The Princess' Death

Trees groaned and twisted. Branches snapped into kindling. Clusters of needles were torn from their brethren, releasing a cry of terror - the scent of pine. The torrent of wind that ravaged the forest came in waves, a heavy rhythm, pounding like the drums of a storm giant. As they reached a deafening crescendo, there was a thump as a great weight hit the ground. The rhythm faded and the air stilled.

The iron claws of the great dragon dug into the soft, fertile soil of the forest floor. Drops of ruby liquid splashed across the underbrush, searing and burning. A great growl rumbled out of the dragon's throat as smoke rose from his nostrils as though billowing from a great forge.

Pain. Stabbing teeth that turned his vision into a red haze. He felt it digging into his left shoulder, piercing through flesh, grinding against bone.

The dragon craned his neck and snapped his maw shut, trying to reach the broken spear, but his teeth closed only on air and the taste of metal and blood. The movement sent a lance of agony into his chest. Rearing onto his powerful hind legs as his body spasmed, the mighty creature loosed a bellow louder than a thousand trumpets. For indeterminate moments, he thrashed about, only aware of the pain. The haze.

His vision finally cleared. It had subsided.

Growling with frustration, the dragon limped ahead and lowered his bulk to the ground. With a dry scraping sound, he folded his leathery wings against his body, feeling the hot ichor running from the tears the soldiers and their irksome arrows had torn in the membrane.

Weary and sore, the dragon wished to rest.

No one will follow me here. They are all ashes and bones now, razed with their little town. I have time to rest before they send more to bother me. Men with spears and swords and bows, needling, stabbing, biting... I will bring them death when they come again. But not now. Now, I must rest. When I awake, the valley will run with blood as I lay waste to every town and house in a hundred leagues!

With thoughts of vengeance, the great dragon let his thick eyelids slide closed, cutting off the sunlight that filtered through the broken treetops. Breathing deep, he tried to ignore the waves of pain from his shoulder and the dozens of lesser wounds where blades had found chinks in his armour and pierced flesh. Something tickled his nostrils. A scent. An odd scent, it was nearly familiar, but he couldn't place it. Whatever it was, it was faint, either small or far off. It won't be foolish enough to bother me. It's likely a native animal. These lands are unfamiliar to me... yes that must be it.

Ignoring the smell, the dragon continued to rest, letting the fatigue of battle and bloodshed fade away.

Minutes slipped past, blurring into the eternal flow of time. His slumber was light and uncomfortable, beyond his shoulder. There was something stuck between his teeth, something hard. He often got things stuck between his fearsome fangs, usually bones or antlers. Still keeping his eyes shut, the dragon shifted his right foreleg to his mouth and began digging around with a claw as long as any lance and even deadlier. The tip of his claw caught on something hard and sharp. With a growl, he dislodged it from between his teeth and fished it from his maw. With a flick, he tossed it onto the ground before him and lazily opened one eye. It was a shard of armour, charred and blackened. Vestiges of seared flesh still clung to the underside of the metal and emblazoned upon it was a symbol of a once-proud sun, now ruined.

The dragon briefly wondered which of the dozen men he had devoured it had belonged to. His wonderings abruptly ceased as his eye caught something beyond the armour, in the clearing. He slowly opened his other eye and stared at the small creature sitting before him. Pale-skinned, light-haired, with two arms and two legs, it was a mortal. Its ears were pointed, but it had no fangs, which meant elf, but it was so small. It was wrapped in brown rags, not the metal armour that all the others wore. The scent he had picked up earlier was coming from it.

The dragon growled, hoping to scare off the small creature, but it stayed put, clamping tiny hands over its ears. He raised his head up and gave it a proper look. He had never seen an elf so small, nor had he even seen one so close before that wasn't trying to stab him. Its face was strange. Angled, like the others, but not as sharp, a bit fatter. Eyes large, green, curious.

The dragon paused. How do I know that?

Opening his mouth, the dragon's voice rumbled out in a deep, grating bass. "Why do you not flee?"

The little elf stared at him, its mouth dropping open.

The dragon narrowed its eyes, wondering what it was doing.

As if copying him, the elf's own slanted eyes narrowed. "Fwee," it said.

"What?"

"Fwee!" the elf repeated, clapping its hands.

Understanding dawned on the dragon as it considered the tiny creature. This is a child. An infant. He leaned closer, stretching out his long neck. The elf watched him approach with wonder, letting out a giggle.

The dragon was confused. Every other creature in the world would have tried to run or hide or fight. Never this. Does it not know fear?

"What are you?" the dragon asked, his voice vibrating the air.

The elf tipped over onto the grass, perhaps by the force of his voice. It righted itself and spoke. "I'm Nila. I'm a pwincess. You a dwagon."

Pwincess? Princess? Royalty. A girl. From where?

The dragon looked closer for any signs or markings. His eyes slid over her rags. There. Something around the neck. A pendant. A sun. He turned his head to look down at the charred armour and the identical marking upon it.

Oh.

He shuddered and tore at the ground as the spear in his shoulder shifted. The haze dropped over his eyes, and he roared into the sky, letting out a jet of flame. He heard the crackling of wood before the pain let him see again. He blinked and saw the tree above him alight with dancing flames.

Panting, he lowered his head, expecting the elf to be gone.

She wasn't.

