Tales of a Dragon

He sits in his usual place in the tavern, downing his usual amount of ale. The empty tankards collect on his table as the people collect around him. His face is covered in ancient scars. He can tell the most marvellous stories. Whether they are true or not, no one can tell. He laughs. If it is free of misery or full of regret, no one can tell. 

You know, I used to be much younger. Good looking too. What, will no wench give me a kiss now? ’Tis alright. The glass tells me the same thing ye see. But it did not always show such a face, such limbs. I used to be the epitome of strength. Ye laugh. Well, listen to a story, will you? Of course ye will. But ye will not believe me.

Imagine for a moment, if you will, the king’s court. King Gustav the Third. He sat on his lonely throne, haggard and old. The musicians and jesters and dancers did not come any more. They had given up. When his daughter burned, so did his smiles. She had taken his laughter with him into the land where none can follow. 

There was talk of a dragon afoot. That was why I had been summoned. We were to kill it. Other groups had gone and failed. It seems this dragon was like any had ever faced before. But every dragon must have a chink in its armour, and if enough archers were sent at once, one was sure to find it. 

It was a long march. We trode between fields, through thick forests, over green plains that extended to the horizon. We travelled a complete fortnight. I, being an impulsive youngster, asked why it was a threat, so far outside our borders. Of course, as a youngster, my question was ridiculous. No dragon stayed in one place for very long. Once it had burned everything within sight, it would travel to decimate greener regions. We were going to meet it before it could kill our people. 

When we reached the area it had been spotted in, there was nothing to greet us but barren earth. Occasionally the charred stump of a tree was visible. I made the mistake of touching one once. It crumbled to ash underneath my fingers, letting out a cloud of black dust that coated me for days. 

The only advantage we had over the dragon was our numbers, and those could be extinguished if we stood in a group, so the whole fortnight I was within sight of my companions, but not a whit closer. None can blame me when I began to speak to the lone birds that flew overhead, the lizards that scurried under blackened rocks, and occasionally the rocks themselves. So when the dragon came, I spoke to it. 

But I am getting ahead of myself. 

We were approaching a green forest. In a day we would have to turn and walk along it, looking for some break where the trees were still hot and smoking. Then I seen the smoke. I nocked an arrow to my string, but did not draw. I could not see the dragon. Then the fire came.

It exploded around Melvin. His bow was empty, his hand drawing an arrow from his quiver, but he never got the opportunity to nock it. Even from where I was standing, I seen the flames consume him. The burnt shaft of an arrow fell beside his corpse. But I also seen the dragon. It swooped low, its scales glistening gold in the light of the flames. At first I thought it was coming at me, but it passed overhead and disappeared over the forest. I chased it. 

Now, don’t look at me so incredulously. As I said, I was young and impetuous. And good-looking. So I chased the dragon. 

I ran as fast as I could underneath its shadow. The shadow grew larger, and for a moment I did not understand. Then the ground gave way beneath my feet, and I tumbled down a ravine. It landed just in front of me.

It was facing away from me, so I slung my bow from my back, but my arrow clacked against the quiver. The dragon spun around, its tail lashing my feet. I flung out my hands in landing and lost my weapons. The dragon reared, the firelight flooding in its belly and rushing up its neck. I instinctively shielded my arms with my face. 

The fire did not melt the flesh off my bones. In fact, it did not singe one hair on my head. It did not come. I brought my hands down, realizing how little they would help me. The dragon’s fire had bated, though it still glowed a warm bronze colour. It stared at me, blinking once, twice. It looked at my bow, which I made no move to touch. Fear had frozen my limbs. The dragon watched me. 

I opened my mouth, and the dragon tensed. 

“I’m sorry.”

After having spoken to the creatures around me for weeks on end, the words came smoothly, as did the realization. 

“You won’t burn me unless I shoot at you. Like Melvin did.”

The glow faded from the dragon’s scales. A hiss sounded, and a shot of steam went up from one glossy eye. 

“Melvin,” it said. 

Aye, the dragon spoke. Now, just ye wait. Ye might as well hear the tale to the end! Where was I? Ah, yes.

The dragon spoke in clear tones. Its sweet voice was laden with sorrow. I spoke back to it. 

“Aye, that was his name.” 

The dragon’s scales faded further, reflecting the dusk. “I am sorry I burned him.”

“Then why did you?” 

“He shot at me.”

“He thought you were a threat.”

“Because I am a dragon.” 

“Aye.” I crossed my legs then, positioning myself more comfortably. If this dragon was going to kill me, it would do so whether or not I had a weapon. But if it did not, I told myself I would get a good story out of it. And here I am!

The dragon lay down in front of me. “What is your name?”

“Willem. What is yours?”

“Do you not know, Willem?”

I felt that I had heard that voice before, but my thoughts were distracted by a flicker of light rising up the dragon’s thought. She— for it was a she— let out a gentle breath and set just one tree, a few away from me, ablaze. The warmth was calming after so many nights sleeping out in the open. I turned towards it. The dragon did too, resting her great head on her clawed forefeet. 

She had chosen the tree well. None of its neighbours caught. We watched as the flames licked along the branches, dropping them to the ground. Eventually only the stump was left, a pile of coals, glowing first orange and red, then grey, and finally white, drifting with the breeze. Then it came to me. I knew why her voice was so familiar. I had watched her, many times, lying in front of a dying fireplace, watching the flames the way she was now. 

I jumped to my feet and bowed. “My Princess!”

She turned to me, and if ever a dragon has attempted a smile, she did. Only it was a sad smile. “What is my name, Willem?”

I was confused, but I answered. “Joanne.” 

She arched her back, fire shooting through her body and out of her mouth, then fell to the ground. I heard her scream as she writhed. I called her name again, and she turned to face me, but the flames she belched out caught my body. 

I ran for the pool I had passed before and dove in. The water was bliss itself, but I could not remain. I climbed out. 

A cloud of ashes floated toward me. I stood still as it approached. They took on the form of a lovely young woman with a delicate crown on her hair. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

Then she kissed my cheek just as a gust of wind came along and scattered her ashes. 

When the other men found me, I was in the same place. They asked if I had seen the dragon, but I could not speak for days. The search was given up, and I resigned my place among the king’s archers. Why, you ask? The answer is this.

Once your heart has been burned, nothing can ever heal it again. 

He sits in his usual place in the tavern, downing his usual amount of ale. The empty tankards collect on his table as the people collect around him. His face is covered in ancient burns. He can tell the most marvellous stories. Whether they are true or not, no one can tell.