SILENCE FOR THE KING, PART ONE: A STORY IT THE TAVERN

A first part of the three part story about kings and dragons, a Silver Throne, and a really old war

SILENCE FOR THE KING:

PART ONE

He remembered being something frail and small; a child, no more than six or seven winters old, sitting in a tavern during a stormy night, curled on his grandfather’s lap, with his head pressed shyly against the old man’s still strong chest. And from there, where it was safe and warm, he remembered watching as the whole village gathered around the man speaking by the fire. 

The young bard stood tall, his hear bearing colour the boy had never seen before-  crimson red locks interwoven tightly with the palest of gold- and somehow, his voice held strong, even as it changed, quivering to match the way in which a young maiden would speak of her truest fear. Each of his words rand loud and clear, despite the thunder of gathered laughter and the storm brewing outside, gathering on the darkened sky. He remembered silence in which no man spoke as one tale came to an end and another began. 

’Here my words, man of fields!’ the young bard called for silence in an eerie voice. ’Man of trade, man of gold, man of metal and of stone. Hear my words, for I speak true, as this is the story which I’ve heard from no other but a Dragon-Bonded Knight celebrating his seventh year in the skies. He spoke to me of that day, now seven winters gone on this day, begging me as he drank to turn his words into a song, or at least, a story worthy of being told.’ 

He remembered the moment in which the young man had suddenly stopped, closing both his mouth and eyes. A moment had passed. Nobody dared let out a single breath, for when he had opened them again he had a different voice sliding from his tongue: 
‘And there laid a dragon within the Elder Hall’ this new man spoke-a Bonded Knight, tall and strong, yet still afraid, still scared stiff of something he had seen so long ago, when he was no more than fifteen winters aged. 

‘His body strong, he stood higher than the highest horse, higher than any dragon I have ever seen before or after that daunting Initiation day. 

‘His scales bore the colours of the smoke, of clouds spent after the storm, with centuries past laid over them in dust. Yet still, the shone, in what little light that came through the door and thin windows high above, their one bright red-green-yellow light now covered with nothing but the thickest dirt, the strongest cast of the spider’s nest. 

‘His eyes like ocean followed us through, reflecting to us our every move in the deepest blue. Silently scared by this might beast, before him we knelt, bowing our heads in respect to the Silver Throne upon which the mighty beast had laid its head and paws, shielding the wood, guarding the Throne.

‘And the Bonded Knights who guided us here, stood quietly before and at the end, near the door, barely in the Hall. They as well lowered their heads before they knelt, their voices soft as they spoke once more, for even they, trice as old, felt the weight and fear cold caused by the Dragon’s questing gaze. 

‘They warned us then to listen close, for to this Keep and this Throne we would pledge our oath, binding out lives to that wood and stone, and line now long gone. Still the magic knew nothing of the end of lives and the essence of it still lived inside through the ancient words of the vow we were to speak. 

‘And we did repeat those sacred words, though with clumsy tongues and tightened throats, letting one more the silence fall over us all and this dust-covered Hall; a silence in which the King would have spoken, had there been one actually sitting on the Throne. 

‘Like an eternity, it dragged, the King’s Silence, but then, finally, it passed, those sixty beast of scared stiff heard, only just as the men who a moment ago knelt besides us were about to call us to a stand as Bonded Knights of the Land, the dragon did something he had never done before. 
‘The dust fell from his back as the mighty head rose from its place on the throne. His claws scratched against the floor, moving slowly towards the door. The ashen body suddenly arched, the long neck reaching towards the sky, fire dancing on the edges, of scales and teeth as the mighty jaw suddenly dropped…and the dragon roared’ 

He remembered those were the last words that the bard had spoken during that night, for in that moment a thunder struck somewhere quiet nearby and the fire flickered in its place as the door to the tavern burst opened, then closed, letting in the soaked man from the river Watch. 

‘The river!’ he said, chasing after his breath, and every man in the room suddenly moved, knowing well what it meant: the river has breached its banks. 

‘I’m sorry, lad’ he remembered his grandfather saying as in the chaos of movements he was raised from the safe, familiar lap and thrust into the hands of the girl standing close, her pale face barely five winters older than his own. ‘You cannot come, it is a dangerous night’ the old man had said, caressing his hair. ‘Be a good child and in the morning you will get your present.’ With those words, he disappeared, along with all of the men who had gathered into the tavern just to be sure, through the door and into the storm. He remembered all of this, and so much more. 

He remembered the hush whispers of the women who stayed behind, the hungry cries of a child much younger than him. He remembered being put down, onto the chair. 

He remembered being fifteen winters old and walking through the high grass of the Planes with his eyes closed as he listened, searching. 

He remembered his name being called but he couldn't hear what it was. In his mind he saw a boy, a dragon coloured like molten gold wrapping its tail around his neck. 

He remembered being twenty and soaring through the sky, laughing as he reached for the Sun. The burning heath seemed so close and for a moment he thought he himself will also burst out in flames. 
He remembered that somebody had called out his name but the sound could not reach him, not now, not when they were flying so fast. A flash of gold flew past him, missing him by a narrow breath, urging him to tell his dragon to fly faster, to reach the taunting laughter and the young man mocking him. ‘Silly humans’ the pitch black beast answered as its whole body trembled with laughter. 

He remembered being a hundred, and still young, fighting in a war which he didn’t want to win. ‘Hush now’ the dragon had said, he remembered, calling him his name, but the memory fogged then, leaving him with empty felling in his chest and even emptier hands. 

He remembered feeling old and making a promise he would soon have to keep. ‘I will return’ he remembered the voice saying, deep and strong. Once, it had been his own. 

He remembered somebody had called out his name, in wrath and anger, just as the mark made so long ago disappeared from the black dragon’s chest. Looking at him with his deep blue eyes the dragon wrapped himself around an empty, silver chair. He remembered all of that but not much more. Only that he had lost that war. He remembered that. He remembered…Death. 

(‘How could you have left him out of your sight?! 
‘I’m sorry, mother, but brother was crying…’
‘You should have known he would head straight outside!’
‘I’m sorry, mother…’
‘There is no chance for him to have survived through that storm!’
‘I’m sorry…’
‘…what will we say to his grandfather?’ 
‘I…’ the girl cried as the Sun rose over the sky)

Author's Note

A first part of the hopefully three part story that I've been thinking about for almost a week or two now. I have just finished this yesterday and hope to finish the other two parts soon.