I wanted so badly to do a fic for all of the wonderful prompts of @dragonprinceweek but didn’t quite get there. Still, I offer a quick story for Day 7: Flying Lesson!
Most of the time, Callum had trouble imagining Zym as a king. Sure, he had magic, and flight, and a regal sort of look to him, but his teeth were tiny and his wings were tiny and his magic, at the moment, consisted of little zaps that did nothing more than make your hair stand on end. However, there was one kingly quality in the baby dragon Callum could no longer deny: he was unquestionably and unendingly stubborn.
Every morning, tired of tossing and turning in the suite he now had all to himself, Callum had come up to the walls of the castle to watch the horizon— and every morning, no matter which corner of the castle he emerged from, the baby dragon had been waiting for him, cocking his head and flapping his wings with all the impassioned determination Callum could recall from his stepfather’s speeches. It was sort of admirable. Also: extremely irritating.
Every day, Callum had waved him off with the same words: maybe tomorrow. He opened his mouth to say them again as Zym grabbed the edge of his tunic, pulling him towards the edge of the wall, only to snap it shut again. If Zym hadn’t realized those words were a lie by now, he would today. There was no maybe tomorrow— tomorrow, Zym and Zubeia were returning to Xadia.
Callum heaved a sigh. “I’m sorry, buddy. I just… I don’t think I can anymore.”
Zym let go of his tunic and cocked his head, confused. Understandably so. Zym didn’t have wings that relied on willpower or incantations. Zym didn’t understand why Callum had stopped coming with him on the flights they used to take together whenever one or the other couldn’t sleep, whenever they needed an hour of freedom from the responsibilities of the High Mage and the dragon prince. As annoying as the pestering had been, it wasn’t Zym’s fault. He didn’t know any better.
Maybe Callum owed him an explanation.
“Look,” he said, sliding down the wall, his back against the hard stone. “I’m sure you’ve noticed you haven’t seen Rayla around.”
Zym sat back on his haunches and nodded.
“Well. The first time I managed to turn these—“ he pulled up his sleeves, gesturing to the now-permanent tattoos on his arm— “into wings, it was because of her. Because—“
Because I love you, Rayla, his own voice, a little younger, so much happier, echoed in his mind.
“Because I cared about her so much, I was willing to take the leap. I was willing to do anything to keep her safe, keep her with me. So all the fear I had, all the doubt, it was buried under that feeling. But now it’s back, and all I can think when I try the spell is about how I never would have been able to do it without her, how much I miss her, and I get swallowed by all that fear and doubt.” Callum shrugged. “It’s just the way it is.”
He didn’t know how much of that Zym understood, but it seemed to be enough, as he made a sad, low sound in his throat and rested his head on Callum’s lap. Callum leaned his own head back against the wall, closing his eyes.
“I don’t think that’s true.”
Callum startled, smacking his head on the stones as his eyes snapped open. “What’s not true?” He asked Ezran, trying to keep his voice even as he rubbed his scalp.
“That you learned the spell because of Rayla.” Ezran closed the tower door behind him and came to crouch beside Callum and Zym. “If it had been me dropping from the Storm Spire, or Soren, or Zym— not that he would, because he can fly, but if he couldn’t for some reason— you would have done the same thing. You didn’t learn to fly because you loved Rayla. You just learned to fly because you loved. Because your capacity for love is bigger than your capacity for fear.”
Callum blinked at his little brother. When had he started like talking like such a king? Had he always spoken this well and Callum had just never thought to notice it?
“Maybe,” he said. “But I’m starting to think that wasn’t such a good thing. It’s because I love Rayla so much that I can’t fly now. That it hurts so much every time I try.”
“I’m not trying to say it’s not painful,” Ezran began. “But… you love Zym too, right? Not in the same way, and maybe not as much, but—”
“Then fly for him,” Ezran said simply. “What you feel for Rayla, that’ll always be a part of you, I think. But you’re still a whole person without her. You’re still a mage, and a brother, and a friend. Losing Rayla has hurt you enough. Do you really want to lose this incredible part of your magic, too? Do you really want to lose this time with Zym?”
The answer was obviously no. Callum wanted to fly, for himself. For his brother. For Zym. He just wasn’t sure if he could see past the pain to find the will to do it.
So wasn’t it worth a try?
“Manus,” he said, standing up. “Pluma. Volantis.”
Ezran stood, too, folding his arms. “You weren’t even trying,” he said.
Callum took a deep breath. “Manus. Pluma! Volantis!”
“Come on, Callum.” Ezran framed Zym’s cheeks in his hands. “Look at this face.”
Zym made puppy dog eyes so wide and sparkling Callum laughed in spite of himself. He looked from Zym to Ezran, both of them looking at him with so much hope, both of them lighting up just to hear him laugh. They still saw a whole person. A mage, a brother, a friend. Brokenhearted, but still whole. Still powerful.
“Manus! Pluma! Volantis!”
Energy shot through Callum’s arms and hands as rich brown feathers spring from them, growing and spreading until they no longer covered arms and hands but enormous, powerful wings.
Zym let out a gleeful yip and leapt off the wall, flapping in the air as he waited for Callum to join him. Laughing delightedly, Ezran gently pushed him towards the edge. “Go on!”
Callum sucked in a deep breath and leapt after Zym, wind rushing through his feathers and hair as he cut easily through the air. It hurt, in his skull and his stomach and deep in his chest, to know the person who had taught him this magic was beyond his reach. It ached in every part of him to wonder if he would always fly without her.