Ylvir struggled to keep his increasingly heavy lids aloft, taking in the sight of the beautiful dragon before him in all her magnificent glory. It was hard to believe this was the same dragon he had saved. Her scales were vibrant and gleamed bright against the snow's reflected sunlight. The previously grimy and matted red hair was now a striking crimson that formed a majestic halo about her noble head.
Ylvir smiled faintly as that head bowed respectfully down to touch his own, her horns grazing against his tenderly. "Freedom has suited you well," he murmured.
She huffed a warm breath of agreement over him.
Hold still. This will hurt.
"What--Argh!"
The dragon drew a heated claw across Ylvir's wounds, searing his flesh and cauterizing it shut, ceasing the outflow of his lifeblood. It was agonizingly painful, but he was grateful for it when she was through.
You will live.
Ylvir's tears of pain changed to ones of gratitude. "Thank you."
No, Ylvir. Thank you. Now I may finally meet out justice. For both of us.
Ylvir watched distantly as the dragon turned about, facing the man that had performed terrible grievances against them and so many others.
Strivsky stumbled backwards into the snow as the dragon eyed him with righteous indignation, the fear it inspired rivaling that of the other beast. Before he had a chance to do or say a thing, it lashed out, a great claw slashing his eyes out and permanently blinding him. When he screamed, he felt the same claw reach in and remove his tongue, and as warm blood welled in his mouth the dragon loosed a mighty screech that rang in his ears and never stopped. His senses blinded, Strivksy fell to the cool snow, curling in agony until he felt his flesh begin to burn, realizing that the dragon had finally showed him its fire by turning it to him. He had been frightened of his own death, but now he would have welcomed it, except the dragon ensured he would live through this pain. And he would live with it for the rest of his miserable life.
The dragon forced her voice into the stubborn man's head.
Leave, and never return.
She watched in pleasure as what was left of the man scrambled and stumbled helplessly. No longer would he be able to sufficiently harm those around him. He would be lucky if anyone showed the wretch mercy.
The dragon turned about once more, seeing Ylvir asleep in the slush of melted snow. Even as he slumbered, she could sense the turmoil in his mind. He had once showed her kindness when no one else would. It was time she returned the favor.
~*~
Ylvir slowly gained consciousness, recognizing the welcoming warmth that enveloped him. It wasn't just a temperate warmth either. It was a certain serenity--an assurance that all was well. He curled tighter, never wishing to leave the blissful warmth. But soon his memories awashed him with a cold shock, and he opened his eyes to see himself surrounded by scales of ever-shifting shades of green, from lighter olives to deeper emeralds.
He attempted to shift himself, only for pain to shoot through his midsection.
You should not move so much.
Ylvir turned a red eye to the gleaming black of the dragon as she shifted her scales a little tighter around him.
"The man," he started, beginning to feel some of his anger return.
Is gone, the dragon finished. Not dead, but no longer a problem.
He nodded appreciatively. But with his wrath gone, he was left with nothing but despair.
"My mother?"
I'm sorry Ylvir. You have lost much, and for that I share your sorrow.
A flicker of his previous anger returned as he shoved the dragon's warm scales from him with a growl.
"Do not pretend to know my pain," he snarled, stumbling at his wounds once more.
The dragon returned his growl with her own.
You forget that I have lost a great deal, myself.
The flicker disappeared and regret returned. Ylvir hung his head, recalling what she had showed him that night.
"I'm sorry," he murmured.
The dragon nodded in acceptance.
Ylvir looked past her to the cottage, where he knew his mother lay, still dead. A part of him wished she would simply step through the cottage door, smile on her face as she called him in for dinner. But she never did, and she never would. Ylvir knew he could not leave her there.
"I have to bury her."
The dragon looked him up and down. Your wounds are still too grievous for such things.
He looked back at her, his heart so obviously broken it showed in his very eyes without her having to peer into his mind. "I can't leave her there."
Slowly the dragon nodded. Would it be acceptable for me to do it for you?
Ylvir paused, thinking. "You can dig the grave, but...I think I should lay her to rest."
The dragon bowed her head in agreement. So it shall be.
