A/N: Hi guys. Hope you're all doing well. Welcome to chapter 12.
Remember to favorite/follow if you like the story thus far, and make sure to leave a review as well. And, of course, enjoy...
Chapter 12: Past and New Beginnings
Just as Clearsight had predicted that night Foeslayer had almost been captured, things were looking rather bright for Darkstalker. Despite his insistence she stay, his mother had gone back to her station, but only after many long talks ensuring that her earring stay in place for permanent protection. And with a few extra little spells Darkstalker may have put on it and a few of her other things (some with and some without her knowledge), he was more certain of her safety than ever before. But that was far from the only thing that had changed for the better. With his truce with Indigo in place, he'd finally begun to really enjoy all the flights and time he spent with Fathom. He found that, for really the first time, he could actually relax around the Seawings. He felt freer to speak his mind and to make jokes. He could talk about his magic and spells without immediate pushback from Indigo, even if she disapproved. Really, he felt for the first time like how he saw his friendship with Fathom would be in all his visions of the future.
That's not to say things were perfect—he and Indigo still weren't exactly friends, and it sometimes showed—but with neither he nor her going tooth and claw at each other and each being much more respectful than the start, things were bearable. Fathom seemed to notice the shift and had even commented on it to Darkstalker at one point, asking what had changed. At the time Darkstalker had just shrugged his wings noncommittally, saying something about her saving his mother. But the truth was, as odd as it was for Darkstalker to admit, that the more time he spent around Indigo, the easier it was to be around her.
Perhaps it was due to the visions he was still having, ones where he spent long hours alone with the purple Seawing, ones where she became so much more than the bodyguard of a friend. While infrequent, they were still happening, oftentimes popping up at unexpected times. And, though he still struggled to see any of those visions when he searched for the most probable futures, by this time they were becoming more and more difficult to dismiss. Seldom did he have so many unprompted visions, let alone those of the same unlikely thing. Perhaps the most worrying of all, though, was the fact that some deep part of him no longer scoffed at or outright rejected those futures. Some part of him, as much as he hated to even recognize it, was very curious over what those paths may lead to…
But that was just a very, very tiny part, far out shadowed by the rest of him. Besides, why would he explore those options when he had his future in Clearsight so easily laid out in front of him? Once his mother had returned to her station, he'd tried to take some time to spend with her, taking flights and hanging around in her room. It was difficult, though, with all the work the queen gave her, to spend much of that time; Clearsight always had another report to make and another battle to foresee. Because of that, he'd been spending a lot of his free time with Fathom instead, and with Indigo. While it was still a good alternative, Darkstalker knew that once he was in charge, he'd make sure that she wasn't worked like she was now. It was just one more reason why he couldn't wait to take the throne.
While things with both his mother and with Fathom were doing better, perhaps the largest single improvement in Darkstalker's life came due to the change of another dragon. Ever since Foeslayer had almost been lost, his father had been behaving in a way different than he ever had before in Darkstalker's memory. The Icewing seemed almost subdued, seldom biting at Darkstalker like he would before. In fact, since the incident with Foeslayer, the two of them had yet to have an argument. There were times, Darkstalker could see, where Arctic had wanted to say something, to give a scoff or a sneer like he always did, but his father bit it back. It was odd, to say the least, but it was also pleasant.
How long it would last, Darkstalker didn't know. Ever since he'd noticed the change, he'd been waiting for Arctic to immediately go back to how he was before. He'd figured at first that Arctic was just behaving himself for Foeslayer's sake before she left, but even after she was gone he continued. It was to the point where it was noticeable even to Whiteout, who made several comments about "the light going back into the white of his scales" when she mentioned Arctic.
Still, though, Darkstalker was hesitant to accept that his father had actually changed for the better. In almost no future that he'd ever seen did he and his father ever get along, it was just something that would never be. There were a few futures where Artic was the end of him—many more where Darkstalker proved to be his father's bane—and never had Darkstalker foreseen anything that would ever erase what animosity existed between them.
And that was why, when a knock came on his bedroom door a week after Foeslayer had returned back to her division, he was surprised to see his father standing outside his room. In fact, if he'd known that it was Arctic, he probably wouldn't have even opened the door for him, but he'd been tuning out his mindreading in order to look over some work Vigilance had assigned him and was caught off guard, thinking it was Whiteout or Clearsight who had come to hang out with him. As it was, he almost closed the door on him as soon as he realized it, but some part of him kept it open as his eyes met his father's own icy ones.
