A Cup of Solitude and Company Shall Rarely Meet

Sir Foggerstone heard the knock at the cottage door. Its rapid and repeated tenor suggested the matter was urgent. He heard his name called several times but instead of rising, he raised a delicately painted teacup to his mouth and, after inhaling the fragrant aroma that held a mixture of lavender and licorice, he took a sip of the warm liquid. He starred at his freshly baked cookies knowing they would all too quickly turn cold before he could enjoy them. Perhaps that was for the best as his baking attempts had been mediocre at best.  His plans for the day had been a pot of tea and a good book but the fates seemed determined to cancel his schedule.

The knocking grew louder as his name was shouted through the heavy wood from outside. With a heavy sigh, Sir Foggerstone slid his feet out of his warm fur slippers and into the more intimidating dragon skin boots of his profession. He strode heavily, the better to create a sense of imposing strength and intimidation to the urgent knocker on the other side. He stopped short of the door. He took another moment to adjust his face to one of intensity and power before he unclasped the metal lock and opened the door.

A short time later, he sat astride his dark thoroughbred Cornelia, with his jeweled sword at his side and his mace and shield strapped across his back. The story was the same as it always was. A charming village had suddenly been invaded…fire…a princess probably, maybe treasure as a reward… to be honest Sir Foggerstone had stopped listening. The details weren’t all that important. His job was simple, slay the dragon. Saving the princess or maiden or whomever had been taken was expected if it applied. Restore peace. He could pretty much do his job with his eyes closed at this point. And he was good at his job. One of the best if he was being honest. The problem was that his heart was just no longer in it.

Until recently dragon slaying was all he had ever wanted in life. Not to mention the fortune, adoration and the fame. But now, well, most days he just couldn’t find a reason to get up in the morning. The local witch had prescribed him tonics. The apothecary ground up something that really cleaned his insides but didn’t change his heart. His heart was the problem. And wasn’t that the most important part of being a knight, a noble heart?

If he was being even more honest with himself, the change had really happened on his trip across the archipelago. A family of dragons had taken over a series of islands of the Agenlhorts and many of their local dragon hunters had fallen to the beasts. The job had been one of his more difficult but after many weeks, the fire breathing lizards had been bested but not without causing him some injury. His convalescence had been spent on a pleasant island tea plantation under the care of a beautiful kindly maiden named, oh dear, what was the maiden’s name. Sir Foggerstone had always been bad with names. Going from town to town one met a lot of people and over time they all began to blur together. In the last year he’d maybe spent in total a month of time in his cottage home. Otherwise, it was always the road. And besides it wasn’t the maiden that had held his attention, it had been the tea. The glorious fields of tea bushes and herbs. The storage room filled with rows and rows of drying leaves. The simplicity and order to it all. The aromas and the skill of mixing a bit of this and that into some new delicate brew. The artistry. The quiet. His heart had soared. And now, he could think of nothing but the idea of opening a tiny tea shop and retiring.

“Sir Foggerstone?” interrupted a voice, “Sir, we’re here.” It was the young lad who had been tasked with escorting him to the dragon’s lair. The boy had a mewling nervous quality to him that the knight found irritating. He wondered if the boy had been given the task on the chance that he might be eaten.

“Ah, yes here we are,” said the knight idly with the lack of urgency in his voice as one might have while gazing quietly out at the sea. He gazed up at the smoking mountain that held the mouth of the cave in which his quarry resided. He took in the evening light and the shadows on the stone and brush that covered its hillside and found it beautiful. Perhaps even breathtaking.

The lad coughed and squirmed, unsure if he should interrupt, “Um, sir. The sun is going down and well, that’s usually when the dragon attacks the village so…” the lad trailed off as the knight’s gaze found him. The lad cast his eyes to the ground.

Reluctantly, the knight stretched, cracking a few vertebrae that had settled on the long ride and with a thrust of his chest turned to the cave, “Yes, yes, let’s get on with it. You stay here and watch Cordelia.”

The lad’s eyes grew wide with fear not knowing to whom the knight referred. The knight clarified, “The horse. She likes apples. There are a few fresh ones in my saddle bag.” Sir Foggerstone gestured towards his horse. “Now let’s get on with it.” As the knight marched purposefully towards the cave, the lad scurried to the horse.

Sir Foggerstone could immediately sense something was different. The usual smell of damp lichen, sulfur and stale air that was typical of a dragon’s lair had been replaced with something new, perhaps even fragrant. Was that almond and lemon? It was mixed with a spice he could quite place. It smelled like…it couldn’t be… but there was no mistake, it smelled like baking. He paused, puzzled, and preceded more cautiously than his usual manner of rushing forth brandishing his sword. The element of surprise was one of the most important parts of slaying a dragon. Capturing them as they slept was also helpful if one was in a rush. Curiosity sparked, the knight found himself suddenly engaged and present for the first time in ages. This dragon smelled…interesting.