The dragon offered her shoulder to Ylvir as they made their way to the small cottage. Inside, the evidence of his struggle with man stained what had once been his home. He left the dragon at the door, as her size would not allow her entry. Struggling to stay upright, he crawled toward the body of his mother, grateful that she had miraculously been unblemished by the fight that ensued after her passing, even somehow looking better in death than when he had seen her alive--like she was already at peace.
He regretfully held the neck of her clothes in his teeth. unceremoniously dragging her outside the cottage, as that was the only way he was currently able to. When he came back to the dragon, he was short of breath, his wounds searing in pain.
The dragon looked to him. Shall we lay her beside your father?
Ylvir's unstable breathing choked further. He had almost forgotten about his father. He still wasn't entirely sure what happened. He wished he had been there. He wished a lot of things had gone differently. But there was nothing for it, now. He raised his eye to meet the dragon's.
"I think she would have preferred that," he answered, remembering how distraught his death made her. His parents really did love each other. They should be laid together. The only trouble was he did not know his father's final resting place.
The dragon once again nodded her assent.
Ylvir was about to voice his quandary, but the dragon had already picked up his mother's body reverently, walking off with purpose. He followed slowly behind until the came to a spot close to the forests edge where he could see a structured pile of rocks--a cairn. This was where his father laid.
Take her for a moment, the dragon said, setting Aloris in Ylvir's waiting arms. The dragon made quick work of digging the grave, her mighty paws scooping great piles of snow and dirt beside the spot where the cairn stood. When it was a sufficient depth, she turned to Ylvir, awaiting his part.
Ylvir, tenderly brushed the strands of hair that stuck to her face aside, looking at the woman who raised him for the last time, drinking his fill of her peaceful features. Reluctantly, he stepped forward, hardly noticing his wounds as he set her in the cold, waiting earth. He wished it was warmer for her, but the winter had stolen that from them, too.
With great sadness, he began to top her carefully arranged body with dirt from the dragon's pile, each handful a painful stab to his wounded heart. Over and over he went to the pile and removed a bit more of her from his sight, and vefore he knew it, she could no longer be seen. The tears flowed from his eyes and into the grave until there were no tears left to be shed, and no more dirt to be piled on.
He dug through the surrounding snow, gathering sizeable rocks until he slowly erected another cairn beside the first. When he finished, he merely knelt before them, his head hung, his guilt weighing heavily on his shoulders.
The dragon nudged him with her head. It's not your fault.
Ylvir didn't respond. He continued to sit in silence, steeped in his own misery.
And then he did speak.
"My mother always taught me to dream. I think in a way, she was reminding herself to, also. All she wanted was a son, and she got me--an abomination. She told me I could be whatever I wanted to be, and I believed it because she believed it."
Ylvir stood up. "My father, however, taught me to be a realist. He always saw things for what they were, myself included. He tried to get me to see it, too--to prepare me for the harshness of the world. But I insisted on taking my mother's side--to hope for better things."
He looked down at the cairns. "I tried hoping, and reality brought me back down to earth. I'll always be grateful that my mother saw the best in me, but I was born a monster. It's time I face reality and stop pretending I'm not one."
He looked back to see the dragon regarding him strangely.
I once heard a story, long ago, from my own mother, when she taught me about humans--a story she had heard from among their own. She told me that humans have a dual nature, comparable to two wolves, locked in an eternal battle inside of each single person since the day they are born. One was of all things light and good, the other of all things dark and evil. Neither had more power than the other until acted upon. With every decision a human makes they feed one wolf, while the other starves. Some have a stronger good wolf, others a stronger bad wolf. But in the end, they are all still wolves.
The dragon directed her gaze more forcefully at Ylvir. You have much more than two wolves inside you, Ylvir. You are not of sound mind, or even of sound body.
"What do you mean?"
She touched a claw to his head. I can see it here--a division. Forgive me for peering so deeply, but I also saw your exchange with the woman Lynelda. She did not give your humanity enough credit, not your instability. Your imbalance goes far deeper than she estimated, and it has affected your very essence--one full of an ancient magic.
