The timing of this whole arc with Volume 7 was just so perfect... and also a complete accident. Go figure!

92. Familiar Smells

The small one was hugging his head.

Glacier purred and nuzzled at him. It felt very nice, but made it hard to smell things, so he deposited him on his back instead. Then he could wander around the other side of the room and investigate.

The others were still talking. So was Jacques. Glacier wanted to go to him, but if he did that his rider would take the little ones away. He didn't want that. It felt better to ignore them.

He sniffed his way around the back of the room. A painting there of a snowy forest—he'd stared up at it when he was small. There was still a dent in the lower-right corner where Snowflake had tried to climb inside. Glacier stared at it for a long moment, wondering if Jacques would let him keep it.

...Definitely not.

Beside it, another big metal man. It smelled like oil and rust. Not familiar at all. Glacier snorted and knocked it over.

From his back, the small one sighed.

Another smell. Old wood and dust. He found a door and batted at it with his paw. "Let me!" the small one said, and slid off his back. Glacier whined. He didn't want the little ones getting too far. Not here.

But the small one only opened the door. Inside was a hallway, too narrow for Glacier to fit more than his snout inside, and an ancient grandfather clock ticking away in an alcove. He stared at it, mesmerized by the pendulum. Once, it had lived out in this big room. He tried to reach inside and grab it, but it was too far away. He retreated with his ears drooping.

There was the short man, still on the stairs, who edged away when he poked his head over the banister to get a better look. He must be alright, though, because seeing him had made the singing one smile. He smelled like warm bread.

"Oh," he said, and then swallowed. "Oh. Yes. Hello again."

"That's Klein," the small Jacques told him. "He works here."

There was another smell on him. Glacier leaned in closer. The man's pupils shrank, and he started breathing very fast.

"Glacier, no!" The little one tapped his flank. "Leave him be."

He flicked an ear. It wasn't like he was hurting the strange man. He just wanted to know why that smell was so familiar. Was it even coming from the man? He bumped his nose against his coat, trying to be sure.

"Glacier!" Specter trotted over to him and sat, his tail flicking anxiously. "Weiss says to stop that, you're scaring him."

He blinked. The short man had gotten very shaky, but he'd thought that was because it was cold in this room. Glacier withdrew... but there was still that smell. He knew it from somewhere.

Gingerly, he put a paw on the edge of the stairs.

Specter's ears went back. "Sorry," he said, and picked the short man up by the back of his coat. His eyes went very wide for a moment, before he was placed gingerly on the ground in the main room.

"Glacier!" The singing one's voice. "Glacier, you can't just—!"

He hopped up onto the stairs. There were a few groaning sounds, and his back claws got stuck in the carpet. He wiggled them free. Somewhere behind him, Jacques shouted. He yelped and charged up the stairs—and the smell overwhelmed him.

A lot of people were calling for him to come back, now. The walls were too close, and there were lots of small breakable things in the way. He crawled past them, knocking some of them to the ground, hunching his shoulders to fit. A few of the spines on the back of his neck scraped the ceiling. He paused, tried to turn his head to look at the small one, and accidentally put his nose through a painting.

"I'm fine," the little one sighed. "Unlike the decor, I know to duck when you go haring off like this."

Glacier yipped and squirmed further into the house. He could smell the little ones all around—though the steely one's scent was old and faded. And the other scent, the one he knew he should remember, grew stronger with every step.

Knocking. Distant, muffled, and persistent.

Willow watched wine swirl in the bottom of her glass.

Voices rising. Shouting.

She took a sip. Swallowed. Stared dully at the wall.

Somewhere below, a dragon shrieked.

A furrow in her brow. She blinked, slowly, and put down the glass. It took an effort to think... why was that so odd?

Right. The dragons were all gone.

Willow braced herself against the sideboard. Her breathing came quick and shallow, from somewhere very far away. She squeezed her eyes shut and groped for the glass. Her hand struck it from the side and knocked it to the ground.

She stared at the stain spreading through the carpet.

Another shriek. Another twisting, wrenching pain inside. Ignoring the fallen glass, she lunged for the bottle and took a long swallow.

And why not? Why not? Everyone who needed her was gone, now.

A sound like thunder on the stairs. Her head was already spinning—too much, too fast, and she still hadn't eaten anything today. Someone or something was coming towards her. She could hear shattering glass. The White Fang, perhaps? Back again after stealing her son?

She'd make a disappointing hostage.

So she reclined against the sideboard as the attacker approached and downed the rest of the bottle in one swig—then held it by the neck. She'd never be able to pay them back all the hurt they'd caused... but trying seemed like a good final act. The sort of thing her daughters might do.

The door shattered.

