.mythos_logos // closed
Storybook dragons were both majestic and horrifying beasts. But all the ones Hiro had read also spoke of intellect— of wisdom beyond measure. This he did not doubt of the creature before him, who’s wicked tongue spun with startling clarity and ease the word of man. How old was this monster, nestled quite comfortably atop his hoard? How many men or kingdoms had he seen rise and fall beyond the scope of his great lair?
Hiro, being no expert in dragons, couldn’t even begin to say. The only thing he could now pinpoint was the growing ache in his chest to have been forcibly parted from his hard-earned fortune. Such was a temptation he knew better than to act upon, resigning himself instead to the endeavor to escape in one piece.
So in silence did he bear witness to the gentle jangle of gold and jewels clattering to freedom among their fellows, his pockets insufferably empty in the wake of it. But though a thief Smaug was, no man in his right mind would seek to contest the might of a dragon. Instead, it was now that Hiro turned his attentions over to the wisdom he allegedly sought, pondering if there was indeed some knowledge the beast might avail him.
Intellect as vast as Hiro’s was not always a blessing, when upon him now were the days he felt no passion for the pursuit of further knowledge. That was, until recently, of course. Up until the introduction of San Fransokyo into his life, he had felt almost as though this world had little more to offer him— as though he had long-since learned everything there was to know. Or at least, everything that mattered.
From an academic standpoint, this remained marginally true, and yet emotionally the boy had fallen far short of what he anticipated the standard was for one who stood afflicted by grief— and by loss. This recollection did bear alongside it a wearisome air, tempering the tension that had one time gripped Hiro’s limbs with exhaustion. This feeling, it seemed, he could not escape no matter how hard he tried. Nor likewise for the fury which bid it’s time within.
Heavy brooding upon such loathsome recollections did little to brighten the boy’s mood, instead merely appearing to burden him with an anger and a sorrow not lost to him. Until, at last, a question came to light he could only pray would at last permit him clarity:
"Would destroying a man— no, a murderer…would that improve a person’s emotional state?” Mercy held no grounds over the capricious whims of the heart. So Hiro had always thought to presume justice might bequeath him closure at last. Yet why then was it that this very inquiry of Baymax’s still tolled in his head with a maddening repetition?
Men were such fragile beings.
For as long as Arda had been, they had been the most susceptible to corruption, weaved through the dark seeds Morgoth had planted so long ago before the world even welcomed the first men to have been woken under the new sun, moon and stars. Doomed to die, they live their lives through a multitudes of emotion until such time that the bottom half of their hourglass was filled. Elves had once envied Men for their mortality, gifted to them by Eru. But dragons envied them not, for they have no desire to ever leave the world in which they guarded their hoard.
Though, it would seem that Morgoth's dark seed was not only limited to Middle-earth. Even now, darkness crept throughout the other worlds, if this boy's inquiry was anything to go by. He was not from whence the dragon came from, but Smaug could sense a bubbling desire in the boy's heart as he spoke.
...A desire much more powerful than the jealous love for gold coin and glittering gems.
"You surprise me, trespasser," Smaug began, briefly dropping his mocking gaze and tone. "For someone so young, you already have an intense desire for vengeance." His giant head drew closer, as if to get a better look of the boy. Indeed, his eyes did not lie. He may have lied about how he sought Smaug's wisdom to save his own skin, but this question he imposed upon the great dragon held true.
Slowly did the serpent circle the boy once more, his slithering gait being the only sound to accompany the shifting of jewels beneath his scaled girth. The dragon worked his brilliant mind, aiming to solve the riddle of the boy's desire for vengeance. But there was only one conclusion, wasn't there? The dragon stopped and turned to look at Hiro once more, sharp teeth bared as he brought forth a wicked grin.
"You lost someone dear, did you? Yes, I see now. This is why you want revenge. You want justice served for the one who took from you." The dragon's words were heavy. They pricked at even the most valiant of hearts. The old ones would advise to never listen to them speak. "Who was it that was taken from you? Mother? Father? Brother? It must have been painful, moreso if you had to watch them die before you."
The way he delivered his words were harsh, built to wear down the little boy until he revealed what it is he truly wanted. Dragons could after all, subdue those whose wills wavered under the weight of their words. Smaug licked his scaled lips as his long, clawed fingers picked up a small mass of his treasure before letting them fall freely back into the hoard.
"If but a single coin was taken from me I'd have hunted down the thief who took them and drowned them in fire, as what would have been your fate." This was his answer, though the dragon made it clear that Hiro's life was still at his mercy. With no one to tell the grieving boy that vengeance was like an open wound, Smaug took the opportunity to fester and twist his desire for justice. He drew close, and whispered sharply into Hiro's ear. "Destroying those who have done you wrong is the answer you seek, little trespasser. Would you not feel better if you crush them with your bare hands? There is nothing more satisfying than watching your offender suffer and claw for breath in their last moments. I bid you to try, Hiro."
