Rating: Gen. Fiction. I'd recommend it for readers about the same age level as the movie's viewers (if you're old enough to watch the flick, you should be okay to read this story) for references
to violence and in case any language slips in here :-)
DISCLAIMER: Dragonheart and Dragonheart:
A New Beginning and its characters are the property of Universal Studios and
their creators Patrick Read Johnson & Charles Edward Pogue, and Shari
Goodhartz. I'm only taking the characters out to play, I promise to return them
in good condition. ;-)
Spoilers: Well, there would almost have to be, wouldn’t there? :-) Big ‘yes’ to that.
Plot: P.O.V. fiction-after the events of DH:ANB, one character considers his role in the events and the future of an orphan stableboy and his dragon. Sorry about the title, but I can never think of titles for these things.
Author’s Note: I wrote this for three reasons: 1) I was in a very bad mood and trying to do something to cheer myself up. 2) I have a scorching case of writer’s block and I’m trying to break through it. So, I’m doing this in a one-shot deal-no betas, no going back and rewriting it eight, nine, ten or more times-to break my block. I hope you will enjoy this fiction, but I’ll warn you that it is going to be un-betaed because it’s more fun for me this way. So, if it sucks sawdust, I take the blame. 3) Nuts to the critics, I like the movie and I like the characters and actors in the movie one and all. I have great fun watching it, even if it isn’t exactly Masterpiece Theater. If you like the movie, too (and if you don’t, why are you here?), welcome. Another warning-I tried to figure out names and places in the movie, but there wasn’t much information to go on. So, if I mess up someone’s name, title, rank, etc, or location, please forgive me, it isn’t intentional. Consider it ‘creative liberty’, ‘non-cannon’, whatever, if it helps :-). And I’m not well-versed in the era, so please overlook that, too. This little bunny sprang forth basically because of two things. The first was I thought the supporting character spotlighted in this fic had some potential though he was underwritten in the film and I thought it would be fun to see what more could be done with him. And since I’m committed to a virtual season episode in another fandom, I must purge this bunny in order to concentrate on my other obligation.
Feedback: There is nothing more frustrating that working on a fic and having no one to enjoy it. Since none of my friends are particular fans of the films, I must release the fiction to the Internet and hope it finds a place. If you like the film and/or this fiction, then of course I’d love to hear from you. I have ideas for a sequel, but it really depends on how and if this story is well-received. If you plan to write poison-pen emails, I’ll warn you that I probably will not reply. This is supposed to be for fun and enjoyment after all and life is too short. It’s only fan fiction, it’s not the gospel truth. If you would like to do a follow up to this based on the situation I create in this fiction, please ask (I will most likely say yes, so don’t be afraid).
Okay, enough of me stalling. Here we go.
It is near to dawn, and the morning fog is still thick over the realm. The castle is quiet now, though I doubt that many within its walls or in the village, hidden somewhere beneath that blanket of fog, have slept this night. All that has transpired has, no doubt, set many a peasant and noble tongue to wagging. I’ve already seen the artists hard at work, using their particular talents to recreate the duel between the heroic dragon, Drake, the orphan stableboy, Geoff, and the evil dragon-in-disguise, Osric. Or, should I call him ‘Griffin’? I expect the carvings and portraits will fetch a price even higher than was collected for pictures of Drake alone---was it only yesterday? I’ve overheard still others composing songs and epic poems of the battle, which I’m sure will be retold through the generations every bit as often as Brother Gilbert’s tales of Bowen and Draco have been told.
And why not? The story has all the elements of legend: The miraculous reappearance of dragons in the form of Drake and Griffin, mysterious strangers from far off lands warning of prophecies foretelling of ancient evil seizing our land, terrible monsters who take human shape to deceive a good king and his knights, betrayal, peasant boys of low birth who befriend dragons, who befriend people from strange far-off lands, and become heroes---heroes who defeat the evil dragons, save the king while the knights sit like half-wits on their arses.
I suppose I would appreciate the tale more if I were a peasant and not one of the ‘half-wit’ knights in question.
The throne room itself is empty now, save for myself. This room will become the most famous spot in the realm, I am sure, for it is the site of that already-legendary battle between Drake, Griffin, and the peasant boy that Drake calls ‘brother’. The signs of the dragons’ duel remain. The walls are scorched black from flames spewed by the grappling dragons. The floor is littered with broken mortar, pieces of castle wall crumbled by the impact of winged bodies as the dragons sought to knock each other from the sky. There is a large crack on the floor, marking the spot where Osric-rather the man we thought was Lord Osric, really the dragon Griffin in disguise-met his end, frozen solid mid-air by a blast of ice from Drake and dashed to pieces after plummeting from the sky. Few pieces of ice remain. Most have been collected, and likely will be sold. We’ll have peasants bartering jars of ‘melted Griffin’ for ages to come.