Willow stumbled back, tripped over the sideboard, and landed in the wine stain on the carpet. Staring up at the empty door frame—with Glacier's face poking through it. His eyes went wide when he saw her, and he let out a joyful bark. The bottle dropped from her nerveless fingers.

"For the last time!"

Any words she might have spoken died in her throat.

"You need to let me open the doors. I have these things called thumbs, see?"

Glacier butted his head against the door frame and huffed when it didn't fit.

"No. I know what you're thinking and no."

The ice dragon stuck his tongue out and squirmed, twisting his neck around until, with a final scrape, his horns slotted in through the doorway and he could shove his whole head inside. The voice outside groaned. "Now look what you've done! It's going to take forever to get you out. And what are you even doing in there? It's my room, you know."

Glacier peered at her with those gorgeous blue eyes and said, "Lo!"

Willow let out a choked noise. Almost a sob. He licked her face and finally, finally, she could move again. She groped for his horns and hauled herself upright.

At the same moment, her baby boy poked his head into the room and froze.

"You're alive," she breathed.

"Oh." Whitley glanced nervously at Glacier. "Yes. I am."

She stumbled towards him. Her hands trembled as she touched his face. "You're here."

He nodded stiffly.

Willow threw herself at him. Whitley tripped, made a startled noise, and would have fallen over if Glacier hadn't pressed his nose against his back. He was taller than when he'd disappeared.

"It's... good to see you too?" He patted her uncertainly on the back. "Please stop crying."

Was she?

Oh, yes. There was a damp spot on his coat.

She drew away reluctantly, just enough so that she could get a better look at him. Hair had grown down into his eyes, and there was a dusting of stubble on his chin. His clothes were new—weren't they? New on him, but clearly old. Her head spun. Where—how had he?

But that wasn't important. "Are you alright? Did they hurt you?" The words came out slurred.

"I'm fine." He shoved his hands in his pockets, a habit Jacques hated. "Glacier protected me."

At the sound of his name, the dragon barked and—judging by the sound of smashing porcelain—wagged his tail. Willow hugged him, too, around the neck, and shuddered at the feeling of a purr against her chest. "You—you wonderful—"

Any words she could say would be wholly inadequate. All she could do was whisper, "Thank you."

Whitley shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, in what he was quite sure was his bedroom. "What are you doing in here, anyway?" he asked, glancing over at the sideboard. That was definitely new.

"Oh." Mother blinked a few times. "I started sleeping in here a few weeks ago. I didn't mean to move in, I just..."

Right. Whitley rubbed the back of his neck and wished that people would stop acting like... well... like he'd been missing, possibly presumed dead.

Glacier barked and bumped mother with his nose. She stared at him uncertainly before raising a hand. He nuzzled against it. "He's so..."

Whitley fidgeted in place. "He likes to be scratched right here." He pointed. "Behind his jaw."

She followed the suggestion, and Glacier melted. He tried to flop over onto his side, and there was a hideous tearing sound as his spines dragged across the wall. Mother sank down with him until she was kneeling on the carpet. Her breath hitched. Then she was crying, or laughing, or maybe a bit of both, while Whitley stood stiff as a statue.

He didn't know what to do with all this. Couldn't even remember the last time she'd done either—she was normally blank. Numb. All this... for him?

Or perhaps she was just very, very drunk. There was an empty bottle on the floor, after all.

Whitley cleared his throat awkwardly and said, "The girls are downstairs."

Mother looked up, her mouth falling slightly open. "They're here too?"

"Yes."

She frowned. Apparently just now wondering when and how he'd gotten there. "You were... you were gone. And Glacier brought you back? So why are they...?"

"It's a long story," Whitley said. "And Glacier's demolished most of the foyer, so we'll probably have to leave in a hurry. I thought you should know, in case you wanted to come see them first."

"He did what?"

Glacier barked and wagged his tail again, shattering an expensive bust.

"...I see."

It took their combined efforts to get the ice dragon's great head out of the doorway. Whitley was just glad they hadn't needed to resort to asking Klein for butter—not that anything about this was dignified, but at least this way he could cling to a few scraps. Then he had to turn around, crushing several pieces of furniture in the process, and start walking the other way.

The stairs proved... challenging. For one thing, it was apparently much easier for dragons to go up than down. There wasn't room for them to walk beside him, and Glacier refused to let them stay behind him where he couldn't see them, so Whitley had to sit on his back with mother, and get her to duck her head as he skidded down first one step, then another. She swayed and almost fell off. Whitley grabbed her arm and told her to hold on to the spines.

Then, finally, they stood on level ground in the foyer. Whitley got the sense that they had just interrupted an argument. He slid off the dragon's back, then helped mother back to the ground. "This is unacceptable—" Father started to say, but Glacier ignored him in favor of nudging mother with his nose, herding her and Whitley towards his sisters.