…Yet his father's gaze was not icy, not this time. There was an odd look in them, a tired look in them. Indeed, the Icewing's whole body looked tired, as though he'd just flown a lap around the city. He didn't look like the regal and uptight prince he always tried to look like. He looked…well, ordinary.
"May I come in?" Arctic asked once it was clear that he would not be shut out before he even spoke.
Darkstalker hesitated, then nodded as he took a step back, allowing his father entry. There were a lot of things that the two of them had mutual disrespect over, but one thing that Arctic had always respected of Darkstalker was his privacy in his own room. Arctic never entered it without permission. In fact, largely due to that, Darkstalker couldn't even remember the last time Arctic had even stepped foot in his room. That he would enter now definitely felt a little off, and a tad bit foreboding.
"What do you want?" Darkstalker asked with a bit of bite to his voice, but not as much as he could have. So far Arctic had come in peace, and he would not be the one to break it.
"I just want to talk," the Icewing said, taking a walk across the room and looking out of Darkstalker's window. For his part, Darkstalker suddenly became a lot more nervous. Never in his memory had Arctic 'just wanted to talk'.
For a few moments, Arctic just stood there looking out the window at streets outside. Then he took a deep breath and spoke softly. "I've not been a particularly good father, have I?"
"No," Darkstalker said bluntly, not quite sure where this was supposed to go.
"I thought not," the Icewing said, a hint of what could possibly be regret in his voice, "Though I ask that you not hold that too much against me. Icewings are not known for their strong family bonds, even less so in the palace culture I was raised in."
"Do you want my sympathy?" Darkstalker asked with a bit of a growl. He already knew this, and it wasn't something that Arctic had ever seemed disturbed by. In fact, quite the opposite.
"No," his father said, turning from the window and looking at him at last, "I just want you to understand."
"Understand what?" His voice was less hostile and now wary. Arctic was not being confrontational in his words at all, and Darkstalker wasn't sure what to make of it.
"Me," came Arctic's answer, "Who I am. And, perhaps, who you are yourself."
"I don't see how that would help the latter," Darkstalker spoke, "I'm nothing like you."
The Icewing looked down for a moment, eyes closed, before he lifted his head again and met Darkstalker's eyes. "You are like me," he said, "Who I was, at least."
Darkstalker's only reply was a snort.
Arctic shook his head gently and looked back down. When he spoke again, it was on a different subject. "I do love your mother, you know that, right?"
Darkstalker hesitated. For as stuck up, arrogant, and selfish Arctic was, he always genuinely cared for Foeslayer. All it took was reading his mind to know his sincerity. The feelings he had for her…well, it was enough to justify the entire war with the Icewing's in his father's eyes. Yet, for all of that, sometimes Darkstalker had to wonder. When Arctic yelled at her, when he berated her and argued with her for hours…it was difficult to believe that he truly felt how he did feel, or at least perceived himself as feeling. In the end, to answer Arctic's question, Darkstalker simply said nothing and let his silence speak.
And with that silence, Arctic seemed to deflate. He gave a sigh and raised a claw to his head. "Three moons," he mumbled to himself, "Have I really fallen that far?"
A pang went out in Darkstalker's heart, then he immediately filled it with ice as he remembered all of the arguments that had just played through his mind to bring his response. Yes, Arctic had fallen that far.
"Why are you here?" Darkstalker restated his initial question, wanting to get to the point. As nice as it was to see his father not boasting about his heritage or complaining, he was getting no joy from his apparent self-pity.
Arctic took a deep breath before answering. "I came here to tell you a story. One I should have told you long ago, I think. It's a…painful story, for me at least, but one you need to hear."
"Then go on," he told his father, sitting himself down. So long as the Icewing behaved himself, he could say his peace.
Arctic gave a nod of thanks for that small permission, then began to speak.
"I was only a little older than two when my powers were discovered," his story began, "Animus magic, of course, runs in our family, so it was of no particular surprise that I would have the gift. After all, my mother herself had it, which increased the chances of direct offspring having it. But you know all of that. My point is that I, like you, grew up with power at my clawtips and an imaginative mind that thought up thousands of uses for it every single day."
"Of course, in the Ice Kingdom animus dragons are taught strict discipline, with immediate guidance assigned and distinct boundaries set. Ever since I found out about my power, I was set to prepare for using it for my one great gift to the whole kingdom. It was a special gift to be treasured, something that I knew could bring so much joy and so much happiness if I could just find out what to use it on. And, for my entire life growing up, I followed those guidelines and kept all the ideas in my head. I never used my magic on anything, until one day—"
"When you met mother," Darkstalker finished for him. He'd heard this story before, but never from Arctic, about how he'd enchanted Foeslayer's earring on their first meeting, giving her such a powerful spell that she had always treasured and never removed.