The more grisly reminders of the price paid for Griffin’s defeat remain as well. Dark stains mar the brick near the dais. Human blood. “..and here marks the spot where Master Kwan, protector of the Empress Lian and source of much consternation, mistrust, and ridicule by the knights of the realm, sacrificed his life to save her and to defeat Osric/Griffin. As he died, Osric took the amulet containing the heart of the dragon Griffin and placed it within his own chest. And as he did so, Osric began to change. Here it happened that Lord Osric, trusted advisor to the good king, did reveal himself to be the dragon, Griffin, in disguise…” the poems and epics will read.
My own “master”, I suppose, would have been Sir Marett of Kessington (may he rest in peace. Sir Marett was murdered in the forests outside Kessington, and worse, his murderer’s identity was never discovered). We have lost many a good knight in battle, especially to the on-going battles against the Terragoths. I have grieved for many of them, for they were friends and brothers in arms against our enemy. No loss affected me so greatly as his, for he was the one who first tutored me in the Old Code and the skills that I needed to become a knight of the realm. I could see the same pain of loss that I felt over Sir Marett’s murder in the eyes of the Empress as she watched her own master’s passing.
The young empress will depart with her master’s body later this very morning, escorted by several of the king’s finest knights---a gesture both of gratitude and contrition for the insult done to our visitors from the East. I had thought to volunteer my own service in seeing the empress back to her home, but shame over my own part in their mistreatment kept the words from coming.
I have avoided a glance at the nearly identical crimson stain on the brick floor near one of the alcoves. Instead, my gaze remained fixed on the crack in the floor.
I had watched the battle from the alcove, had stood in front of the same door that is now pock-marked from the impact of icy debris. I remember the blasts of flames that made every scorch on the walls, every impact against the tower above, and I recall quite clearly the sound of Griffin’s frozen body as it shattered when it hit the ground, and the sight of knife-sharp splinters and chucks of ice flying in all directions. Instinct saved my life, for I do not remember seeing the jagged pieces of what had been Griffin that were hurled in my direction. I only remember ducking, the sounds of ice striking above me, and then glancing up to find that several large shards of ice had buried themselves in the wooden door.
It seems I stared at those pieces of ice for an eternity as I realized how close I’d come to perishing in a most horrible manner, impaled on those sharp, icy points. I thought of the tales I’ve heard from knights who had faced, and escaped, death in battle. Most of them say they thought of their families, of their pride that they would die defending God, king, and the Old Code, and of seeing their lives played out before them as though watching a performers entertaining a crowd. Some even spoke of fear, though few. I had no such noble, unselfish thoughts in the moment I realized I had almost died. I only remember being quite grateful to be alive.
I don’t know what drew my attention from my own musings back to the activity around me. Perhaps it was the soft cry from the empress, the sudden whispers that went through the crowd, or perhaps it was the alarm in the voice of Drake as the dragon called his friend’s name…
Abruptly, I turn my attention from that memory back to the present.
I have sat here by the warming fires in the deserted throne room for the better part of the night, watching the flames slowly burn down to coals until the first rays of dawn brightened the sky, most of that time alone with my own troubled thoughts. I have asked myself often this night how--- if ---the poets will recall a knight of the realm named Roland in their tales of the dragons, Drake and Griffin, and the orphaned stableboy, Geoff. When they pass a certain dock on the river, will they remark: “ On this spot, the knights did make sport of harassing the peasant boy. Here is where Geoff had his first occasion to use his sword, in competition with the knight Roland. And the boy did impress the knights with his skill so that some commented kindly on the lad’s ability. This did cause Roland much embarrassment, for he had underestimated the boy, and he responded with quick strikes that did send Geoff tumbling from the dock into the river. And the knight then ordered the noble stableboy to lower his gaze, for it was well-known that no peasant could ever become the equal of a knight of the realm …”
Sir Marett frequently chided me that I allow my temper get the better of my judgment. Perhaps, where the stableboy was concerned, he was right. I’ll confess that from that first day a fortnight ago when he watched our procession of knights pass the monastery, nearly everything about the behavior and manner of the impudent boy was an affront to all that in which I had been raised to believe.
