Ainedan

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Ainedan took careful note of her supplies before stowing them away. She did so with great care—sometimes clanmates broke into her inventory and plundered what she had. With a twinge of guilt, she remembered the times she had done the same thing.

It hadn’t been like this when she’d been a child. “Only the strong survive!” the former leader, an old Coatl, had declared. “We do not need outsiders to aid us. The land they call ‘inhospitable’, we call ‘home’. It is all we need!”

Years later, an illness had made him delirious, and he’d fluttered out into a raging blizzard. Ainedan remembered his daughter reaching after him, other clanmates holding her back. “Let him go,” they’d growled. “His mind grew weak, and so the Icefield took him. Be strong—you are still a part of the clan.”

There had been another leader after him, a Wildclaw who’d disappeared while hunting. Her brother had scoffed, saying she had run off with a secret lover. It was he who next assumed leadership of the clan. That was when Ainedan and other younglings were trained to be fighters, demanding from outsiders what their own clan needed, or taking it by force. They were sent to prey upon other dragons.

“This is wrong,” Ainedan thought. She recalled the old Coatl’s assertions that they needed only the land to survive. Indeed, those principles had served the clan well for many years.

But this new leader decreed that raiders who brought back nothing would be denied supplies. Ainedan swallowed her misgivings, began preying on clanmates as much as on outsider drakes. She had been an introspective child; desperation twisted her into something brash and callous. She stole from clanmates and passed off their plunder as her own, just so she could feed herself. She was not alone—the dragons of the clan all turned against each other, lying and thieving to survive.

All this came to a halt when the lair elders took action. The leader had regarded them as weak and frail—but together, they were strong. And they still remembered the clan’s better days, the principles that had guided them. Fed up with the Wildclaw’s misrule, they demanded that he abdicate. And when he refused, they seized him.

The Wildclaw screamed for aid, but the raiders were reluctant to strike their elders down. One old Fae stopped them: “Leave him. His mind is too weak for him to rule wisely. No longer will we suffer just to feed his delusions. No more...and neither will you.”

They bore him into the woods. The Wildclaw continued screaming frantically—and then there was only silence.

There were no protests when the elders returned. One of them murmured, “Only the strong survive,” and looking at these old dragons, Ainedan realized that there were other ways to be strong, ways that didn’t involve trampling others just because you could. It would take her many years to rid herself of the violent tendencies that had been drilled into her—but it was a start.

~ ~ ~
The dragons began rebuilding their clan. It was hard: Supplies had been depleted, and their finances were in disarray. They eventually encamped near a town and requested aid from outsiders. It was a difficult decision for ones so proud and self-reliant, and Ainedan regarded these visitors with suspicion.

One of them intrigued her: He arrived only with a Gloomwillow Guide, and he sat near the vault, counting gold and gems, listing columns of figures and occasionally clucking in concern.

Ainedan approached, fully intent on asking him what his problem was. Instead, he spoke first: “There isn’t much left, I’m afraid. Thank goodness you moved here when you did! I’m Dohm, and this is Gux. We’re very pleased to meet you.” His brown eyes warmed as he smiled.

Dohm was a financial advisor. The elders had hired him to assess the clan’s wealth and draw up guidelines for how the funds should be allocated and spent. Ainedan’s head soon ached from all the financial terms he was using, and she moved away.

He didn’t take umbrage. “Come by anytime, Ainedan! It’s always good to have someone to chat with.”

“Yeah, right,” Ainedan thought. Darned if she was going to wade through a morass of financial jargon again.

Yet return she did. After always being wary of her own lairmates, it was a relief to chat freely with Dohm. He wasn’t just easy to talk to—he was honest as well. Any money he handled returned to the vault afterwards, and Ainedan, who’d spent years stealing and being stolen from, greatly admired his integrity. “Your clan taught you well,” she praised him.

Dohm ducked his head shyly. “I’m glad to hear that, since it’s been years since I left them to ply my trade. It’s just Gux and me on the road.”

Ainedan was stunned. She had always been taught that one needed a clan to survive. “It’s not dangerous?”

“I guess...but I’m still around, as you can see,” Dohm said with a smile.

Ainedan remained troubled. The Tundra was no fighter, and Gux clearly wasn’t adequate protection. She started to wonder...and worry...about what he would do once he left. Would he be all right?

“Do you sometimes travel...with others? Not clanmates but...” Ainedan couldn’t think of the word.

“Friends? Fellow travelers?”

“Yes, other travelers.” She hesitated before agreeing, “Friends.” She had not had friends in a long time. They had stolen from each other, fought with each other...

Dohm smiled wistfully. “Sometimes other dragons join me, but they have business elsewhere, so they usually don’t stay long. Why, are you thinking of traveling with me?”

“Maybe,” Ainedan grunted. She had learned the lessons of the Southern Icefield long enough, and she now realized they weren’t really for her. Perhaps looking to other lands, other dragons, wasn’t so bad after all. “Not if there are others who are like Dohm.” She looked down at the Tundra, and finally she smiled.

~ written by Disillusionist (254672)
all edits by other users