Arctic nodded, "It was a small spell, easily ignored, and it made her happy and me happy and nobody would ever know. I loved her, and I would have done anything to make her smile. In the end, when it even came down between my tribe and her, I chose her. And I would again."
"Very touching," Darkstalker said with just a little bit of sarcasm, "But I fail to see how it's relevant. I've heard all this before."
"Yes," his father said, "But you've never heard what happened afterwards." He paused and tapped his tail lightly on the ground, considering his next words. "I really only had one dragon that I could actually call a friend back in the Ice Palace, my cousin Snowfox."
That name sounded familiar. "You mean General Snowfox?" Darkstalker asked. He'd heard that name quite often in Vigilance's war meetings. She was only the commander of almost half the Icewing forces. He also remembered Clearsight saying something about her, something that suddenly rubbed him wrong, but he couldn't quite remember what.
"The same," Arctic confirmed, "I was a little sad when I heard she was fighting, but I don't blame her. It would have been foolish of her to refuse a commission, and she may not even have had a choice. Anyway, she was the only one who knew about our relationship, and she was the only one I could go to for help. She was brilliant and understanding, and the only reason I was able to make it out of the Ice Kingdom was because of her planning and willingness to help us. I owe a lot to her."
"But not even Snowfox, as smart as she was, could plan for everything. Our escape was detected, and we were pursued. It was a race against time, and for the longest time we didn't even know it, thinking we were too far ahead to be caught. But towards the southernmost part of the desert, almost within sight of the Night Kingdom boarder, an Icewing patrol appeared out of nowhere. One moment our rear was fine, and the next they were bearing down on us."
"In that moment, I knew the stakes. If we were caught, then the best-case scenario would be that I never saw Foeslayer again. The worst case would be her death, either quick or slow depending on if the patrol was instructed to kill or capture her and if the Nightwings decided to give me up to save themselves. I was not prepared for either of those scenarios, so I did what I thought I had to."
"There were four dragons in that patrol. I didn't recognize any of them, but their faces are burned into my memory. I could look into their eyes and make out the scales on their snouts. They were that close when I finally mustered up the strength necessary. Now, each life burns away at my soul for what I did."
Arctic paused and closed his eyes. A single tear escaped his eye.
"I didn't mean to kill them," he finally continued, eyes still shut tight, "I thought 'they can't catch us if they can't see us', and so I cast a spell making them all blind. I enchanted them, and in the moment they were far from prepared for it. The shock caused one to veer off course, smashing into another one and causing both to fall from the sky. Neither could see to recover, and both died upon crashing. Of the other two, one went ballistic and attacked the other, no doubt mistaking him for us. In the fight, one tore out the other's throat, but in the process the surviving dragon's wing was damaged. He met the same end as the first two. Four Icewings were dead, and I was to blame."
He paused again and took a long, shaky breath. "I had used my magic, what I had once thought so pure and wonderful, to kill other dragons. I hadn't been careful, I'd forgotten everything I was taught, and I paid the consequences. I still am paying the consequences. Every day, when I look around and see where I am, I remember what I did to get here. Every time I see Foeslayer, I remember what I did to be with her. I took four lives, and that lies like a weight on my soul." He had to stop once more, a grimace on his face as he looked as though he was at the point of tears. Darkstalker had never seen his father like this before. "So you see," he finally continued once he'd composed himself again, "what I've always told you about animus magic is true. If it doesn't destroy your soul one way when you use it, it will find a way to do so in another."
A silence fell as Arctic finished his tale, Darkstalker not sure how to respond. What had been said…well, it actually explained a lot. He'd always known that something terrible must have happened either during or after Arctic and Foeslayer's escape from the Ice Kingdom, but never had he been told what that was. And now, hearing it for the first time from his father, he could see just how much it had affected him. He could see in Arctic's mind the pain, the guilt, of what he'd done. He'd used what he'd thought was good to kill members of his own tribe, and that was something Arctic had never forgiven himself for.
But did it truly justify how he'd acted? Did it excuse how Arctic had treated Foeslayer? How Arctic had treated him? It didn't. It couldn't. It may explain, but it could not cover those wrongs.
"Why are you telling me this?" Darkstalker finally asked. "Why now?"