The knight tiptoed to the mouth of the den and stopped abruptly. Standing upright in front of him, with an expression just as surprised as his own, was a dragon holding a baking tray. The dragon starred at the knight dumbfounded, and the knight, intrigued, starred back. The knight couldn’t help himself and found his attention drawn to the cookie tray and said out loud before thinking, “Are those shortbread?”

The dragon, who had been frozen, mostly embarrassed to be caught not in his fiercest state almost dropped the cookie tray in surprise and then answered politely, “Why yes, in fact they are. It’s a new recipe I’ve been trying.”

“I can’t get shortbread right,” sighed the knight, his task of brutal violence completely forgotten at the sight of such perfectly shaped and delicious smelling treats.

“Would you like to try one? I was just about to make some tea,” offered the dragon. The dragon’s mother had believed firmly in manners. And while the knight was most assuredly here for a fight, a quick cookie couldn’t hurt. And a guest was a guest after all.

The dragon looked down at the knights’ boots and weapons, “Would you be kind enough to take off your boots, I have a no shoes inside the cave policy.”

“Of course, of course,” mumbled the knight, realizing the dragon hide boots might also be rather offensive and hid them away in a dark corner. He decided it would only be good manners to lay down his weapons as well. He had survived many a battle without them and they were near the cave door if he ultimately needed them.

The knight pattered over to the table clad now in just his socks. Over the bubbling hot spring there sat a tea pot and some chipped mugs. The dragon called over to the knight, “Would you mind pouring the tea?”

“Of course,” responded the knight, allowing the comfort of etiquette to smooth over the strangeness of the situation. He looked down at the sad tea leaves in a jar and gave them a sniff. They smelled old and ordinary. It was too bad he couldn’t use some of his tea blend to go with those amazing shortbread cookies. Then the knight realized he had brought some of his tea with the intent of enjoying a cup after his dragon slaying. He would go get it. “Dragon, I’ll be right back.”

The knight came out of the cave at a jog, missing his boots and with a smile on his face. He ran towards his horse, rummaged in his saddle, and ran back into the cave seconds later with a tiny woven sack while calling back to the shocked young lad, “Going well, back soon.”

The hours passed and the sky grew dark. The lad remained outside the cave and tentatively made a fire while taking care to rest the knight’s horse. He couldn’t be sure what was going on but as the quiet of night set in, he was almost sure he heard laughter. Was that singing? Sir Foggerstone was a professional so who was the lad to question his methods. Perhaps, the knight was enjoying his victory? It was all very confusing. The lad had spent much of that morning worried he might be eaten by the dragon. And now he mostly just wanted to go home.

As dawn broke, the knight emerged, still clad only in socks and announced with pride, “Well my lad. You will be happy to know that your dragon has agreed to depart.”

The lad rose stiffly from the rock against which he had spent the night in mild terror and sighed with relief, “Oh good sir, you’ve slayed the beast.”

The knight scoffed, “No, no. The dragon is leaving with me. We’ve decided to start a business together. A little tea house on the coast. Nothing grand but I think we’ll both be quite happy. Also, if you could pass it along that I’ve retired.”

As the lad tried to make sense of the knight’s words, the dragon exited the cave with two rucksacks strapped to its back. The dragon nodded amicably towards the lad and offered, “Good morning.”

Dumbstruck and terrified the lad quivered and mumbled something that could vaguely be interpreted as a greeting back.

The knight handed the lad his weapons, “I won’t be needing these, feel free to sell them.” Then the knight deftly mounted his horse and patted her neck. He reached into his bag and pulled out a coin tossing it to the thoroughly confused lad, “Thank you for taking care of Cordelia.” He turned to the dragon, “Shall we?”

The dragon’s wings spread wide behind him, kicking up a small cloud of dusk, and he paused turning to the boy, “My apologies for the village, I was out of supplies for my baking. I hope everyone will understand,” and then the dragon rose into the sky.

Turning the horse, the knight gave Cordelia’s rump a good pat and cantered off in the direction of the coast with the dragon following slowly overhead.

The lad wasn’t sure how to explain the events he’d just witnessed. The townspeople thought him simple, and he had been accused more than once of having a wild imagination. At the thought of the town, he realized he hadn’t paid the knight his gold. The dragon was gone after all. The lad looked at the sword and shield he’d been given and made a choice then and there to sell them use the money to create a new life. He’d be laughed out of town so might as well just go. And perhaps, if he were to stumble upon the knight and dragon’s tea house one day, he’d be sure to stop in.