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His years as a mercenary should have disabused Alek Gwilym of the notion of “home,” yet he rode a familiar path toward the ancient stone walls of Argynvostholt. Ahead - on the practice field, no doubt - he heard the resounding clang of swords, grunts, and shouts of mock battle. There had been a time when he dreamed of becoming one of those famous knights of the Order of the Silver Dragon. It had been during the years before his mother’s death. Freya Gwilym had been a fearsome knight. Alek loved her for her fierce tenderness, lust for life, and curiosity about the world. She taught him everything she knew and made him the man he was. He inherited much from her and, in looking more like his mother’s son than his father’s, he had found anonymity. There were Gwilyms here and there in Valentia and even in the Balinok Valley. It was good that he did not bear his father’s name. Of all the people he dreaded to see, Alek most feared meeting his father’s eyes.
When last Alek had seen Lord Argynvost, they argued. Alek roared that he didn’t want to be a knight anymore, that honor and glory had only gotten Mama killed, that Argynvost himself was the reason she was dead, and that he wouldn’t die for him, too. He had been seventeen - two weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday and inauguration into the Order. Alek had run east, becoming a sellsword. Occasionally, he took shelter in Huldefolk when he crossed the wrong people. After a particularly harsh winter, just as Alek contemplated returning to the manor, tail tucked between his legs, one of the elves told him that the Barovian forces needed guides and that their princess-general would pay well. Argynvost would laugh when he knew that Alek had become a soldier under Strahd von Zarovich and that he finally understood why Mama had been at peace with laying her life down for her lord and husband.
He thought of Strahd, regal and dark; ruthless and beautiful. The way she wore armor like a second skin, the way she inspired loyalty in his core with just a look. If she had not asked him to come to Argynvostholt, he would not have. As it was, he needed his father. They needed him. The army did not just need a dragon: Alek and Strahd needed his father. King Barov and Queen Ravenovia would not be nearly as compassionate. Alek looked at the expanse of blue sky, scouring it for a streak of silver. Instead, it was clear and bright, a beautiful day to grovel at his father’s feet. Alek sighed. He dismounted his horse and spoke the Draconic command that rendered the statue inert. Then, he approached the great, wooden doors. He knocked. He waited.
“Look what the wolves dragged in,” a familiar voice drawled. Rags - probably Dame Ragnelle by now - regarded Alek with grinning familiarity.
Her hazel eyes swept over his armor-clad frame. He was no longer a mercenary, but one of Strahd’s trusted commanders. He wore von Zarovich colors and wondered if his father had sent spies or if he was a strange sight to even those he had grown up with. He and Rags had been meant to take their oaths together. She wore the silver and pale blue of the order and a pendant of the Morning Lord around her neck. In another time, they would have embraced.
“I seek an audience with Lord Argynvost on behalf of the Barovian princess-general,” Alek said. Though he spoke like a general, he could not resist smiling and leaning out of posture against the doorframe. He folded his arms and waited.
“So that’s where you ended up,” Rags said. “Thank the Morning Lord you didn’t take up with the Tergs. Argynvost would never forgive you.”
“He still might not,” Alek said. “I should have let Strahd send Rahadin.”
“Your father is in the library. Would you like to fetch him yourself? You can’t have forgotten the way.”
“Rags… For old time’s sake… Under the circumstances…”
“Wait in the den,” she said. “I’ll bring him down. The old man will be so happy to see you, the prodigal son, returned.”
“Sure.”
Ragnelle clapped Alek’s shoulder heartily. Her mirthful eyes were serious.
“He will be happy to see you. I’m damn happy you’re home.”
“Thanks.” Alek clasped her arm. “I’m not here to stay. Officially, I’m here to make an alliance on behalf of the Barovian army.”
“Officially,” Ragnelle repeated.