I was born into the ordered and rather predictable life of the noble class and groomed since birth for the day when I would take my place among the knights of the realm. The order of that world was quite simple: Peasants served, the knights and the king’s guard protected the land, and our royalty, as ordained by God and the Old Code, ruled over knight and peasant. Those who were, like myself, born to the service of king and the Old Code used our might to uphold righteousness and defend those of lower birth. Such deeds defined us as men of honor, piety, and of course made for exploits to boast of to the ladies of the court, guaranteeing one their adoration.
By that same code, peasants served with humility and respect in exchange for this protection and our kind treatment of them. They should attend to matters such as producing crops, clothing, and caring for livestock. Peasants should never speak to their betters unless addressed by them first, should never wear the tunic of a noble and mingle among them as though born to their class, and should never be so bold as to meet the gaze of their betters. And they most certainly did not carry swords and fancy themselves the equal of the knights! These were the rules that kept order in the land, and I was never permitted (or inclined) to question the code that demanded such stratification.
I remember the banquet in this very room, mere days ago. “..and when the word spread throughout the land that an orphaned stableboy had found a dragon, there was much celebration. Lord Osric lost no time in bringing the boy into the king’s court, and there was a banquet in honor of Geoff and Drake. And when the knight Roland saw the boy there, it caused much darkness in his heart. For what had the boy done to merit a place among the nobles? He had not been born to the station and had performed no brave deeds that made him worthy to wear the same tunics as the knights. Worse, he brought with him strangers-people from far off lands who spoke of comets and prophecies, who did not share a belief in the Old Code, who did not share the ways and customs of this realm. And with much suspicion and much resentment in his heart, Roland waited for the day when Lord Osric would realize his mistake in welcoming the boy into the castle, for the day when Geoff would prove to them that, though he dressed like a knight and fancied himself as such, he was still no more than a lowly stableboy…”
I recall now that Sir Marett also told me that one should never follow the Old Code so doggedly that one becomes blinded by it, nor should a knight let appearances blind him to that which is truth and that which is deception or from that which is noble and that which is evil, for nobility often comes in quite ordinary guise while the greatest evils can assume the most noble form. The perils of too much arrogance, of overconfidence, young Roland, is that God eventually shall find a way of humbling you quite thoroughly, he would have said. The first duty of a knight is not to exalt himself for his deeds, it is to protect the king and the realm from dangers, dangers that may come in any disguise. Would he have been so easily deceived by Osric? I wonder. How would he have dealt with one peasant boy of low birth and grand ambitions?
No doubt, with better humor that I, for he had much more patience for young men of low birth who idealized the king’s guard and the knights of the realm. A knight of the realm should be the embodiment of all that is righteous and all that is honorable, and example of all that ordinary men should aspire to become. He said that often when the commoner children would mimic the king’s guard. Has it been so long since his passing that I should have forgotten so much that he’d taught me?
My eyes are finally drawn to the alcove and the dark stains on the floor and the bloodied piece of ice still lying where it had rolled almost out of sight in the corner when the young monk discarded it. The vile thing sends a shudder down my spine. I avert my gaze from it to the blood dried to the floor beneath my boots. “..and on this spot, the dragons struggled, the fate of the king, the realm, and all mankind dependent upon the outcome. And as those in the castle-royalty, knight, and peasant alike-stood by watching the duel above, the peasant stableboy took up a discarded sword and hurled it into the evil Griffin’s chest, his diversion affording the mighty Drake the chance to breathe ice onto Griffin. Griffin’s body did freeze and he tumbled to the earth, where his body shattered into ice sharp as knives…and one lone fragment of ice found the heart of the brave stableboy, Geoff. And, sorry to say that on this spot, the peasant hero who helped save the king and his realm and defeat Griffin, died.”
I was raised to believe in God, to serve in his name, to pray, and to study the Bible and its teachings as demanded by the king and the monks who tend his realm. However, I am not a man of any great faith, I’ll confess, and especially not of faith in things mystical or magical---or miraculous. That has made the events of the past fortnight-and this night in particular-all the more difficult to accept. Eight days ago, my world had order and structure and all people within my world had their proper place, myself included. Dragons were extinct, if they had ever existed, were nothing more than the stuff of bedtime stories told to small children and fanciful tales told by knights to impress their brothers in arms and their women. The time of believing in those beasts had passed with Bowen’s death. Eight days ago, I did not believe in miracles, did not believe peasants had a place among these castle walls as anything but servants, believed that our betters were to be followed without question, and I most assuredly did not believe in dragons.