The war inside you is indeed not of two wolves, but of a myriad of different creatures contending with each other, including the human. You acted on a trait that is not wholly cohesive with that of beasts, and in doing so, you rejected a part of yourself, and vice versa. Your very essence split in twain.
Ylvir thought back, his mind twisting as he remembered fragments, two sides of a fight that that he was both parts of. He clutched his head as he remembered inflicting a wound, and having that very same wound inflicted.
"You mean that was real?"
Yes, Ylvir.
"I was... I was nearly human, but I was also...something very frightening," he whispered, mostly to himself. He looked to the dragon again. "How?"
You showed mercy, Ylvir. But you also showed bloodlust. The two things did not harmonize, and thus your internal battle was brought outward. The parts of you that wanted death and carnage split from the parts that desired to show mercy.
Ylvir thought about this long and hard, his mind receiving as great a shock as when he had the aforementioned conversation with Lynelda. "Could this mean that I could actually become human," he asked in confusion, and a small amount of hope.
The dragon hesitated. It's not that simple Ylvir. It takes something great for a split like that, this time, the cause being your mother's death. If you did split again, there is also no guarantee it would be so clean as to only divide out your humanity. Even for this, you were more than just human. And you cannot forget that despite the divide, your essence was not completely severed. Whatever happens to one is done to the other, because both are still you.
Ylvir nodded, already knowing that any and all hope was lost on him. Whenever he was beginning to think that things were going well for him, they changed for the worst. Winter always came. This time, he let the cold freeze and numb his heart, and though it felt heavy in his chest, it was also a relief. No more did it burn and bleed and bring him endless pain. Now it would remain untouched.
"I don't know where to go from here," he said dully.
The dragon looked at him with concern, knowing what he had just allowed, and though she disagreed with it, she knew it was not her place to stop him. Instead, she would offer what she could.
Did you so soon forget your monster brethren at Grey Castle?
He looked at her with a small bit of surprise. "I did, actually. I can't believe it. But I already decided I can't subject them to the rages or splits or whatever other unknown flaws I have now. That's not fair to them."
They are more understanding than you think.
Ylvir nodded distantly. He supposed any direction was better than none, but...
I can take you there myself, she offered knowing his hesitation to take the same path again that had followed so much heartache.
He nodded again, more firmly. "Thank you."
I will give you some time to prepare, she said, leaving him alone as he wished.
Ylvir remained at his parents' graves for some time, as vigilant as he had been at Dandy's. Carefully, he removed the tin whistle stowed in his pocket. He stared at it in his paw, much like when it was first gifted to him. He realized that for the first time, he didn't want to play it. And he didn't think he would ever want to play again. He left the whistle before his father's cairn, then turned to leave.
It was as he walked back to the cottage he once called home that he noticed something in the snow--a scarlet red like blood, but not spilled from any vein. He approached it, knowing as he reached it for what it was. Brushing the snow off, he revealed a single rose, blooming beautifully in the chilled air. He smiled bitterly at the sight. He supposed the winter didn't take quite everything away after all. No, it took his family, his home, his best friend, his hope, but it left a pretty little rose. How wonderful.
In a moment of spite, he cut the defiant rose from its stem with a razor sharp claw. He watched satisfied as it fell to the frozen earth, laying helplessly at his feet, the petals splayed in such a way as though it was bleeding. He didn't notice that there was blood falling to the snow, a thorn having pricked his finger.
Ylvir stared at the rose for a moment, pitifully grounded by his own hand, and then he walked away.
The dragon watched his actions from a distance, saddened by Ylvir's cold change of heart, knowing it was only circumstance that made him this way. She lamented the things he had gone through, reminding herself of her own painful past. It had taken time for her to grow past it--time spent amongst her own kind. Ylvir didn't quite have a kind of his own, but it was her theory that the other cursed men might be able to help Ylvir in some way, being the closest thing he had, now.
When he walked away, she picked the rose up, dusting white powder from its velvety petals. She knew that though he would not feel it now, he might come to regret his actions later. It was his mother's after all. He would most likely want some memento of hers.
It was only a short time later that Ylvir approached the dragon, eager to leave his dark memories surrounding the place.
"Take me to Grey Castle," he said.
She bowed her head and her shoulder, allowing him to climb on.
As you wish.