She tilted her head. Alek kept his gaze steady. No one but Argynvost would know his unofficial business, although it occurred to him that the knights would learn of it soon enough. Ragnelle released him and disappeared up the marble staircase. Alek looked up at the banners, flapping gently in the breeze. His father no longer hung his mother’s banner. He had buried it with her all those years ago. However, in a place of honor, not as prominent as the old man’s banner of himself, hung Alek’s. Still, even after all these years. He looked so young and full of life, a real knight. It had been completed just before everything, during the last week of his mother’s life. Maybe it was a blessing she wasn’t here to see how Alek’s life had turned out. He turned heel and walked into his father’s den, where he greeted guests. A fire blazed in the hearth and the furniture was the same as that Alek had grown up with. Two squires polished the furniture - the wine cabinet carved in Freya’s likeness, the side tables. One of them thumped the other on the back of the head and he looked up. The two teenagers stared at Alek with open-mouthed shock and stood at attention, facing him, as if he was a knight of the order. In his scarlet and black livery, he did not look like he belonged here, but his father was fond of art and had commissioned his portrait. Alek thought of the tapestry. What did his father say of his son, who had been gone for decades? His lips twitched.
“As you were,” he said as if talking to his infantrymen.
Alek flopped onto the sofa and stretched out as he had when he last lived here. Lying down in his armor wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it felt good to be back, even if he would only be here as long as the negotiations would take. A little longer, if the old man was amenable to his other proposition. Heart squeezing in his chest, Alek shut his eyes. One of the youngsters offered Alek a drink. Alek looked at the sculpted cabinet with fond longing. If Freya was still alive, Alek could imagine this going well. Without her, he’d want a little liquid courage.
“What’s the finest red the old man has on hand?” he asked. “It’s been a long journey.”
“I imagine it has,” another voice rumbled from the doorway.
Alek’s father, Lord Argynvost, clad in royal blue with ornate, silver pattering, leaned against a walking stick he did not need, which Alek suspected carried a rapier. Argynvost had not aged a day in the three decades since Alek had absconded from Argynvostholt. He always wore the face of an old man with silver hair and a fine mustache that Alek now realized he’d accidentally emulated. They otherwise did not greatly resemble each other. Alek favored his mother but had the same, silver eyes as his father and a smattering of silver dragon scales that looked more like freckles than anything else. Alek expected to see bitterness painted on Argynvost’s face. Instead, there was bittersweet joy. Alek clambered to his feet. He stood, always a soldier at attention, always his father’s squire, very still. Argynvost crossed the room. Alek now stood half an inch taller than him. Argynvost still clapped his hands on each of Alek’s shoulders and pulled him into an embrace.
“We should uncork the finest of all my wine to celebrate my son’s return.”
The warmth in Argynvost’s voice melted Alek’s resolve. He relaxed into his father’s arms and slipped into his native Draconic, voice threatening tears. It had been a long journey for all the wrong reasons. It was five days to camp, four with the right horse, but it had taken Alek thirty years to show up on his father’s doorstep. He had seen half a dozen countries and lived twice as many lives in that time.
“Strahd sent me, you must know that,” he said. “I never thought you’d want to see me again and I wouldn’t have come if things weren’t so-”
“Of course, I want to see you. I’ve wanted to see you since the moment you left.”
“I’ve done so many things you wouldn’t be proud of…”
“Bahamut’s breath, boy, do you think I don’t know?” Argynvost pulled out of the hug to look at Alek. He reached up and touched Alek’s hair fondly. “You’ve never gone far away enough that I couldn’t find you. I’ve heard the tales of the silver-eyed mercenary fighting and fucking his way through the valley and of the commander in the Barovian army who saved the princess-general’s life a dozen times over. You think I don’t drink in stories of you with pride?”
“I’m not a knight,” Alek said. “At this rate, I’ll never be.”
“Our loss has been Barovia’s gain. You’re still a damn good fighter.”
The squires returned with wine in a crystal decanter and golden chalices. Argynvost poured each glass generously and pushed one into Alek’s hand. He lifted his chalice in a toast.
“To your homecoming, your safety, and your lady’s good sense to send you.”
Alek imitated the toast and inhaled the heady fumes of the wine. He did not drink right away.
“It was serendipity, maybe strategy,” he said. “She knows I speak Draconic, but she doesn’t know what - or who - I am.”
