“A dragon?”
Yes.
“As in a giant fire-breathing lizard famously antagonistic to knights in armour?”
It sounds like you are familiar with the concept.
“I’m also familiar with the concept of trying not to be roasted to death. Do you really feel this sits slap-bang in the middle of the risk/reward continuum? Was there not, I don’t know, a really strong pill I could take or something?”
Now that you are at the Elemental Alignment Tier –
“Ron.”
No. Now you are at your current level, there are natural treasures I would like to get you to digest, but in order to be able to recover from swallowing them, we’re going to need you to be an awful lot stronger. I’m reasonably sure the spiritual herbs I have back in my Tower would burn away your nasal cavity if you so much as sniffed them, let alone ate them.”
Having dabbled, in my youth, with a powder that did its uppermost to compromise my nostril integrity, I was willing to take this one on trust. “Okay, so no natural treasures until I am a bit more buff. But still, a dragon!”
Ah, but you see, this is not just any dragon. It’s Vortigern’s Dragon.
*
Once upon a time, far, far away - by which I took Merlin to mean ‘a few weeks back’ and ‘just over that hill’ - there lived a king called Vortigern. He was your average mythical ruler, which is to say, he was an appalling despot who spent most of his time oppressing the peasants, polishing his crown, and being involved in the constant struggle to impregnate every passing wench.
However, one thing marked Vortigern out as being a little different from the other local warlords. You see, Vortigern had himself a bit of a situation. His castle, perched atop a hill, was constantly getting rocked by earthquakes. You might question the existence of hitherto undocumented localised tremors in the South West of England, but let’s not pick at narrative threads at this stage.
Earthquakes. Lots of them.
And if there’s one thing rulers hate more than having their morning tea served cold, it’s an unstable castle. Oh, and women having a voice. And a transparent tax system. And democracy. And pitchfork-wielding crowds. But, certainly, an unstable castle was definitely in the top ten pet peeves.
So, after one too many disturbed nights of creaking wood and stone, and not in a good way, Vortigern decided to do what any reasonable person would do – consult his local wizard.
Enter a particular cultivator with a hat so pointy it could double as a weapon. Merlin scratched his chin, which even in his youth had been a lot more beard than chin, and muttered something about ley lines, magical disturbances, and inconvenient home improvement projects.
“But the castle keeps sinking into the ground!” exclaimed Vortigern.
“Ah, yes,” said Merlin with a twinkle in his eye, “that’s where the dragon comes in, you see.”
Vortigern blinked. "Dragon?"
“Yes, yes, a proper one with scales and fire-breathing and all that. You will need a dragon to stabilise your castle, or so the old scrolls say.”
And thus, Vortigern embarked on a quest to find a dragon. A real one. He posted notices around the kingdom, which mainly attracted suspiciously eager dragon enthusiasts and one enterprising young man who insisted his pet iguana was a rare ‘dwarf’ dragon.
Weeks turned into months, and still, no dragon graced Vortigern’s castle with its fiery presence. The kingdom wondered if their ruler had gone completely off his rocker. And then, one day, just as Vortigern was about to give up and invest in some heavy-duty foundation magic, a distant roar echoed across the land.
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There it was, in all its scaly glory – the dragon! Flames flickered in its nostrils, and its eyes glinted with a mix of curiosity and menace. Vortigern felt a combination of terror and a strange kind of awe.
The dragon, however, seemed more interested in the castle’s architecture than in roasting anyone. It perched itself on a tower and started advising on curtain arrangements and optimal lighting for dungeons. It turned out that the dragon had a passion for interior decorating, which Vortigern found incredibly odd and somewhat endearing.
And so, instead of being the menacing force of destruction Vortigern had expected, the dragon became the kingdom’s most sought-after interior designer. It transformed the castle into a place of wonder and magic, all while sharing handy tips on keeping your hoard of treasure organised.
And that, as Merlin explained it to me, is the story of Vortigern’s dragon – a tale of unexpected friendships, unconventional solutions, and the realisation that sometimes, a little bit of fire-breathing flair can turn a disaster into a castle fit for a ruler and a dragon with impeccable taste.
*
“You’re taking the piss out of me, aren’t you?
Maybe.
“This is because of the rapping, right?”
Amongst other things.
“There isn’t really a ‘Selling Sunset’ Dragon, is there?”
Not as such.
“It’s going to be a terrifying monster, isn’t it?”
Most definitely.
“What really happened to Vortigern? The dragon ate him, right?”
I’m sure it did. Eventually.
*
As a newly minted Ron, there were a couple of more interesting things I could do with my Qi. Well, that Merlin could do with my Qi and I could watch. I was able to move us to Vortigern’s castle. It wasn’t quite the teleportation beam that Merlin used to move us to the village after the battle, but it was still quicker than hiking our way there.
Apparently, the trick was to see where you were, imagine where you wanted to be, and then pinch the two destinations together using your Qi. So, not a million miles away from fast travel in any number of MMPORG with which I had wiled away the hours.
Apparently, I found this approach more manageable than most apprentices of Merlin’s experience because of how very visual my conception of my Qi was. Rather than needing to tear a hole through the fabric of space and time, I simply flicked from one picture to another. One moment we were walking along a dirt track, and the next…
We were stood in front of, what used to be, a castle on a hill.
I’m sure there was a day, probably not that long ago, that this castle was just standing here minding its own business, with its turrets pointing proudly at the sky like fingers trying to grab hold of passing clouds. It was probably the sort of castle that said, “I’m here to stay, and I’ve got the cobblestones to prove it.”
But, you see, Fate – and I’m not wholly convinced here that a certain wizard did not do more than a bit of interfering - has a wicked sense of humour. Just when the castle was at its most smug and satisfied, a dragon suddenly appeared on its doorstep. Not just any dragon – oh no, this one was the kind of dragon that believed in making a statement. It had roared with the type of authority that makes knights rethink their career choices, and peasants question whether they really needed to venture out for that morning stroll.
Even now, so many years hence, I could tell that the dragon’s approach had not been subtle. Flames had licked at the sky, swirling like a painter’s brush strokes gone wild. And trust me when I say I know of what I speak. In the face of that inferno, the castle’s walls had puddled to the ground like the proverbial chocolate teapot.
I closed my eyes on the ruin before me and was transported back to the moment of destruction.
With a casual flick of its tail, the dragon had taken care of the drawbridge, sending it tumbling into the moat with a splash that would have earned him high scores at the Dragon Olympics. At which stage, it would probably have eaten the judges, flambéd the crowd and taken a dump in the pool. Yes, in my mind, this dragon was the Donald Trump of losers.
“This is one burnt-out ruin.”
The dragon was certainly thorough.
“And you are absolutely convinced that I have the chops to defeat something that has literally brought the house down?”
Let us say that I think we might have some advantages that Vortigen lacked.
“Which are?”
The knowledge gained from aeons of exploring the very limits of the universe. The experience of dealing with monsters from the darkest corners of hell. The power earned from –
“Hello, Merlin. Surprised you had the balls to show up around here.”
I whirled to see a MAHUSIVE dragon land a few feet from us. It was red and scaly and – I must say, I think this is the crucial detail about the bloody thing - the size of an aircraft carrier. Flames curled from its mouth, and its eyes blazed with a hatred I had only encountered from a prospective mother-in-law who absolutely did not appreciate my tattoos. That being said, the fact it also appeared to speak with the voice of Al Pacino was pretty disconcerting.
But not quite as disconcerting as realising Merlin was no longer about.
It appeared I was just a girl, standing in front of Godzilla’s big brother, praying for it not to eat her.