Beardagon

In the emerald green woods of Iridine, where the ageless oaks grow, is a small, dark cavern with a gaping hole that points towards the sky. Travellers are warned to avoid this place at all costs, lest they discover the source of the smashing and screeching that can be heard even many miles away.

Beardagon roars, his enormous lungs blow a gale of wind and fire from his serpentine jaw. His nostrils flare as he sucks in another massive breath, strong enough to rattle shields and fling goblets across the cavern. One such goblet soars through the air and lodges itself in Beardagon’s left nostril, causing him to hack and cough before shooting it back out like a golden loogie.

Still groggy from sleep, he opens a bleary eye and winces at the light coming through the overhead opening. The trees above his home usually provide ample amounts of cover, but today, even the few rays of sun coming into the cavern feel like spears to his eyes. He emits a low, rumbling moan and arches his back, fluttering out his wings to work out the knots and kinks. His tongue is sore and tastes like a flock of dirty seagulls.

He groans and the echoes bounce off of the walls, lined with his eclectic collection of bones, rusted armour, bits of gold and precious gems. All this noise causes him to cover his head with a wing and feel very sorry for himself.

He manages to fall asleep again, but only briefly, before the pounding in his head and burning in his stomach returns. A fluttering from above causes him to crane his head up before being instantly blinded by the light again.

There’s a loud thump beside him and he hears claws scraping across his living room floor. His guest smells like fresh blood and smoky herbs; a scent he could easily recognize even in his sickly state.

“Mom…” Beardagon pushes up onto his haunches and cracks an eye open. “I told you, you have to call first.”

Mammagon snorts and some silvery-green flame shoots out from her nostrils. “Call something that came out of me? I think not. Plus, look at you, there’s zero chance you would have heard me anyways. What’s wrong with you now?”

Beardagon starts to grumble something incomprehensible, but he could never hide anything from his mother who could scour his mind as easily as he could down a flagon of mead, she being one of the most powerful magical dragons in the land.

“You what? More gnomish mead? And you’re eating cattle again? What did I tell you about eating better, do you know what goes into those? Nothing but grass! My son, killing himself with junk food so the knights don’t have a chance.” Mammagon shakes her head and sighs.

“Mommmm.” Beardagon looks at his mother with his bloodshot eyes. “It’s not often. I was out with the guys and-”

“Oh don’t get me started with ‘the guys’, what kind of self-respecting dragon hangs out with a bunch of gnomes? Useless, unemployed, nothing done well, barely even snack size they are.” She huffs and huffs, getting more and more worked up with each word.

“Alright mom, alright. Just take it easy.” Beardagon squeezes his eyes shut as his headache burns furiously at the back of his skull. Streams of smoke start to wisp out of his ears.

Mammagon steps over to him and mutters a few words from an ancient incantation and a moment later the pain is gone. Beardagon opens his eyes, his mind clear, and he gasps with relief. “Wow, thanks mom, you really need to teach me that one.”

She continues with her magic and bones and rotting flesh start flying out of the cavern’s opening. Artifacts and baubles that were strewn about the room start to rearrange themselves into neat piles, working amongst themselves to look as presentable as possible.

“Really, I don’t understand you, Beardy. You come from a wonderful lineage. With my magic and your dad’s jaws, you could do anything. Look at your cousin, Imperagon, he’s kidnapping princesses every other month and his family has more knights in their dungeon than they can eat.” Mammagon looks at him derisively, her eyes narrow and long jaw clenching as she speaks. “You need to pull yourself together and do something with your life. You’re no spring drake, Beardy.”

Beardagon scratched his rump and stretched his toes. Then he thought about his mother’s words. “Mom, you do just fine. You don’t want me to treat you like an old bat who needs to be fed. I promise that when your teeth fall out I’ll-”

Mammagon smacks him over the head with her wing. This would have probably killed him if he was still hungover, as it is, it just hurts his self-esteem. He pouts.

“Don’t patronize me, Beardy. Your father had a smart mouth too and look what happened to him. Stabbed in the back while answering a crummy riddle, how disgraceful.” His mother lowers her head and reaches out to hold his face in her claws. “Beardy, I’m not getting any younger and I just want you to have someone who will take care of you when I’m gone.” She looks him in the eyes and he squirms a bit but her claws clamp down harder on his face. “You need to go do something with your life.”

Mammagon releases his face and takes a step back. She shakes her head at the still cramped, but much neater cavern and with a few flaps of her wings, leaves Beardagon sitting alone in his tiny home. He waits a couple minutes until he’s sure that she’s out of earshot before he starts grumbling to himself.

He pushes over a couple stacks of armour and they clatter to the floor, clanking and hollow. Beardagon sighs, tired again despite his mother’s enchantment. He was tired of her expectations and the disappointment. Tired of telling himself that he’s better off alone and that he’s happy with how things are. He didn’t want to be alone, and he definitely didn’t want to feel like a failure anymore. He wasn’t happy and he really didn’t know what to do to change that.

