18
GATHREN WAS SURPRISED at the inside of the dragon lair, which was actually very nice, outfitted with rugs and large pieces of art—landscapes and still lifes and the occasional bust and sculpture—and also with a great deal of furniture, although none of it seemed to be dragon-sized, so Gathren began to feel as if everything in the dragon lair had been scavenged from somewhere or other.
Perhaps that was what dragons were, just scavengers, like a cross between magpies and vultures or something.
They did resemble birds, she supposed, even though they also resembled reptiles.
Of course, they must not be either, because of the fire-breathing aspect.
She knew there were dragons in the east, but they were quite different than these dragons.
She wondered if they really had anything in common other than a passing resemblance.
This was neither here nor there, she supposed.
She was out of sorts.
How was she to rescue her mother when it did not seem that her mother entirely wished to be rescued? And why did her mother not wish to be rescued when she was obviously just like all of the other things in this lair—something scavenged and stolen—something taken possession of—a collected thing?
They all sat together in a makeshift sitting room. There was a fireplace here, and it had wood in it, and the dragon breathed fire into it as her mother talked about how clever it was that Tafnir had made things like this.
“It has a chimney and everything,” her mother said. “There are others like it in other parts of the lair. He carved through the rock himself using a technique like sculptors use to chip away at rock. He taught himself, also, simply by watching. He’s very, very old, you know.”
Gathren settled on a couch, glared at the dragon, and spoke to her mother. “Mamrak,” she said, calling her the full orcish word for mother, “you may think that this creature has rescued you or something of that nature, but you must see that he is simply using you for his own amusement.”
Tafnir settled down on a long chaise lounge, his tail falling off the end and his wings folded up.
He tossed Iahir’s belt full of weapons on the rug on the floor.
“Thou art correct, Kadrai’s daughter. It is the way of things amongst beings.
Thy mother was plagued because her brother did not find her useful to him anymore.
But instead of being straightforward with her about it, he kept her there, resentful, abusing her instead of simply washing his hands of her.
It is a most wretched behavior. I had better use of thy mother than thy uncle did.
It only made sense for me to come and claim her. ”
“You didn’t have to kill everyone!” cried Gathren. “And burn the crops! And burn the houses! And lay waste to everything.”
“Really,” said Iahir. “There are treaties.”
“With elves, there are treaties,” said Tafnir.
Iahir pointed at him. “I thought it might be that. Did I not say that, Gathren?”
“You are having far too much fun congratulating yourself about your dragon expertise,” said Gathren, and she was seething. She hated them all at this moment. Iahir, the dragon, and her mother, too, for being so desperately obtuse.
“All right,” said Iahir, who was seated on another couch. He addressed the dragon, “Here it is, you must unchain her. There’s some saying about all of this, you know, ‘If you love something, let it go. If it comes back, it is yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.’” Iahir nodded encouragingly.
Gathren felt rage rising up in every part of her body. “That is about a pet or something, Iahir, not a person.”
Iahir furrowed his brow.
The dragon spoke. “Amongst thy kind, there is a great of deal of associating amongst yourselves, in large groups, many of you under one roof, in fact.”
“You just started saying ‘you,’ instead of ‘thy,’” muttered Gathren.
“Oh, that’s how it works,” said Iahir. “You is plural, thee is singular.”
“Plural?” said Gathren.
“You’ve had a grammar lesson?” said Iahir.
“I hate you,” said Gathren to him. “I despise you. You have no idea how desperately I feel this.”
Iahir cleared his throat.
“As I was saying,” said the dragon, “we dragons are not this way. So, when we decide to take a companion, it is one of another species.”
“It seems to me that all you do is take things,” said Gathren, gesturing around at the lair. “None of this is yours. And companions are not things one takes. If a person wishes to be a companion to someone else, they choose it. If you lock up my mother, you take away her choice.”
“Well, see, this is exactly what I was saying,” said Iahir. “Though the, erm, the chaining up bit, I think that’s… well, that’s rather a common practice.”
Gathren rounded on him. “You’re being disgusting. He’s a dragon. That’s… impossible.”
Iahir shrugged. “Impossible? One thing I know is that when it comes to… that, people are very, very creative and innovative.”