Until a dragon went soaring across the sky above these castle walls.
Until a man professing to be a man of faith and of the Old Code transformed into a dragon before my very eyes.
Until knights of the realm, men who should have been of honor by virtue of their station and birthright, betrayed our king to that dragon-in-disguise while peasants-from our land and from lands far away-raised arms in defense of our realm.
Until I watched a dragon named Drake, a creature of myth, take half of his heart and give it to the stableboy he called his ‘brother’.
Until I saw that same half of Drake’s heart bring that very stableboy back from the dead.
And now, I am certain of nothing. Not who is friend, nor who is foe. Not of who is worthy of the honor of knighthood. Not of what is myth and what is miracle. All that I thought I understood and believed has changed irrevocably and, perhaps most humbling of all, I am forced to admit that history will recall me as little more than a braggart of poor humor and worse temper who received a well-deserved face-full of horse manure for his narrowness of mind and his gullibility in being deceived by the serpent in human guise, Griffin. I am not at all certain I care to be remembered that way.
“Sir Roland? Up with the dawn are we?”
The voice brings me to my feet immediately. I managed to turn towards the dais where the throne sits and bow all in one movement. “Highness, my apologies, I did not hear your approach.” I stare fixedly at the ground.
“We have servants to attend to the mess,” the king says. I look up at him only out of confusion over the remark. He is staring at something in my hands, and I realize I am still holding the bloodied piece of ice. With revulsion, I pitch the gruesome thing into the closest of the dwindling warming fires. Watching it melt does little to lighten the dark mood that has settled into my heart.
“You’ve not slept?” The king eases himself into his throne as he asks this. I remember mention-was it Kwan or the empress? I cannot recall now-of Osric, no Griffin, poisoning our king with herbs. The ordeal has taken its toll, I can see that when I look at the circles beneath the king’s eyes and the weariness that slumps his shoulders-not just owing to a lack of sleep this night. We had all easily dismissed the king’s odd behavior of late as the natural result of age. A few days more and Griffin would doubtlessly have murdered our king, assumed his throne, and none of us would have thought twice about it.
Sir Marett was right-one must never let appearances blind him to the truth or to a threat. I vow then and there not to be deceived so easily next time-if, indeed, there is a next time, for my future as a knight, in light of the past fortnight, will be decided by the king.
The king has asked me a question, I realize. “No, Highness.”
“I rather doubt that many have slept this night with all that has happened.”
I hide a smile, “I had wondered the same thing, Highness.”
“We’ll have stories to tell for quite some time to come after all that’s happened, that much is certain. I’m glad-it will keep people entertained. The people do love a good tale of adventure. Of course, it does leave me with quite the dilemma, would you not agree?”
“Sire?” I don’t understand his question.
“Osric left much turmoil in his wake. There’s much healing to be done if we’re to put his deceptions and betrayal behind us, and much more to be decided. There are those among us who aided Osric in his schemes to steal my throne. They shall be found and dealt with. It will be difficult to discern who is traitor among my guard and who was merely deceived, who remains loyal to their king and the Old Code and worthy of trust and title.”
I feel my face flame at the words and pray that the king does not notice. I should know better-before Osric dulled our good king’s wits with his poisons, his Highness was well known to be an astute and observant man. “Something troubles you, Roland?”
“I must confess, Highness, that I do not believe my actions of late have not befitted a knight of the Old Code.”
His only response is to say only, “Oh?” and await an explanation.
“I was one of those deceived by Lord Osric. I helped him to imprison the old---Master Kwan and the Empress. I believed they were a threat to this kingdom by virtue of their being strangers of customs and beliefs not our own. I know, now, that they their intentions were to protect the realm from Griffin. As for the peasant boy-I let my anger at the stableboy for whatever impudence that I perceived from him, for embarrassing me before other knights, to color my judgment and by behavior towards him and his friends and the dragon, Drake. And I allowed fear and shame to prevent me from taking actions in defense of our kingdom against Griffin. My inaction put this realm and my king in danger. I thought I was obeying the orders of my king and his advisor, but that does not excuse such transgressions.”
I await rebuke from the king, but he merely looks thoughtful, as though considering this confession. I am surprised to find the slightest hint of a smile on his lips. “Grievous errors indeed, young Roland. And you knew of Osric’s intention to assume my throne?”
I meet his eyes at that question. I want no doubt of the truth when I answer, “No, Highness.”
“But you helped Osric to trick the dragon, Drake, and the boy at the Terragoth border and to try to steal Drake’s heart?”