Dead silence, and an audience of far too many people. Mother threw her arms around Weiss, then Winter, while he stood there wishing fervently that he was back in the woods.

"I've heard... the most ridiculous things," mother said, her eyes unfocused. "About... about..."

She trailed off. Glacier barked and coiled around them, his tail wagging hard enough that it cracked the floor. Everyone else was forced to back away as he rolled around, completely heedless of his surroundings.

Mother seemed to be the only one of the humans trapped inside this highly affectionate prison who didn't mind. Mostly because she was too drunk to be uncomfortable. Whitley exchanged a stiff nod with Winter, and Weiss cleared her throat several times without saying anything.

"Um..." One of Weiss' teammates, the blonde one, clapped her hands together. "Right. So. The records!"

Whitley could have keeled over with relief when most of the rest of the room devolved back into an argument. Except for Oscar, who was looking directly at him. Smiling.

"You have no idea what privacy is, do you?" he grumbled at Glacier.

The dragon whistled and licked his reddening face.

Winter and Weiss faced their father from across a great distance.

Partly because Glacier's tail was in the way—but mostly, James suspected, because the man was an ass. Winter was doing most of the talking, her arms tightly folded, her stance rigid. He tried to step up next to her, to offer support if nothing else. He thought better of it when Glacier hissed at him.

"I will not negotiate with terrorists!" Jacques spluttered. His face was still blotchy red with rage, and he was shouting—though it was hard to tell if that was out of anger or because he still couldn't hear very well.

Weiss scoffed. "Don't be so dramatic. We're only asking to see a few files."

A tic started in his jaw. "You broke into my home," he spat, through gritted teeth. "Then proceeded to threaten and assault me—and now you want my help?"

"Enough." Winter took a step forward, over Glacier's tail. He whined and rolled to his feet, his neck extending towards her. "If you're going to insist on seeing it that way, fine. But we're here, and we're not leaving until we see those records. Bring them out. Now."

Jacques was silent for a moment, breathing heavily, rage seeping through the cracks in his composure. Then, slowly, his face relaxed into cold indifference. "What are you going to do if I refuse? Attack your own father? I don't know what you've done to Glacier, but I'm quite sure you'd need to hurt him too."

James tensed. Glacier—who seemed to have tuned out of their conversation completely—whistled at Winter, his head hovering a few feet behind her.

"No," said Winter. "But I expect you'll want your manor back at some point."

When she didn't look at him, Glacier huffed. It stirred a few strands of white hair that had escaped from Winter's bun.

Jacques spread his hands. "By all means. Make yourselves at home. Though I will warn you—the Council do visit from time to time, to check up on me. My work is very important to them, after all."

Glacier inched forward, slowly encroaching on Winter's peripheral vision. Only when his snout was poking over her shoulder did she notice him and jump. He barked, as if to say, Pay attention to me!

James tried to stop it. He really did. But watching Winter and her father arguing with deadly seriousness, in the mangled wreck of his foyer, with Glacier acting like a gigantic puppy in the background... He started to laugh. It was silent, and hidden behind his hand, and perhaps a little bit hysterical. Jacques noticed that his shoulders were shaking.

"You—! I—!" he spluttered, and his face went from red to white. He was so apoplectic with rage he could hardly speak, but he managed to yell, "Out! Get out!"

"You can't—" Weiss started to say.

"I will not be ordered about by children. You!" He gestured rudely at Glynda, then Peter. "Stay. Take the damn records, for all the good they'll do you when the Council has the lot of you imprisoned and your filthy creatures executed. The rest of you, out!"

James felt his own temper surge—but before he could say anything, Winter dropped into a shallow bow. "Of course."

Weiss smiled sweetly and took Whitley by the arm. "We'll wait right outside. And of course, we'll have to send Pepper in. She won't like to be separated from her rider for too long."

"Out!"

They left. It took a second to convince Glacier to go—and he only really agreed to it once he'd herded Whitley and Willow out ahead of him. Pepper and several other dragons were already jostling at the door to look inside, so it only took a second to send her in to make sure Jacques couldn't try anything.

"Are you sure it's a good idea to let him dictate terms like that?" James asked, keeping his voice low.

"He didn't," Winter said, with a small smirk. "He lost his temper and gave us concessions he didn't mean to. It's something he likes to do to competitors."

Weiss snickered. "He did like to say that the fastest way to win a negotiation was to make your opponent angry. And, well..."

Glacier blinked innocently at them.

Whitley sighed in relief and leaned against the ice dragon's neck. "Wonderful," he grumbled. "Let's never do that again."