“Does anyone?” Argynvost asked. “I readily brag about my son, the war hero, but I know you. If you thought I might jeopardize the life you’ve painstakingly built for yourself…”
“That’s not fair,” Alek said. He drank from his glass moodily and his inner bitterness soured the taste on his tongue. “If people knew whose son I was, it’d be a target on my back. Would you really want to put up with ransomers?”
Argynvost shrugged.
“You’re my son,” he said simply. “I’d pay any price for your safety. Thirty years is not as long as you seem to think, not for a dragon. Not even for a half-dragon.”
Alek winced. He wondered how he could tell Argynvost that he understood at least a little. He thought about nights, lying awake in Strahd’s tent, and wondering if their babe would be a boy or a girl, if the child would favor him or its mother, and knowing that he would undertake this very journey to ensure his child’s safety. Instead, he took a second, deeper drink from his chalice. When he lowered his cup, he said, “Strahd wants to claim the valley.”
“I suppose she believes it is her right,” Argynvost said. “The von Zaroviches once ruled the human lands; Ravenovia once ruled Huldefolk.”
Alek made a noise of agreement.
“You can’t have any love for the Tergs,” he said. “They allied with the wizards that killed Mama.”
“I have no love for their king,” Argynvost agreed. “But the people are Tergic and Barovian both and most of them are harmless - farmers and craftsmen. Good people, hardworking.”
“The knights are training again,” Alek said. “Do you plan to go to war with the Tergs? Or should I worry about facing you on the battlefield?”
“I have no love for King Dorian. I would protect the people of the valley from him or any tyrant.”
“Would you consider an alliance with Barovia?” Alek asked. “We are a strong army and Huldefolk has joined our crusade. If the Order were to join us, we could pin him on three sides.”
Argynvost grinned. He did not look like an old man. His white teeth seemed whiter and sharper than a human’s and his gray eyes glinted silver.
“If you can be persuaded to stay for a few days, Commander, I will send word to Huldefolk. We will draw up a treaty. Have you your lady’s permission for such things?”
Alek’s face matched Argynvost’s for a fleeting moment.
“My lady trusts me as a swordsman trusts his right hand,” he said. “I will stay and happily sign the treaty on behalf of my lady.”
His smile dimmed the longer he thought of Strahd. Her announcement lingered with him. It had only been a few days and it was the second reason he had returned to Argynvostholt. Consternation wrinkled his brow. If there was anyone who would be sympathetic and discreet, it was Argynvost. And yet the favor Alek had to ask of his father seemed like such a tall order.
“Is this the last I am to have your private council, Ayah ?” he asked. He tried to sound playful or imposing; he tried to sound like himself. Instead, he sounded small and a little afraid, much younger than he was.
“Are you in trouble?” Arygnvost asked. “I will make time for you. I know the knights will want to see you, but perhaps after dinner, you and I can take a walk to the orchard.”
Alek nodded. He could manage dinner with the knights. They were not so different from a military band, except perhaps that they had better table manners. It was, then, perhaps like dining with the lords of the camp, which Alek realized with horror, was why he had been so easily accepted into Strahd’s ranks. His father’s order of knights had well prepared him for the life he led now. It was nice to meet the new squires, to catch up with old friends, and to regale his dinner companions with tales of his travels which, despite Argynvost’s teasing, had taken him further afield than Huldefolk. Jokes and secrets were traded across the table; questions lobbed Alek’s way about his lady and all of which he answered as truthfully and as neutrally as possible. However, he caught Ragnelle’s eye and heard her whisper to Erich as dessert was served that someone had finally caught Alek’s wild heart. He didn’t like being known so easily. He looked to his father to see if the old man had heard or if he had caught Alek’s reaction. Argynvost made no indication that he had.
At dusk, he and Argynvost set out for the orchard. The fragrant fruits sent Alek back to his childhood and they sat together under one of the larger, older trees. Soon, they’d be ripe for harvest. After that, snow would come in. The cold didn’t bother Alek - something about being a half-silver dragon - but it would mean death for the troops if they did not end the Tergic invasion. Winter would also be a difficult time for Strahd. He couldn’t brush the thought away, so he said, “What do you know of Lady Strahd, Ayah ?”