I begin to suspect that catching up on the events of the past few months and not the whisperings over the boy and the dragon is the reason for the king’s lack of sleep this night. “No, Sire. I was obeying orders to bring the str-the Empress and her master to the dungeons for the safety of the kingdom. I had no knowledge of Lord Osric’s intentions to steal the dragonheart.”
There is definitely a smile when the king replies, “But you admit lack of knowledge does not excuse poor judgment…or poor actions.”
“I do, Highness.” I wait for his response, wondering if he will settle for only stripping me of my title and my place among his knights or if I will be taking the place of the Empress, her Master, and the monk in the castle’s dungeon.
There is a long silence. I do not meet my king’s gaze. I lower my eyes, waiting.
“I cannot speak for your manners towards our visitors, but you take much responsibility for Osric’s transgressions upon yourself when many were fooled.” The words sound almost amused, not the harsh rebuke I had expected. “And what do you think should be done about you, then?”
I had not prepared myself for that question either. “That is best left to the wisdom of my king.”
“Do you believe yourself to be clear-headed now, Sir Roland?”
“Sire?”
“You admit that your erred in your estimation of Osric and of our visitors from the Orient. What is your opinion of the peasant boy and his dragon now?”
I hesitate. “I am sworn by the Old Code to speak only the truth…”
“Yes.”
“I do not believe that the dragon, Drake, poses a danger to the kingdom, Sire. That is the truth. As for the boy…” I consider my answer carefully. “There is no question that he has natural skills with the sword, nor is there doubt of his desire to serve in defense of our king and the Old Code. But I do not believe that some minor skills and association with the dragon makes one worthy of knighthood.”
The smile is gone. The king’s expression is quite serious now. “What about saving the life of your king?”
I have no answer, so I hold my tongue, waiting. The king rises, moving to stand out the window behind his throne at the first pale rays of dawn in the sky. He is silent for a time.
“I have a debt to the boy and his dragon and their friends for saving my life and my throne. But, their presence among us raises many questions. What’s to be done about them? They are heroes. Do I send them back to the monastery for a life of lurking beneath the dungeon, mucking stalls, and slopping pigs? Do I make the boy a knight and permit them to retain the position Osric gave them as protectors of the realm?” Now, the king looks back at me. “Are you familiar with the writings of Brother Gilbert?”
“As much as any knight of the Old Code, Sire.”
“Then you know the tales of the dragon, Draco, and the prince, Einon, and the dragon’s heart that they shared. The heart that made Einon all but invincible to harm and stronger than any human could ever be…and all this despite their being enemies in the end. Then there were Gilbert’s postulations about how much more could be shared if the dragon and the human who shared its heart were friends…even brothers.” The king seems to be thinking aloud, so I listen without interrupting. “Osric was right about one thing---there are those among our people of narrow mind and suspicious nature. Before Einon, there were already many in the lands who feared dragons. There were many more who blamed Draco’s heart for Einon’s corruption. You know what that fear lead to.”
I nod. “The extinction of the dragons.”
“Now we’ve been given a second chance, a miracle, in the arrival of Drake. Now we have another human who shares the heart of a dragon. What’s to be done with them? As our allies, they could be formidable defenders of our realm. But, there are those who will fear both of them for what they are and what they share. There are those who will seek to harm them-those who were afraid what happened with Einon could happen again with Geoff and Drake, and those who fear that the evil within Griffin may also lurk within the heart of Drake. Even the Empress Lian questions their safety if they were to return with her to her homeland, for fear of dragons is just as strong among her people, thanks to our friend Griffin. It would seem that if the boy and the beast leave the protection of this kingdom, they will be in peril, and if they remain, they will live under a veil of doubt, suspicion, and fear. Even living under the protection of the king will be no guarantee of safety-fear of things mystical often outweighs fear of reprisal from the crown. Saving us from Griffin is a good start towards earning trust, but it is, in the end, only a start.”
The king paused before continuing. “There are also enemies of our kingdom who will be divided between perceiving Drake and the boy as a threat to their lands, a threat to be destroyed, and their desire to capture both of them as weapons to be used against us. I confess that I have no desire to see Drake, by deception or other means, brought into service of the Terragoths. So, I ask again, do I leave the boy and the dragon to take their chances, or do I bring them into the ranks of my guard?”
I had been more concerned with the events that had preceded Osric’s betrayal and Griffin’s defeat. The thought of what would become of the peasant boy and his dragon now that the threat from Griffin was over had scarcely entered my mind. The thought of the Terragoth’s using Drake against us is a chilling one, indeed.