In the end, he decides that life just isn’t fair. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to work hard, but there just wasn’t anything that he really wanted to do. Being a good dragon meant a lot of different things these days, after all, they weren’t living in the stone age anymore.

He jumps out onto the ledge of his cavern and looks out over Iridine forest. The fresh air and dancing tops on the evergreens help him feel a bit better. He closes his eyes for a moment, breathing in his connection with the forest, with all of nature, and he feels… comfortable with his place.

Not a moment later, a piercing wail sends a shiver down his spine. Then another one, a long keeling cry that cause birds to squawk and fly in the distance. Beardagon roars in response, indignant that someone would dare tread so close to his home. He swoops down from the ledge and barrels through the trees at the noise. He lands heavily in a clearing and spouts a stream of fire at the sky. The ground cracks beneath his monstrous claws and the skies darken.

“Who dares enter the realm of the mighty Beardagon!?” He roars. The clearing is empty but the cries continue to assault his ears, sounding almost louder than his own monstrous roar. “Come out!”

The noise pauses for a moment and a small figure steps out from behind a tree at the far end of the clearing. Beardagon sucks in a breath and shoots a stream of fire, as wide as 20 grown men, that hurtles across the grass, toasting everything in its wake. The oversized scraps flutter and fly off from the rush of hot air to reveal a small, crying girl underneath.

-

Beardagon leans back on his haunches and stares glumly at the smoldering pile of rags. He had caught his breath and slurped back up the flames a second before they engulfed the girl, which meant that she was only slightly singed instead of charcoalized, yet here she was bawling again. His stomach still feels queasy and the thought of eating the runty, blubbering girl turns his mouth sour.

“Hoo hey there, mate? Ded yet?” A tinny voice calls out from behind them. “Got ya some neck o’ newt, I did, good for ur ‘ead after dat roaring, epic night!”

Beardagon turns around to see another diminutive creature, skipping through the still smoky grass caused by his earlier fireball. The small figure might have been mistaken for a young boy, if not for his full ginger beard and ruddy complexion that hints at semi-perpetual intoxication. He skids to a stop beside Beardagon and drops a wriggling bag at his feet.

“Fresh newts from da garden. ‘Elp yousself, BD.”

“Thanks, Gnomer. Mom stopped by this morning and fixed me up, but maybe they’ll be good for my stomach after I eat this one here.” Beardagon nods at the girl.

Gnomer looks over and notices the crying bundle of rags for the first time. “Well I’ll be, it’s a tiny hooman, loud for its size.”

“Yes, and I’ve had just about enough of its noise. Time to look away, Gnomer.” Beardagon cranks open his jaws and moves directly over the girl to swallow her in one bite. The girl looks up into his giant maw and cries even louder.

“Well, hold on a minute there, BD.” Gnomer says while stroking his beard. “‘member dat time ya ransacked my village and were deciding who ta eat?”

“Uh huh.” Beardagon says, his mouth still in the ready-to-chomp position.

“And I told ya ‘don’t ya eat gnomebody, cause we gonna stick in yer gullet like a fish bone?’”

“Uh huh.”

“Then yer went ahead and ate one anyway. My ex-wife’s new boyfriend, no less?”

Beardagon retracts his neck and closes his mouth in a hurry. “Yeah, he was stuck in my throat for a week. It was terrible.”

“Right then was when we became best pals. But ya gotta listen to me now, BD, this wee lass is gonna stick in there even worse, all bones and elbows, she is.” Gnomer says knowledgeably.

“Well, then what should I do? She’s too noisy to just leave out here. I supposed I could just stomp her flat and be done with it.”

“Well, why don’t you just grow her up so she’s just right to eat?”

“What? Like with magic?”

“Sure! Ya know how?”

“No. But I guess mom might.”

“So go and ask yer mum. Easy.”

Beardagon thinks about the tongue lashing he would get if he asked his mom to help prepare dinner. “No… that’s alright. We’ll just figure it out ourselves.”

They both pause for a moment. “I got it.” Gnomer says.

“Yeah?”

“Let's use a fountain. They got one fer everything these days. Beauty, youth, hair loss, hair growth, you name it. Dere has to be one dat does ageing.”

Beardagon rakes his talons over his chin scales. “I’ve never checked one out myself, but I supposed it’s worth a try. A quest and a meal… could be fun.” He shrugs.

Beardagon lowers his massive head in line with the girl’s face and roars: “NO MORE CRYING!” She gasps and stops immediately.

Gnomer grins. “Well what do you gnome. Alright lassy, up ya go. BD, my missus been talking about that Fountain of Youth fer decades, she might know ‘bout the ageing one too.”

They clamber onto Beardagon’s back and, with some help from Gnomer and his long, stringy beard, manage to strap the toddler in safely between Beardagon’s wings. He takes a few long strides and launches them into the air, in the direction of Gnomer’s village.

