed. “He got lost.” He shrugged. “It’s easy to lose your way, but... he- he somehow managed to stay lost. His head was filled with all sorts of ideas and hopes and dreams, and ... he lost his way. Back then, I was angry with him. “Some things are simple!” I wanted to yell at him, but...” He shook his head. “Now he can’t hear me.”
He suddenly grinned. “My great-grandson was filled with the Dragon’s fire practically from birth. I taught him all the songs and stories. I taught him everything I could, and...” He paused. “Maybe I should have taught him caution.”
“You’re talking about Davian.” She replied.
He nodded.
“If it’s a blood tie that you’re looking for, we’re all connected by the blood of the dragon. If it’s more... well, he taught you everything you ever needed to know about how to live. If it’s more than that... what do you need?” He asked.
“I need him to be my real father. Really real. I’m... supposed to go back to Stormheim. I wasn’t born here. I don’t belong here. I’m alone.” She repeated. “I don’t want to go to Stormheim.”
“You don’t have to be here, in the Redstone, to be of the Dragon. Davian traveled to places I can’t even imagine, and even there, so far away, he was still Dragon.”
He rubbed her back. “No matter where you go, you are a Dragon. Breathe your fire and dare anyone to tell you different.”
“I can’t.” She replied.
He raised an eyebrow.
“I killed a Tyrant Dragon.” She replied. “I... can’t breathe its fire. I can burn a city to the ground, but...” She shrugged.
He laughed and clapped her on the back, and then held out his hand, counting on his fingers. “Whelpling, Dragonling, Dragon, Great Dragon, Tyrant Dragon. Fantastic. I’d always wondered if there were such things.” He eyed her. “It makes you wonder if they come from the Great Tyrant Herself, or if there’s another, larger, greater dragon out there!” he exclaimed.
“For a dead man, you’re certainly excited.” She offered, a smile of her own on her face. A wave of dreadful exhaustion washed over her, and everything seemed to fade out, briefly.
“And yet I came back for you.” He replied, looking up at the sky. “I always wanted to fly. They say some of us did, in the past. I wanted to be like that. To swoop down and blast everything with my fire, like a real dragon would.” he bumped her shoulder. “My wife kept me grounded, though. All the way up until the day she... she died, she kept my feet firmly on the ground.” Tears fell from his face. “Once she was gone, I gave myself up to the sky.”
“...You said that you came for me. That I’d lost blood.” She looked at him, then, worry squirming in her heart. “Am I dead?”
“You’re close.” he admitted.
She pressed her lips together. At least, she thought she did. She couldn’t feel them anymore.
“You can choose, you know. You can choose to live, or you can choose to come with me.”
“I’m not family, though.” She immediately replied.
“We talked about that already. You are Davian’s daughter. You are my great-great granddaughter. By right of blood, I can take you with me, if that’s what you really want.” he paused. “He asked for me, you know. “Keep her safe. She’s my precious daughter. If not by blood, then by bonds.” is what he prayed.” he looked at her. “I can help you. I can teach you how to heal yourself. But if... if you think you can’t go on, then you can go to sleep right here and we can join our ancestors.”
“I can’t use the Tyrant’s power. It’s too strong.”
“You subjugated it, right? You made it yours, right?” He asked curiously.
She nodded.
“Then it really isn’t the Tyrant’s power anymore, now is it?” he asked. “You’re the Tyrant, now.”
She closed her eyes. The darkness was warm, relaxing, and comforting.
She made her choice, and the pain that had weighed so heavily on her heart went with a gentle, painless tug.