“I hear she is a talented warrior. Her reputation in such matters preceded her arrival to the Balinoks,” Argynvost said. He looked slyly at Alek and then added, “I hear she’s very intelligent and very beautiful.”
“She’s more than that,” Alek said. “She’s…”
He paused and narrowed his eyes. His father smiled that draconic smile once more.
“What do you know?”
“Only that you are unusually tight-lipped about her,” Argynvost said, “and that your eyes betray your silence.”
Alek swore in Draconic and rested his head against the trunk of the tree.
“It was supposed to be an easy job,” he groaned. “Six months as a guide and bodyguard during reconnaissance. It paid better than any mercenary job I’d taken before.”
“And now you bear a military rank and wear her colors. No little change from mercenary work,” Argynvost said. “My son, who never wanted to be a knight.”
“I’m not a knight,” Alek said. “I’m a general.”
“A semantic difference,” said Argynvost.
Alek huffed.
“You’ve fought at her side for at least fifteen years, if my scouts are to be believed,” Argynvost continued. “That loyalty…”
“You can’t desert your army if you hope to make a career,” Alek protested lamely.
“You never wanted a career. How long have you been in love with her?”
“It must stick out all over me. Rags said something like that about us to Erich.”
“Does the lady reciprocate your feelings?”
Alek laughed and banged the back of his head against the tree trunk lightly. This was what he had come to talk to Argynvost about, why he had volunteered to come in Rahadin’s stead. Strahd had stolen a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth and cautioned him to be careful, that there were rumors of dragons hidden among their number; he’d assured her that he had once led a life where a deal with dragons was easily struck. Still, at the moment when he departed, when Ilona and Rahadin stood with them so that Strahd would not be left alone, Alek had touched a reverent hand to Strahd’s not-yet-swollen belly and vowed that he would be back and that along the way, he would find a solution to their predicament. Now faced with the possible solution, Alek wanted to cry. He believed Strahd returned his feelings but-
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. He thought of the moment Strahd announced that their child would have to remain hidden in perpetuity. She would marry Kasimir Velikov at her mother’s behest and Alek would fade into the background, a member of the household, but never her husband. “She won’t have me.”
“You are a great commander and the son of a dragon lord,” Argynvost said. “Surely…”
“No,” Alek said, perhaps a little harshly. “ Ayah … Strahd is carrying my child and even then, she will not have me. She wants… We need the child hidden. There is a plot against my lady and I didn’t come here to beg, but if you will make me, I will do whatever it takes to ensure you protect my child. Ayah , please…”
“Blood of my blood,” Argynvost said softly, putting his hand to Alek’s cheek, “your child has a home at Argynvostholt so long as I draw breath. I will make one condition: visit us as often as is safe. It has been too long since you were home and your child deserves to know its father. Perhaps even one day, his or her mother.”
Alek drew a steadying breath. He could take leave to visit his child. Strahd, however, never would. As long as her legacy’s safety relied upon her marriage to Kasimir Velikov, she would have no other. Alek would, at best, be a kept lover and their child, a secret. Someday, perhaps, Strahd would meet them as a knight of the Order of the Silver Dragon, as an heir to Argynvostholt. Would she recognize her own features - or Alek’s - in them?
“A beautiful thought,” Alek said. “Impossible, but beautiful.”
“You do not accept my terms?”
“I accept them. I’ll visit as often as I can. But Strahd will not. Our child would jeopardize her union with the Dusk Elf prince. Which of the Elven royals did you write to? I think if I saw High Mage Kasimir, I’d break his nose.”
“High Mage Patrina is the stronger of the siblings,” Argynvost said. “And I have no wish to see Ravenovia. Do you wish to see her?”
Alek shook his head.
“Then it is settled. I will ask for one of the war councilors and for Patrina to join us. They will take a day to arrive. Will that suffice to make plans for my grandchild?”