Gnomer’s hometown lay only a few minutes north by air. When Beardagon had first visited, several years ago, he had landed in the middle of the quaint cobblestone square and destroyed everything he could touch. This included three cottages, a tailor shop, the local grocer, and the Wishing Well; the best pub in the town. He met Gnomer and a number of gnomes soon after as they came tumbling out the pub.

He had threatened to eat them, but through copious amounts of mead and gnomish ale (all spilled in the unfortunate accident, was the story they told the pub owner who had been knocked unconscious), they grew a friendship instead. Later that night Beardagon felt terrible about the mess and even offered to cover the reconstruction costs from his own hoard. Things had generally been peaceful in the town after that, other than the odd drunken brawl and occasional forest fire.

They arrive with a thump outside of Gnomer’s house. He hops down from Beardagon’s back like a sprite half his age.

“Gnoma! We got guests!” Gnomer yells.

“BD don’t count as no guest! Not less he’s shrunk down to a decent size.” Gnoma yells back. She steps out of the house in a flour-dusted apron and swings a wooden mallet in one hand. Gnomer winces and takes a step back.

“Ho there, Gnoma. You look good.” Beardagon offers meekly.

“Me lovely wife. I was just ‘elping BD ‘ere with a wee problem. Show ‘er, BD.” Gnomer says.

Beardagon turns around slowly so as to not wreck any of the tiny garden. The toddler, now free from Gnomer’s beard, slid down to the base of his tail, quiet and asleep in a little ball, likely tired from the short flight and excitement of the day. Beardagon looks over his shoulder at her and rolls his eyes.

“Gnomer said I wouldn’t want to eat her until she was at least full grown. Better meat to bone ratio, so we’re looking for the Fountain of Ageing to grow her up.” Beardagon says. “Would you know where that is, Gnoma?”

Gnoma scratches her head with the mallet and looks down at the quietly sleeping child. “I’m ‘fraid not. Been meaning to do a gals trip to the Spring of Youth fer a decade now, but since we ‘ad Gnomie, well… It’s just been talk.”

“Aww… I’ll take ye. Just gotta scrape together some coin fer the admittance fee.” Gnomer grumbles. “Vacations ain’t cheap ya know.”

Gnoma throws the mallet at him which catches him square in his big forehead. Gnomer falls over on his backside with a big “ooff” and clutches at his noggin.

“Maybe if ya dint drink all the ‘ooch ya brewin’ and managed to sell a few bottles, we’d have the coin by now!” Gnoma says accusingly.

Beardagon looks at his friend on the ground and back at his clearly, very angry wife, who was listing out Gnomer’s faults like one of his mother’s tonic recipes, and couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty. After all, he’s always done his fair share of damage on Gnomer’s product. So he does the best a dragon can to scrunch up his face in an attempt to look as sorry as his friend.

“Ho there.” Gnomie opens the front gate and walks towards the cottage. He doesn’t look surprised at all to see his dad on the ground and his mother standing him, wooden mallet back in hand.

“Ho there, BD, got time today ta scare some kids at school?” Gnomie asks, as he walks up to the dragon.

“Hey Gnomie - not today. Your dad and I are on a quest.” Beardagon shoots him a smile.

“Gnomie Gneal Gutterson! Whatcha doin’ home so early?” Gnoma snaps. Her attention swinging over to Gnomie gives Gnomer a chance to catch his breath. He gulps at the air like a sober gnome does his ale.

“Relax, mum. Just a ‘alf day cause teach went off fer a noon guzzle and dint come back.” Gnomie pulls at the rags on Beardagon’s tail and spots the sleeping child. “Eh? What’s this one then?” He asks.

Gnoma shakes her head. “BD and your pa are looking for the Fountain of Ageing so that they can grow that one up for BD’s supper.”

Gnomie’s eyes light up. “Some lads from school were talking ‘bout that. Can’t keep us in class if yer older than the teacher, right?” Gnoma glares at him. “But I’d never, mum. I like school. I hear the fountain is over by Miresville, just a short hop east from here, BD.”

Beardagon nods and pats Gnomie on the head in appreciation. “Thanks Gnomie.”

While Gnoma’s attention was on Gnomie, Gnomer had snuck back around and clambered onto Beardagon’s back. He saddles the girl back up, who is now awake and wide-eyed after her brief nap, and waves goodbye to his family.

“Aye, good boy, son. I’ll be back fer dinner! Fly BD!” Gnomer whispers the last part.

Beardagon heartily agrees and spins around. He takes a few large steps, clearing the small front gate, and leaps into the air with Gnoma receding in the background, still waving her fist in the air.

“That… was a close one.” Gnomer says, rubbing the mallet-shaped welt forming on his forehead.

END OF PART 1

Thank you so much for reading my short story. I’m currently working on Part 2 and growing the world of Beardagon into something worth your time. Take care and hopefully you’ll enjoy Part 2 when it is ready!

C