Night 6 - The Dragon and The Princess

The fantasy short story continues as Nivä returns to the tower that has been his prison for all the long years, a prison of his own making, his journey now over.

...this is my gift to you who have loyally followed this blog for these ten years...

                                                                                                                                RT

     As I look up the timbers that are the ceiling to my prison slide against each other as they lock in place. I sigh as I lower my eyes; once again I am a prisoner of my own making. As I settle in and wrap my wings about my form I struggle to find a comfortable place. One would think that after all these years my body would be used to this turret, but such is not the case. It is uncomfortable to say the least.

     What I have seen in the West Country I have made known to the king. I could see the glint in his eye with each word. He was almost giddy with excitement. The wicked smile that spread across his face was that of victor. I could do nothing save watch his antics as he stood and danced a small dance across the dais before returning to his throne. He looked up at me as his hand fell to the dirty hair of his new captive, his treasure, his new princess. I could feel a tear welling up in my eye as she had not the strength to pull away. Before my exit to the hall my eye fell again to my prize; one last look upon that which holds me prisoner. My gleaming egg is not so bright any longer having been hidden and caged in the corner of Whitehall. How I long to again possess it, to feel the magics that dwell within, to caress the bronze surface as only a dragon could. It is its touch, its magic that calls to me. Its bottom where it is cradled against the floor is dark from all the years of stagnation. It is my last look until I am summoned again.

     Now we have both returned to our chambers, but to what end? In the past I was used to help change the course of battle but now that Jeshion is no longer what is to become of me? Surely I am no use to him unless he has an aim to continue to war but in a different direction. Perhaps I am to be simply one more prize added to his collection. I feel my heart sink at the thought. How long will I remain a prisoner? As long as he has hold of my prize; I am powerless.

     “Nivä?”

     I am startled at the sound of my name. Her voice, as sweet as new-fallen spring rain slips up the ancient stone as easily as a stream runs over river pebbles.

     “Is that your name? Are you a dragon?”

     “I am my child and yes, that is my name.” I close my eyes to embrace her voice.

     “Do you breathe fire like the books say that I have at home?”

     “I do, when it is needed my child.”

     “Why do you call me my child? I am not your child.”

     “I am sorry,” I reply with a wisp of a smile. “It is often something the very old call the very young. I will call you Lily if you prefer.”

     “I’m cold again Nivä. I have no blanket.”

     “I will warm you then Lily.”

     “How will you do that?”

     “Trust me Lily.” As I did only a night past I inhale slowly and let the soul of what I am fill the airs of the musty tower. The heat without the flame of my life fall against the walls travelling downward as each brick touches another. Soon the tower is permeated with a warmth unlike any other on this earth; a dragon’s warmth. “Do you feel the warmth of the bricks Lily?”

     “I do. I feel better now. I am tired.”

     “Then you should sleep my child.” I hear the weariness in her voice.

     “I do not want to sleep here any more. I want to go home to my grandfather.”

     “That may not be possible.” Perhaps she does not understand what has happened though she heard my words. I must remind myself she is but a child. “Someday perhaps you may go home. Did the king ask you questions?”

     “He wanted to know who I was. I had to tell him my name. I didn’t want to.”

     “I see,” I reply. “And who is your grandfather?”

     “He lives in Jeshion Hall. It is his home.”

     “Your grandfather is the king of Jeshion Hall?” I am taken aback as I ask.

     “I, I think so. He sits on a big chair in the hall. It’s a lovely chair, soft and warm.”

     “Did he ask anything else of you?”

     “No. I’m hungry.”

     “Sleep now my child. The warmth of the stone will hold you tight.”

     “I will. Nivä, can we go for a ride some day?”

     “A ride?”

     “Can I ride you like in my picture books?”

     “Perhaps some day, my child. We shall see.”

     As I hear her I reach out to her thoughts but they begin to fall away to the world of the night. It has been a long day for her. I as well feel the weariness begin to take hold over me. Long has it been since I travelled the skies. I am not used to the exertion. Once such a journey would be nothing more than a stroll along the shore. Now, tis an ordeal and I feel the heaviness of my muscles.

     I begin to chuckle at the thought of a rider. A dragon rider! Such has not been seen in a millennia. Once a selected few were chosen to ride with us among the clouds, but they could not bring themselves to understand they were never the master. It was a union that was doomed to fail. Now, it is time for sleep.

     I am restless as sleep has eluded me. What few hours I have I wrestled with, in and out. Something is missing. I feel an emptiness like a part of myself has vanished. I have been trapped within this chamber too long. Are my senses dulling that I am no longer aware of the outside world? Has my usefulness to even my captor become nothing more than folly? I pull my wings about me tight and close my eyes again.

     Perhaps another hour before the dawn. Perhaps. My thoughts drift to the lower chamber as I contemplate the state of my Lily. My Lily. Curious that in such a short time my attachment grows with each passing day. I would never have thought it possible, to befriend someone of her breed, someone who my kind has been at war with in one fashion or another for untold generations. What is to become of her, of me? Are we to dwell in Whitehall in enslavement as our lives run their course? Surely she will be of use to him when she is older, a handmaiden to remind him of his victory, or a prize to be dangled towards others of his ilk to sweeten his riches.

     My heart aches for her as she sleeps beneath my prison. Now it would seem there are two prizes that hold me here. Neither one would I now be able to forsake. Must I see my imprisonment through for her sake? Am I to be her unseen guardian as she travels what road is before her? How is that possible since I am not able to protect myself? I am a prisoner of my own making.

     I close my eyes as tightly as I may struggling with these emotions that now want to overwhelm me. I must ask myself, have I given up? Is this all that is left of me? For the first time I am forced to look at my own mortality. Is a life of sadness all I have left to live? I lean against the ancient walls and hope the last vestiges of night do not elude me. Is this now my tomb?