Nodding, Alek looked up at the night sky. He’d never been good at telling the constellations apart. He’d have to ask Strahd, so he could pass on Dusk Elf stories to their child, who would undoubtedly have questions about their mother. He wondered what else he would have to tell them. He sighed.
“It will have to suffice,” he agreed. “There’s a war on.”
“Yes, though even if there wasn’t, I imagine you’d want more time to prepare anyway. You always feel underprepared when welcoming a child into the world.”
“You and Mama were prepared,” Alek said. “You were married and you had plans and you offered me the world.”
Argynvost laughed, a deep, rumbling sound.
“I’m glad we made you believe we were prepared,” he said. “You are my first and only hatchling in all my centuries of living. I did not think I would ever have a child.”
“I didn’t think I would either,” Alek confessed. Argynvost quirked an eyebrow. “I didn’t . The legends of my many lovers are exaggerations. Better the soldiers think I’ve bedded half the valley than to know what Strahd and I really meet about late into the evening.”
Argynvost said nothing, but Alek still didn’t feel believed. Maybe not all of it was an exaggeration, but he’d been lucky so far. Now, he wasn’t lucky. He was… Well, he wasn’t un lucky, either.
“How many months until the child is due to be born?”
“Seven,” Alek said. “I think. It could be six. Could be eight.”
Argynvost sighed and shook his smiling head. Alek feigned contriteness but could not mask his smile.
“It’s a wonder I have my own tent,” he confessed. “I make little enough use of it.”
Argynvost laughed again, this time, throwing his head back and clapping Alek on the shoulder. Joining in almost involuntarily, Alek laughed alongside his father and felt at home for the first time since arriving.
“Do you hope for a son or a daughter?” Argynvost asked. “I’m sure Strahd has opinions if she is anything like her mother.”
“I hope for a healthy child,” Alek said. “One I can teach to swing a sword and build a campfire. Does anything else matter?”
“Your lady might argue about inheritance laws.”
Alek’s joy died again.
“I’ve told you. She won’t have me, much less our child, and with an assassin…” He caught himself before finishing the thought.
“Assassin?”
“Strahd fears for her life. It is the lot of all rulers.”
“She would do better to have you than a hundred Dusk Elf princes if there is an assassin,” Argynvost said. “Loyalty is more precious than any gem. And you could protect her.”
“Even if she marries another, I will protect her,” Alek said. “It is my sacred duty.”
“I think you will find that your child will become your sacred duty when they are born,” Argynvost said. “More than even your beloved.”
“Perhaps,” Alek agreed. “You protected me instead of Mama that day. I didn’t forgive you for a long time.”
“Thirty years,” Argynvost rumbled. “It’s not as long a time as you think. I could have waited forever for your forgiveness. Even as it is, your forgiveness has come only because you now understand what I lost and what I saved that day.”
Alek huffed.
“I would have chosen her over me.”
“It’s different when it is your own child. I told you once that in holding you, I held my own immortality. Do you understand what I meant then now?”
“I repeated it to Strahd,” Alek said. “So I must.”
“You will. In six or seven or eight months’ time.”
Alek laughed despite himself. He did not know now that in seven months, he would approach Argynvostholt, the war freshly won, with swaddled twins and a well-paid wet nurse and the fierce knowledge that he would do anything to come back to those boys again and again. He did not know now and he would not know then that he would one day be called to choose between his beloved, his life, and his sons.
And he would not know for four hundred years whether he made the right choice. For now, he enjoyed the cool, night air and the first peace he had had with his father since he was a boy. Soon, the Dusk Elf entourage would arrive, a treaty would be struck, and a war would be waged for the future of the valley. Better to enjoy the present moment than to despair about the future. Better to thank the Morning Lord, who until today, Alek had doubted heard his miserable prayers, that he could rely on his father.
Better to pull out a flask of something warm and toss it to the old man and celebrate the coming of new life and a brighter future.
For the moment, the future really looked bright, brighter than the stars above. He could forget about assassins and war and his broken heart if he only thought of what it would mean to one day hold his immorality in his arms.