She was standing now, tottering on unsteady legs so thin, he could not understand how they did not break.

The dragon lifted his head. "Death is standing before you, girl. Why are you not scared?"

The girl, Nila, nearly toppled over looking up at him. She was frowning. "I'm not scawed. I'm bwave!"

That you are. The dragon had never seen such unfettered bravery.

The girl pointed to the dragon's shoulder and the shattered spear lodged within. "Ouch."

Dumbfounded by this tiny, feeble mortal, the dragon did not move as she waddled her way over to him. With both feet standing in the blood-soaked earth, she reached up and touched his side. He could barely feel her through his scales, just the barest of sensations, that of the weakest breeze.

"Big stick." She tapped on his crimson scales.

"What are you doing?" the dragon asked. A moment later, he was rocked with agony as a searing bolt stabbed through his chest. The haze enveloped him again and he lashed out. His roar echoed across the forest, heard for a dozen miles. His tail smashed through the trunk of a tree, sending it crashing through the damaged canopy. Huge chunks of soil were ripped up in his claws and fire leapt from his throat, burning the glade around him.

With the pain subsiding, the dragon looked at his shoulder. The girl! I must have smote her! The red faded away, letting the dragon see again. Nila was still there, unharmed. In her hands, dripping with his lifeblood was the spear, pulled free from his flesh.

Panting, the dragon stared at the gash in his shoulder that was weeping ichor and then back at the tiny elf. "How? How are you not dead? My wrath has slain thousands! How can you, a mere child, stand against it?"

Nila met the dragon's eyes, her brow furrowed and lips pursed. Then, "I fall down sometimes, but I'm leawning to stand good." She waved the spear around, spraying herself and the dragon with flecks of blood.

A strange respect was beginning to grow in the dragon's chest as he looked at the elf child. "You do indeed stand well amongst your brethren, Nila. I have come across none of your bravery, nobility and fortitude. You truly are a princess."

Nila giggled and said, "Nobiblity."

Testing his shoulder, the dragon stood, his scales scraping like a thousand knives across stones. The ground shook under his weight and Nila tumbled to the ground. She frowned and rubbed her backside. "Ouch."

A word that had never found its way out of his mouth in the five hundred years he had lived slipped past his teeth. "Sorry."

"Dat's ok," Nila said as she pushed herself awkwardly back to her feet.

For a moment, the two stood in silence as the forest burned around them. The dragon lifted his right wing and flapped it twice, extinguishing the nearby flames.

Nila patted her stomach. "I'm hungwy. Have to go home fo supper!"

The dragon looked back at the burned armour. Memories flashed before his eyes. Men, elves, dwarves circling him, stabbing and slashing. The taste of blood and flesh. The pain of many wounds, the sounds of arrows tearing through his wings. The crushing of buildings beneath his feet, shattering into rubble. Flame spouting from his maw in a raging torrent, consuming the mortals, alighting their town.

Twisting, he looked back south, from where he had come. A pillar of dark smoke rose into the sky, all that remained of the town. He blinked twice, for once feeling regret that he did not understand. He was supposed to be the greatest warrior, the most cunning of foes, but now, his fury had been quenched by this small elfling.

He faced her again and saw her jabbing the point of the spear into the dirt. Lowering his head to her level, he said, "I have a better idea. What if we went on an adventure together? To somewhere where they have lots of food. The very best."

"Wike a castle?" Nila asked.

The dragon remembered all of the castles he had ever flown over, bathing the battlements in flame, sweeping guards from the walls, dodging the boulders launched from catapults. "Yes, a castle. We can go to a castle. There is one not too far away that I'm sure would be a great fit for a princess."

"But how do we get dere?" Nila spread her arms wide.

The dragon grinned, revealing teeth still stained red. "We fly."

Nila's eyes lit up. "Wow! I can fwy!"

"Yes, you can." he lowered his head to the ground. "Climb on my neck and hold to the spikes."

"Ok." Nila did as he said, and he felt that same light sensation upon the scales of his neck. There wasn't any weight, it felt like a leaf had fallen on him.

Carefully raising his head, the dragon stood to full height. He could hear Nila laughing behind his head. His toothy grin didn't fade. He took a moment to test his shoulder. It was very tender and he didn't want to put weight on it, but the searing lance of agony was gone, now that the spear wasn't grating against bone. And he would be flying, which would still strain the wound, but much less than walking.

"Let's fwy!" Nila yelled from his neck.

A strange, warm sensation was spreading throughout the dragon's chest that had nothing to do with his fire.

"Hold on, Princess." With a heave, the dragon leapt from the ground, taking flight with four mighty strokes of his wings. The burning forest fell away as they rose into the air. Smoke and ash spun away on currents created by his wings as he began to fly north. His nostrils picked out the differences between this smoke and that of the immolated town several miles behind them. The town where Nila's people had lived. The people whom he had just slaughtered.

But she knew nothing. Nothing but the promise of castles and adventure before her.

As they flew off into the distance, the dragon vowed to keep it that way. He would not come back to this valley. All thoughts of vengeance on the townsfolk and farmers fell away as he considered his passenger. She could never know. And so, for her sake, he would put this land to his tail and never return. He could not hurt her. No one could. And if they tried, well, the smoking settlement gave testament to his claim that he was Death. And he would make sure all knew that Death was hers.