“Oh, you—”
“Now, I know it’s your mother, so—”
“Yes, let’s leave this,” spoke up her mother. “Really, the truth is, whatever the case, I have lived a long life all on my own with no one, and… Tafnir and I…” There was a sigh. “Well, you do not need me anymore, Gathren, you know?”
“So, I’m to leave you here, chained up with this monster?” said Gathren.
“I would prefer it if he would let me free,” said her mother.
“I have been saying to you, Tafnir, again and again, that I will not leave. And this, you see, this would be the ultimate test. Because if you let me go, and I stayed here with you, while my own daughter left, that would prove it, would it not?”
Tafnir made a noise in the back of his throat, but he didn’t answer.
“He’s insecure, you see,” said her mother. “He’s been rejected a number of times in his very long life.” There was a tenderness, a familiarity, in her voice. “So, it is difficult for him to trust. He is not cruel. He is only frightened.”
Gathren scoffed. “He is selfish.”
“Perhaps,” said Tafnir. “But one does not hold a hoard of riches without understanding that all creatures are full of selfish greed.”
“That is what love is,” said her mother.
“It is a possessiveness. Love isn’t about being fair, it’s about belonging to someone, belonging in a way you do not belong to others.
Why, Gathren, you must see that I don’t love you because of what you do or how you behave or anything like that.
I love you because you are mine. That is why a mother loves a child.
And it does not matter what sort of child the child is, the mother loves that child regardless.
Now, of course, I am lucky to have you as my daughter, and you are so very, very extraordinary.
” Her mother’s voice softened in the way it softened when she spoke of her love for her.
Gathren felt herself responding to it. Truly, she supposed she’d never thought of it that way before, but she supposed her mother was right. A good mother did not withhold love from her child for any reason. A good mother just loved.
“Well,” spoke up Iahir, “it’s clearly different when it comes to a romantic love, though, because that’s a choice. You don’t choose your child, but you do choose who you make one with.”
“Oh, spoken like a man,” muttered Gathren.
Iahir winced. “All right, I shall give you that,” he said in a different voice.
“Well, I certainly wasn’t forced to lie with your father, Gathren,” said her mother, sighing. “He was the High Chieftain of Arzakh. I was hardly displeased at the notion.”
Iahir smirked.
“Well, you couldn’t have said no to a man like that,” said Gathren. “I have seen how these things go.”
“At any rate, love is not required to make a child,” said her mother softly. “Love, however, is required to stay.” She looked at Tafnir. “I would stay, love. If you never trust me, this can never be real between us.”
Tafnir huffed again. “Thou wilt wish to go away. Thou wilt wish to visit thy offspring.”
“Perhaps, but then I could come back. Or she could come and visit us,” said her mother, smiling at Gathren. “You’ll come to like Tafnir, I think, if you but give it some time.”
“You can’t just…” Gathren crossed her arms over her chest. “You can’t just act as if this is my new stepfather or something, Mam. This is unnatural. He is a dragon. He is a monster, as I have said.”
“They think we orcs are monsters,” countered her mother.
“Well, it’s not the same,” said Gathren.
“It’s not the same,” said her mother. “And yet, it is also entirely the same.”
“Dragons breathe fire,” said Gathren. “They are huge and they have wings, and they are fearsome and terrifying.”
“I mean,” said Iahir, “I suppose, if I’m truly honest with myself, I am entirely frightened of orcs from a sheer sort of… physical perspective.” He sniffed. “Hmm. Fascinating. I wonder if it all comes down to that, really. Perhaps that’s what Findas was, simply frightened, of everything.”
“The dwarves are not frightening,” said Gathren.
“Not in the same way, no,” said Iahir. “But they have their superiorities. Of course, this is why we’ve been in a competition with them for these past generations, both the elves and the dwarves trying to make up as many new inventions as possible before the other species did.
Stealing each other’s inventions, improving on them, advancing against each other.
I don’t know what it’s all been about, but some kind of fear, I suspect.
We are all rather frightened creatures, are we not?
” He sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a pipe.
This is exactly the sort of thought process that is improved by a smoke. ”
“I may be able to assist with that,” said Tafnir.
“Oh, you likely do have a pipe,” said Iahir, looking about the room. “You likely have one of everything in this place. Perhaps seven of everything.”