Dragon Short Story

 I took an old sketch I posted on here in January and revised it. Here's the completed (ish) short-story.

"Are you sure you want to go in there, Syretia?"  

I gave Aramis a short nod and squared my shoulders. His brown hair fell into his eyes. I'd need to trim that later, if I came back. No. Not if. When. When I came back, I would trim Aramis's hair. And maybe make him shave. He could use another shave before it got too cold and he was inflexible.  

"Syr. Let me rephrase this. There's a dragon in there. The last five people that have gone in were kidnapped and no one has seen them since. I'm not sure what a tiny adventurer can do at this point," his voice was concerned. "Especially one who's main role is a storyteller. 

"Oh right," I checked my satchel to make sure my writing materials were safely stowed. I nodded with a satisfied smile and mentally ran through all of the extra knives I had hidden on my person as well. I set my hand on the pommel of my sword and looked up into his eyes. "Look. I'm going in, we'll have a conversation, I'll come out. No one will have to get hurt." 

"You think a dragon is going to take one look at you and go 'Ah yes, I'll definitely be talking to the short warrior instead of eating her!'" Aramis crossed his arms and moved half a step over so that he was between me and the gaping hole in the mountain. "I thought you were smarter than this, Syretia." 

"It needs to be done, Aramis," I said, hefting my shield onto my arm and picking up a lit lantern with the other. "As I have mentioned ever time we've had this conversation, if you want to come with, you are welcome." 

"No, someone has to be able to come get you if you don't come out," Aramis shook his head with a sigh. "Or go home to tell your family what happened." 

"I thought you weren't going to be the one to tell my brother what I've been up to?" I asked him with a cheeky grin. 

"I never said that," Aramis shook his head. "Be safe, Syretia." 

"Always," I nodded and smiled at him. "I'm off." 

"Right," he stepped out of the way reluctantly and watched me as I walked away.  

I set my face toward the hole in the mountain resolutely and began the trek up to it. The forest all around it had been cut back and dying wildflowers filled the area. The weather was turning colder and they were struggling. I ignored the bad omen that implied, and kept walking. The last thing I noticed before stepping into the cave was that the world was quiet. None of the birds were singing.  

I shivered and lifted my lantern as I walked on. I blinked in confusion as my eyes adjusted to looking at things in a limited scope of light. The cave was immaculate. There was no evidence of spiders. No dripping pools of water or half-formed stalactites. No bones or dead bodies, which I had been warned about in the village below. The creative juices in my brain started to whirl even as I grew more alert. The cave was oddly clean, an illusion of the monstrosity it hid... 

The tunnel split and I paused, taking a small piece of chalk out of one of the pockets of my satchel. I bent on the floor and made a small arrow on the floor pointing down the right passage. Then I continued on in that direction. The ceiling began to slope down toward the floor at a rapid rate, and I was suddenly thankful I was so small. If Aramis had been with me, he would be complaining about hitting his head on the ceiling. The walls closed in as well, and I moved slower, taking my time to squeeze through small crevices and cracks. I left my shield behind at another junction, when it became clear that the tunnels were too small for me to get through. I vaguely wondered if I was going the wrong way, but pushed the thought away. I had time to find something still, and rumor had it you should always go right when looking for a dragon's cave. 

I paused as the cave tunnel opened up into a cavern in front of me. I blinked in surprise at the bright warm glow of the space. It was oddly full of people. Not that there were many, only about six. But that was still six more than I had been expecting, and after what had felt like far too long wandering through an empty cave, it seemed like a crowd. The floor of the cavern was tiled with a beautiful mosaic, and odd tapestries hung from some of the walls. What looked like a chandelier hung from the ceiling. The monster's lair was mesmerizing and opulent, reminiscent of a grand castle.  

One woman was at an easel in one corner, studying a painting as if wondering how on earth she could fix it. I knew the look. I'd studied my writing that way on many an occaision. A young lad sat at a spinning will, spinning hay into gold. I blinked in surprise. No, that couldn't be right. Only one man could spin straw into gold, and he was my friend. But there it was. A girl in a red dress was hummnig to herself as she danced across the floor, light on her feet. Her partner was a strong older gentleman, easily lifting her up over his head. One other man was in what could only be a kitchen, and that is a loose word for it, making some kind of food. Artisans worked in every space, perfecting their work. The beauty filling the room could have only come from them. 

