Hi, I’m doing a Flash Fiction writing challenge on the Mythic Scribes site, so I thought I’d post my writing here on my blog as well.
The challenge is to write a story every day for 14 days using the prompt set for that day.
I hope you like it!
Dragon Prompt- Write a story in which a dragon is the hero or heroine, but isn’t perceived to be.
The Dragon Feels Betrayed by Jacqueline Miller
(A Zanderlands Tale.) 992 words
The dragon had attacked the castle walls relentlessly for several hours, blasting fire and flame through the windows. His thick scaly skin resisted the arrows from the bows of the archers on the castle’s turrets. A few men fell into the moat below, some to their deaths.
Then, just as suddenly, the vile green monster swooped across the treetops of a nearby forest and disappeared from view.
Most of the golden artefacts in the throne room had melted during the attacks. King Norbit was not amused and summoned his war council to sit around his Triangular Table and discuss their next move.
King Norbit banged his fists on the Triangular Table. It was a gold plated isosceles and he sat at the highest point.
“We need to make a decision. I say we go to war! Who is with me?”
Several of his companions said, “Aye!” but many did not.
King Norbit frowned. The meeting had lasted through the night and now patches of pale dawn sky could be seen through the windows of the Royal Chamber.
Ethelbert the Wise sat to the King’s right. His blue robe was charred, as was his beard. His usually bushy eyebrows had disappeared and his face bore several red burn marks.
The door to the chamber opened. A servant entered, bowed and announced,
“Your majesty, Doran Rustin is here to see you.”
There was a murmur of excited chatter amongst those seated at the table.
“We are too busy to be disturbed right now!” declared the King, waving for the servant to leave.
His companions exchanged worried glances.
Ethelbert the Wise coughed loudly.
“Ahem. May I have a word, your Majesty?”
He leant towards the monarch and whispered loudly in the royal ear.
“Sire, Doran Rustin is Sir Lanceypot’s squire. I advise you to speak with him as a matter of urgency.”
King Norbit stared blankly back.
“May I remind your Majesty, Squire Rustin accompanied Sir Lanceypot on his quest to kill the dragon and steal the golden cup.”
A sudden expression of recognition lit up the King’s chubby, oval face.
“Ah. Of course, the quest to find the Geranium cup.” Now he smiled happily and beckoned to the servant. “Ah, show him in, show him in, my good fellow. Quick, quick – no time to lose!”
Doran Rustin entered the room. He still wore his muddy cloak and the broken boots through which his toes protruded. He stood awkwardly before the company and removed his hat. His hair was long and matted with mud and dried blood.
The King’s countenance bore an expression of displeasure. Standards seemed to be slipping at the court. He would have to remind Ethelbert to write a bye law to enforce the strict dress code.
“Good morrow, Squire Doran Rustin. Welcome to the Court. What brings you here this fine morning? Please be brief as you are interrupting a War Council.” The King peered closely at the Squire. “Do you, perchance, have the Geranium cup upon your person?”
“Er…no,” the Squire mumbled softly.
“Speak up, speak up, my friend. We all grow hard of hearing. It has been a long debate. I take it you come to report the death of the dragon?”
The King’s companions looked bemused.
“Unfortunately, no your Majesty. The dragon lives and I do not have the cup.”
“You’d best relate your tale. Here, be seated.”
The Squire sank wearily into a chair next to the head of the table. He spoke for many minutes, telling all that he had earlier related to the Princess Fenella, but with the addition of many gory and upsetting details.
“And, so you see, our company were ambushed by a goblin force allied to the dragon and have been captured.”
“So you do not have the golden Geranium cup?”
Ethelbert interjected here, “May I ask a question, Sire?
“How did this squire escape?”
Doran placed a piece of parchment upon the table before the King.
“I bring a ransom note – that’s why they sent me. We have two weeks to send gold and the Princess, or they will all die!”
The King read the ransom note which was written in vile green goblin ink.
“The goblin king wishes to marry the princess!”
“No, Princess Charmane!”
The King laughed hysterically.
Everyone looked surprised. It was never mentioned openly in court that Princess Charmane was, to put it politely, rather lacking in the looks department.
Doran Rustin shook his head. “I’d best explain. King William of the Wilkielands has now allied his kingdom with the goblins of Verucka. King William gifted the goblin king the fine portrait of Princess Charmane.”
King Norbit’s laughter subsided. He shook his fists in rage.
“Roger Pigasso must take the blame for this!”
Everyone exchanged worried glances.
Meanwhile, the dragon had retreated back to his cave on the borders between Zanderlands and Wilkielands.
When he entered the cave, he realised that something was wrong. His normally huge pile of gold had been reduced to a couple of goblets and a small assortment of coins.
He sniffed around the perimeter of the cave and detected a strong whiff of Goblin. Too late he realised he had been betrayed. The goblins had been duplicitous. They’d sent him off to attack the castle so that they had an opportunity to rob him.
They had left him a few token trinkets, evidently thinking that he would not notice his huge stash of gold had been depleted.
The dragon roared in pain and disbelief.
Did they take him for a fool?
He had spent the best part of two centuries acquiring all that gold.
He was learning the hard way that dragons cannot trust anyone.
“Revenge!” he cried, spouting huge flames from his nostrils.
Written by: Jacqueline Miller
© Jacqueline Miller 2014: Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given, and with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.