“The boy has skills and advantages, owing to his sharing the dragon’s heart, that we cannot begin to estimate, to be sure. Alas, skill is no substitute for careful training and experience. There would be many among my men who would feel as you do---who will question his worthiness.” The king sighed, finally turning away from the window. “I cannot allow an unskilled lad to serve among my knights and I cannot take the chance of their serving my enemies. A very great dilemma indeed…unless, perhaps, one of my knights were to tutor the boy in the skills of the sword, in the tactics of battle and the ways of the Old Code. Someone to be responsible for their safety and well-being…”
It is a few moments before I notice the king is watching me, expectantly, and the realization of what he’s suggesting-or is it what he is commanding?--- strikes me. I flounder a bit, startled, and fumble for words, “You cannot mean…me, sire?”
The king grins broadly and steps down from the dais to offer me an approving pat on the shoulder. “Ah, Sir Roland, I’m pleased that you’ve volunteered. I had rather hoped you might.”
“But…I…surely…there are others better suited…”
The king ignores me, “After all, undertaking such an important task would be a proper atonement for previous bad manners…and bad judgment. Would you not agree?”
My protests cease, obediently.
“As I have granted the boy and the dragon the protection of the crown within my land and a place among my guard, if they should prove ill-prepared to meet the challenge…or unworthy of the privilege…if they should meet harm from my own people, it would not reflect well upon me. Nor upon the one who teaches them. I trust that I won’t have to worry over such possibilities.”
“No, Highness,” I answer rather dumbly. “But-“ I hesitate.
“Ask,” the king says.
“Considering all that’s happened…what if the stableboy and his dragon no longer desire their station as protectors of the realm?”
The king’s expression darkens. “Then you must find a way to persuade them. I leave it in your capable hands. You will keep my apprised of the boy’s progress.”
I nod for lack of words to form a suitable reply.
With that, the king turns and leaves me standing like a dull-wit in the throne room. For the longest while, I linger there, first trying to deduce exactly how his Highness so craftily maneuvered me into my new task, then wondering if I might not have been better off taking my chances with those flying shards of frozen Griffin last evening. Somewhere in that part of Heaven reserved for fallen knights, I am sure that my teacher, Sir Marett, is having a grand laugh over this turn of events. The notion of refusing, of finding another knight of more experience and even temperament to take on the peasant boy and his dragon, is a tempting one, but I eventually dismiss it. My king has given me a second chance and a task of grand importance to accomplish. A task not to be failed.
But where to start? I wonder.
The first rays reach the throne room as the sun climbs above the horizon. It is morning, finally, the beginning of a new day. The thought makes me smile a bit. It is more than the beginning of another day, it is the start of another era in our realm---a time when a great evil has been driven from our land, the throne restored to its rightful ruler, and, as the poets might say, ‘all things become possible’. Perhaps they are right, for if dragons can rise from extinction, if beasts can take human form and walk among men, if creatures (no longer only of ‘myth’) can share their hearts with humans to hold death at bay, and if peasants and strangers from distant lands can prove themselves more valiant than the most exalted noble, and if one knight can gain a new perspective on all that he’s long accepted as truth, then perhaps all things really are possible. If so, then there may yet be time for the legend that is already the story of the dragon, Drake, to recall one knight named Roland as something more than a braggart of dubious wit and narrow mind.
For the first time since Drake and Griffin’s battle, my musings turn from dark thoughts of past deceptions and previous mistakes to the future and the task at hand. It will be a long and maddening challenge to make a knight of the peasant, I am certain. Still, I shall enjoy immensely tormenting my new pupil with all the infuriating tasks and lectures and lessons that my own teacher once heaped upon me-and sharing tales of my adventures with the dragon, which will surely impress the young ladies of the court. This turn of events might not be as intolerable as I first imagined.
I should depart for the monastery, where the stableboy and his dragon are recovering, immediately---I wish to be the first to speak to the boy about his training. It may well be worth the impending years of aggravation to see his expression when he learns who will be tutoring him in the wake of Osric’s passing. If it is anything less than utter dismay, I shall be sorely disappointed. Perhaps I should ask the artists to make a sketch of it. I smile in ever so slightly evil satisfaction at the thought.
Where to start, indeed!
I shall start by going back to the beginning. I shall start with, “Hello. I saw you defeat Griffin in the castle yesterday. You have natural skills with the sword. Would you like to try your luck with me as your new tutor?”
After that, we shall see what happens.
(NOT) THE END