Dragons Just Need a Hug
by Bjarni Egilsson, as told to Egil Njalsson
(March 1994)I never really expected to be a father in the first place.
I mean, sure I'm old enough and everything, and I've had my share of lady friends (and possibly somebody else's share too), but a DAUGHTER? Especially one who's 14 years old when she arrives? And no wife in the picture? Let's just say it was a bit of a surprise when this short youngster with whom I had often played in the woods suddenly turned to me one day and said, "Will you be my daddy?"
"Your daddy?" I was stunned. "But won't your real daddy get mad?"
"I don't think so," she responded, her gaze dropping to the ground. "He's been dead for a long time."
"Oh." I wasn't sure what to think about this. "Umm, how did he die?"
"Well, apparently he died of exhaustion, making me. He was a kender, and very enthusiastic, but after a few hours of sex with a dragon, he just got worn out." She kicked idly at a stone.
"A dragon?" The sheer logistics of the whole idea -- a dragon with a kender -- startled me.
"Yeah. The dragon was my mom. Anyway, he just dropped dead, from what I hear. And my mom didn't want him to go to waste, so she sort of, well, um, ate him. A while later, I was born, but I grew up without a daddy. I've never had a real daddy of my own. Please, would you be one for me?" She looked up at me, her eyes big, sad, and pleading.
"So if I became your daddy, would your mom probably get hungry again?" I wanted to be careful about this.
"No, it's okay. I think she'd be happy for me. She knows how much I've always wanted my own daddy."
Well, why not, I thought. Might be kind of fun, to adopt this young girl who shared my love of the woods. Maybe it was time for me to start accepting some responsibility. Besides, it seemed that my household couldn't get away from the population explosion we were currently experiencing...
A few months earlier, the family was just me and my dad. Then he got married, and there were three of us. But not long after that, Lord Captain Ironpaw cursed him with rampant fertility, and since then I had gotten a foster brother and two foster sisters, doubling the size of the family. Surely one more foster kid wouldn't hurt.
So I decided to accept her as my daughter. Sweet, innocent little Antimony.
As the months went by, I changed my opinion of her somewhat. I got rid of the "innocent" in the description pretty much right away. But she was still "sweet," and definitely "little."
We still played in the woods as we always had. We taught each other about the forest and the creatures who dwell in it. She made me a belt pouch which she said was to keep "important stuff" in, but I couldn't help but notice that the bells on the clasp gave her a bit of an advantage when we were playing hide-and-seek.
She slept in the longhouse with the family, of course, and would often snuggle up next to her new daddy in the main room to keep warm during the long winter nights, as is the custom in Viking households like ours. I would gently hold her close to me, pulling the furs up over her shoulders and stroking the back of her head to get her to fall asleep. Gradually her breathing would deepen, and her face would relax as she slipped into the world of dreams.
Occasionally I would wake up in the middle of the night for some reason, and looking down at her it seemed that her features blurred slightly, and that she was twitching just a bit. I figured it was just a trick of the moonlight, and gave it no more thought.
That is, until the night when she broke out in scales.
Up until then it had been just an ordinary night, my father's snores vibrating the longhouse just slightly, like they always do. I couldn't figure out what had awakened me, but then I looked over at Antimony, and noticed she was definitely shaking in her sleep. Beads of sweat accumulated on her forehead, which wrinkled as if she was in deep concentration, and her breathing became rough and irregular. I put an arm around her to try to still her quivering. At my touch, her skin darkened, and began to fade into scales -- the kind of scales you would find on a dragon. I lay there, uncertain what to do, and just watched. After a few minutes, the scales faded, her skin lightened, and her breathing became more regular. Her forehead relaxed, and she returned to a deep sleep.
I didn't get to sleep for a long time.
I talked to her about it the next morning.
"Antimony, honey, I think you were turning into a dragon last night. Don't you think you should tell your daddy before you go and do something like that?"
Her gaze flitted to the doors, as if she were mapping an escape route. "A dragon?"
"Well, something with scales. Since you're half dragon, I figured that's what it must be. Was it?"
"Umm, maybe. Well, yeah. It happens sometimes. Usually only when there's real powerful magic around, but sometimes it just, well, happens. I didn't, um, eat anybody did I?"
Now it was my turn to look for an escape route. "No, honey. You just lay there and shook. Should I be worried about this?"
"No!" she answered, a little too quickly. "No problem. I'll try not to do it anymore, okay?" She quickly arched up on her toes, gave me a peck on the cheek, turned, and ran out the main door. I stood there, bewildered.
The next few nights were calm, although you wouldn't have known it to look at me. I must admit I lost some sleep, watching my daughter's still, peaceful form curled up next to me...
You know, claws on a dragon aren't at all cold, like the ones you find in the woods. I don't think it was the claws that woke me; I think it was the pain in my finger. She was sucking on it in her sleep, a thin trickle of blood escaping from the corner of her dragon mouth and pooling on the fur. I yelped and jerked my hand away. Of course, this woke her, and she instinctively grabbed me to try to calm me down.
She didn't realize, of course, that her hands were those of a dragon. More to the point, her fingernails were those of a dragon, and she accidentally gouged three deep, parallel lines across my chest, which started to bleed readily.
I've never seen a dragon look scared, ashamed, or sad. At least, I hadn't until then. I saw all three looks combined into one gaze that pleaded for my forgiveness. I knew that somewhere in there was my daughter, and, wincing from the pain, I reached out to her. She bent her head down and idly lapped at the blood pooling on my chest for a few moments, until I pulled her head up and rested it on my shoulder. I held her close, stroking the back of her head as she growled softly, her breathing gradually slowing until she faded off to sleep.
When I awoke the next morning, my arms were around a small, familiar kender. She sensed me stirring, and woke up. "Good morning, Daddy." She was sleepy, and it took a few seconds for her to notice the mess my chest had become. "Daddy! What happened to your chest?"
"I, uh, cut myself. Shaving. No, I mean chopping wood. Yes, definitely chopping wood."
"Are you okay?"
"I will be." My tone softened. "More important, are you okay?"
"Yeah, just a little tired. I didn't sleep very well."
That was the morning I decided she needed a new sleeping companion. She is my daughter, and I love her, but I'm not stupid. Gullible, yes. Naive, okay. Stupid, no. Well, not most of the time, anyway.
Something suitable for a dragon child. Something reptilian. Hmm, don't seem to be any likely candidates hanging around Egilsstead. Guess I'll have to make one.
No, nothing magical. That's not my style -- you're thinking of my father. Not magical, but mythical, maybe. I've heard tales of strange creatures who lived many years ago, in a time before the normal creatures like dragons and unicorns roamed the earth. Yeah, that would work.
I borrowed some materials from my mom, and started to work... A horn on the nose... a frill around the neck... buttons for eyes... stuff it with cotton balls... There! That should do it.
I watch her sleeping, and slowly stop stroking the back of her head. I give her a gentle hug and walk over to my bed. I glance back -- she looks so innocent when she's asleep, curled up with her new companion.
And when she occasionally starts to sweat and quiver, I don't worry.
I can always sew it back together.
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