His father gave a long sigh. "For too long I've tried to forget what I've done. I've tried to push it away and act like it had never occurred. I tried to make myself a better Icewing, colder, stronger, even here, as if I could somehow make up for destroying four others. And I thought that by treating you as I would have been, that perhaps you would somehow have the discipline of an Icewing that I couldn't be. I tried to fix my problems by pushing them away." He looked down and gave a shaky breath. "It hasn't worked. It didn't work. All I succeeded in pushing away was who I had done all those things for."
"When I thought Foeslayer was gone, it almost broke me. Too late I'd seen what I'd done, what I'd driven her too. After everything, I thought that I had killed another dragon, and Foeslayer was one dragon whose death I couldn't bear."
Arctic looked down and closed his eyes again, several tears falling this time as he began to lose what control he still had over himself. He shook his head as began to speak again. "If she had been lost, I don't know what I would have done. All that's left of my soul would have been gone. I don't…I can't even imagine."
In an act that Darkstalker never would have thought he'd do, he raised a wing out and gently set his wingtips on Arctic's shoulder in a small, comforting embrace. In those hours tracking down Foeslayer, flying over the Night Kingdom in a desperate race to save her, he had seen some of the futures where she was lost. The results weren't very pretty, for many dragons involved, least of all the one in front of him. Darkstalker had never made any claims to like his father, but some of the things he'd seen were things that he'd never wish upon him, at least not in this path he'd chosen.
At his touch, Arctic seemed to relax a little and began to recompose himself. The tears stopped, although he still seemed to be shaken. He looked up again and they met eyes.
"After you saved Foeslayer, the two of us had a long talk. Several, actually," his father told him. This was no big surprise—Darkstalker had taken note of several such talks in the days before Foeslayer returned to her post, although he'd resisted the urge to eavesdrop or listen to the conversations in their minds. "I told her much of what I told you. She knew much of it already, of course, but not how it affected me. I'm not exactly the kind of dragon that's comfortable sharing difficult emotions—Icewings in general are normally discouraged from that—but I think it helped. I can't keep doing what I was. I can't risk losing her again."
Darkstalker gave a small nod. He was not intending to ever come that close to losing her either.
"After our talks," Arctic went on once more, "I thought it was time I told you. I think that I finally became ready for it myself. To face others knowing what I did. To let you, who fought with my ideals from the start, see just how far short I myself had come." He took a deep breath and shifted his stance. "I never wanted to come to where I am now. I just wanted a happy life with your mother. I never meant to use my magic for such horrible things."
Biting back a few words that suddenly jumped into his mind, Darkstalker gave a deep breath of his own. "Is this the part where you tell me not to use my magic?"
Arctic glanced down at his talons. "No," he said, "No, it isn't. I doubt you'd listen to me if I did. You have the stubbornness of your father and mother combined, and you've already proven that even an impassioned plea won't work. No, I won't ask that, not this time."
"But I will ask that you think about what I said," he continued after a moment's hesitation. "I don't expect you to forgive me, or even believe me, but…I am sorry, Darkstalker. I've not been the dragon I should have been, for your mother or for you."
Darkstalker felt a lump in his throat at those words. Arctic apologizing, he thought, What has this world come to? Yet, it felt good, even as his mind struggled to comprehend it. And he could feel the sincerity in Arctic's mind. He meant that he was sorry; he had to be to even say the words
…But it was hard to accept. The whole of Darkstalker's lifetime Arctic had spent berating him, talking down to him, and fighting him. There were wounds there, scars, ones that may never heal. And how could Darkstalker even know for sure if Arctic was being genuine? Could a dragon like his father change for the better? He would have thought not, but then, he would never had thought that the conversation that had just happened would ever happen either.
It was too much. It was too fast. Darkstalker felt as though a sudden weight had just been placed on his wings, and he needed time to figure out how to get it off.
With a long sigh, he stood up and ruffled his wings. His father cocked his head slightly in confusion as he began to leave the room.
"I…I need to think," he explained. "About what you said and…about other things."
A look of relief came over Arctic's face at those words, and it was the last look at him that Darkstalker had as he left his room, then his house. He took off flying, not really going anywhere. He just needed to fly, to move, to process what had just happened.
Part of him thought about going to Clearsight or to Fathom and telling them what happened. Perhaps one of them would have a wise word that could help clarify what he was feeling and erase the pit that had formed in his stomach. But, no, it wasn't his story to tell. He'd deal with this alone, and he'd decide for himself what was to be done about Arctic.
He'd also have to take a moment to check the futures, to see just how much had changed and could change with this sudden shift in his attitude. As what seemed to be the new normal, he no longer seemed to have any idea of what those futures could be.
But for now, like he'd told his father, he just needed time to think.