What truly caught my attention, however, was the young man visiting each person, adjusting a posture here, pointing out the problem there. He tasted whatever was being cooked, laughing with its maker. He praised the boy at the wheel, mentioning something about golden cloaks being the most durable against the elements. I watched from the doorway in confusion, hovering in the doorway, suddenly quite unsure of myself. I longed to be inside the room, longed to be a part of the magic of that world. And yet...and yet there was a nagging worry I didn't quite belong. Some tiny part in the back of my mind whispered that it was an enchantment, that I was not creative enough, not bold enough to belong with the group in the room.  

The young man spotted me standing there, with my sword strapped to one half of my belt, and my writing accoutrements to the other. He smiled and crossed the room to me, not disturbing anyone else.  

"Are you lost?" his voice held the roar of a fire. 

"N-no," I shook my head and steeled my spine. "Or at least, I don't think so. I came to see the dragon." 

"Ah," he nodded, glancing at my sword again. His gaze traveled from the top of my head to the soles of my feet, taking in every inch of me. I got the sense he knew exactly where all of my hidden weapons were. "Well. Can I interest you in a mug of hot cider?" 

I warily nodded, following him to an empty table. I watched him as he waited on me, holding my chair like a gentleman. His movements bespoke of practiced grace. I was puzzled, and absently pulled out my journal, scribbling it all out, getting my thoughts onto paper. I am surrounded by geniuses and artists and magicians, with one man able to help them all. One man orchestrating it all, pushing them in their fields so they grow, and yet their friend. One mesmerizing being to help them succeed.  

"So which is mightier then? The pen or the sword?" the young man set down a mug in front of me. His tone had changed and sounded like pebbles running over each other. "As I can see you use both." 

"The pen will always be my first choice," I said slowly. "But in some cases, the sword is my only recourse." 

"Wise woman," he nodded, taking a sip of cider. "So. The dragon." 

"Yes," I nodded, eyeing my mug warily. It wasn't completely unheard of for cider to bear enchantment.  

"Your cider is untouched," 

I took a tiny sip, silencing the voice of Aramis screaming at me in my head. It was delicious, but it burned on its way down my throat. I didn't know what to think of that. 

"Why do you wish to see the dragon?" 

"The dragon, it is said, has the ability to amplify the gifts and abilities of anyone who bears one of his scales," I said slowly. 

"And you wish for a scale? You wish to challenge the beast, and slay it for its magic?" Fire rose in the young man's eyes. Fury hid there, but I could see resignation and a tiredness in his posture that hadn't been there before. 

"No," I shook my head. "Well. I would love a scale if he were to give me one, but I wouldn't slay him for it." 

His eyebrows raised and I saw tiny scales poking out from under the hair covering his forehead. I bit back a smile.  

"The sword?" 

"Insurance," I shook my head. "Sometimes I have no other choice. It is not wise for a woman to go around unarmed." 

"The world is still unforgiving then," the young man sighed, his voice changing to the quiet crackling of a campfire. "Then what do you wish from the dragon?" 

"I wanted to know why none of the five had returned," I waved my hand around me. "Although I see why, now. And I wanted his story. I wanted to know why he came here, and if the rumors were true. I wanted to ask for his wisdom, and I wanted to write it all down so it wouldn't be lost."  

"You, miss, are very curious," the young man told me. His tone was almost conversational, and I could tell that while I interested him, he wouldn't be talking to me. I played my trump card. 

"And you, sir, are very tired," I said gently. "Or perhaps I should call you Lord Dragon?" 

The fire in his eyes burned red and a puff of smoke squeezed between his lips. he seemed unaware. "How did you know?" his voice became the sound of a forest fire, raging, cracking, and snapping. 

"Your eyes betray everything," I took another sip of my cider, growing bolder. "You have skills with everything in this room, and everyone in here blossoms under your tutelage. And, well. You have scales hiding just under the hair on your forehead." 

"Well spotted," the dragon nodded, for so he was. "Shall you prepare yourself for the story, then? For it is a long one." 

I smiled and pulled out the fresh notebook I had prepared for this occasion. Oh, how I would enjoy making Aramis eat his words later. My plan had worked, without the slightest hint of danger at all.