The Dragon and the Knight
The beast lay on the cold castle floor, withered and gaunt. Its once magnificent scales turned dull and brittle. Tough, leathery skin hung off bones like fabric on a clothesline. Penetrating the silence of the empty castle, the dragon heard the sound of an uninvited guest.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
The familiar sound of steel plate armor. In old days, the dragon would have flapped its mighty wings, exhaled a torrent of flames into the sky as it prepared to feast. But those days were long gone, barely even a memory.
“Well, isn’t this a sight for sore eyes,” said the owner of the clink-clink-clink.
The dragon tilted his head and shrugged at the sight of a knight holding a large broadsword high above his head.
“Have at it. Achieve your glory. Save the town. Win the princess. Whatever it is you lot do, " the dragon murmured with weary resignation.
The knight hesitated, searching for a hint of deception. But he found none. He lowered the broadsword and removed his helmet to reveal a similarly withered expression and a head of wispy, gray hair, “Hardly any glory in killing a dying beast.”
He took a seat beside the dragon. A cautious distance, but close enough to hear him whisper.
The dragon grumbled, “You had many chances. It’s not my fault you were a shoddy knight.”
“I think it is your fault, actually,” The knight replied with a wry glint in his eye.
The dragon let out a glimmer of a grin, “I’ll never forget that day you rode in with all your men, desperate to slay me—“
“Only to turn tail the moment my banner caught aflame,” The knight smiled wryly.
The dragon let out a hearty laugh, interrupted by a sickly cough. The knight frowned at the pathetic sight. He reached into his bag. The dragon instinctively shuffled away, but the knight raised a hand to signal it was no threat. He pulled out an old banner with burnt edges.
The dragon stared in awe, “You kept that ratty thing?”
The knight nodded, “Of course. Proof that I battled with a dragon and lived to tell the tale.”
“And that?” The beast’s claw gestured to the image of a striking red dragon emblazoned on the banner.
The knight ran his fingers along the fabric, “My wife’s handiwork. She was the one with all the talent. Thankfully my children took after her. Of course, before they…” As a rush of emotions surfaced, the knight held them back with an ease that gave away his experience. “Before things went awry.”
“Somehow the world is left with just you and me, “ the dragon remarked.
After a lingering silence, the knight rose to his feet with a tired grunt. He lifted the steel chest plate off his shoulders and dropped it to the castle floor. A relieved sigh as the heavy weight had been whisked off him.
The dragon stared in surprise, “What are you doing?”
“You never meant to kill me that day. You saw me for what I was—a foolish, young brute that acted with his emotions before his brain,” The knight said as he removed his armor, piece by piece. “Now it’s time to return the favor.”
The dragon turned its snout, “I won’t be given charity. And besides, I no longer have any desire for precious metals.”
“Not charity…” The knight reached into his bag and pulled out a parcel wrapped in brown butcher’s paper. He unwrapped the contents and tossed it before the dragon, revealing raw cow’s flank, “… a meal between friends.”
The dragon looked puzzled, but his questions were soon answered upon looking at the knight. Without the armor, his skeleton-thin physique revealed itself. He was an old man on borrowed time.
The knight made a gesture, asking to approach. The dragon nodded and the knight took a seat beside him. From his bag, the knight pulled out a small meal of cured ham and crackers made from oats.
In the halls of the decaying castle, the dragon and the knight shared a meal, comforted by the presence of a familiar face.