The Tale of Ator Taevarth and Mwynen

A beautiful maiden is in need of rescuing. But from what and by whom?

It was a cold, misty morning; the perfect sort of day for lying about and doing nothing. In all truth, I rather enjoy doing that on any given day. But it was an exceptionally wonderful day to doze and enjoy the warmth of one’s cozy home.

Destiny, however, had other plans for me. But perhaps I’m getting rather ahead of myself in so saying.

As I mentioned, it was a chilly sort of morn; delightfully crisp and smelling of rain. I was resting in my cave, high in the mountains. I had made my home in the cliff-sides for one simple purpose; I don’t much care for visitors. And as luck would have it, visitors don’t much care for me. I was rather disliked -- and still am, I might add -- by the people in many of the near-by villages; they have this rather peculiar notion that I’m spawn of the devil. For obvious reasons, I choose to stay away from such places, at all cost.

The fact that I avoid them and reside in a difficult-to-reach, mountainous region does not, however, prevent some dim-witted souls from seeking to destroy me. Countless souls have lost their lives in attempt of slaying me, and countless more have perished before they ever saw me; falling to their deaths from the lofty crags.

Do not think, though, that I killed such men out of malice. Certainly, I have made every effort to persuade them to leave me in peace. But by the heavens, they are a persistent bunch of fool-hearty young lads; and when they’re stupidity became too dangerous for me, what more could be done? I did, however, kill them quickly; none ever saw death’s approach.

So it was that on that marvelous, drizzly morn, a collection of just under one dozen brave -- though I am rather inclined to call them foolish -- men had made their way up the mountainside and to the great threshold of my home.

Naturally, I had no desire to deal with the pests, and carefully made my way to the secret back entrance -- or exit, as was usually the case.

I casually made my way to a smallish, secluded valley where I often stayed when intruders invaded my privacy. It was surrounded by high cliff walls and a large, cascading waterfall was positioned at one end. It was really more like a bowl, but for the sake of simplicity, I’ve always referred to it as a valley. In the center of said valley was a small lake, and the entire surrounding area was lush and green, with the odd outcropping of rocky boulders.

As was my custom upon entering the valley, I sprawled out upon a large gathering of stone and listened to the tumult of the falls. When the Great Flame -- the sun, as most would know it -- rests in the sky and shines its light upon the earth, the stones grow warm and I bask in that warmth and light.

On that day, though, the swirling, misting clouds had rolled in and allowed no light of the Great Flame to pass their looming gray masses. Instead, I raised my head and sniffed at the metallic air. A storm hummed through the currents of the sky, the electricity of it vibrating within my very bones. Excitement quivered through my spine; I’ve always been over fond of tempests. The deep, rolling thunder and brilliant flashes of Heavenly Fire combined with the pounding rain awaken my senses as little else can. There is such raw beauty in such storms and I am often reminded of myself when I bear witness to such things; stunning and magnificent, yet cold and lethal.

It was not long after I had arrived in my place of refuge that the rains began. I closed my eyes in contentment as I felt the large drops drum upon the entirety of my body. Some would think me mad to lie about in the rain. And yet doing so was pure bliss; the cold and wet has never proved bothersome to me.

A low rumble had emanated from the skies, and a great wind howled about the uppermost ledges of the valley. It was most assuredly a prime day for staying low and keeping out of the rushing currents.

I was in the process of slowly making my way to a nice, sheltered spot beneath an overhang when something caught my attention.

If I may be so bold as to boast my excellence, I must say that my hearing is exceptionally keen. Being so acute of auditory faculties, my ears detected a faint variation of sound upon the gale. Faint though it was, I had caught a scream of anger and terror upon that fated gust.

Cautious though I am when faced with the task of confronting the local villagers, my conscience would not let me abandon someone who may have had need of my assistance. Something stirred within me -- seeming familiar, but just out of grasp of recognition.

Immediately I set to finding the poor soul who was crying out. I carefully made my way to the top of the valley and halted, hoping to hear the outcry, once more. I did not wait long; another holler was carried upon the wind.

I made haste, heading in a southeasterly direction; straight into the wind. I covered much ground and before long, I came upon a rather shocking scene. I waited -- concealed behind a portion of hill and what was left of an ancient ruin -- for the briefest of moments, as my disbelieving eyes attempted to sort out what they saw.

Two figures stood at Imeall Ifreann ar -- Hell’s Edge, named thus due to the fact that countless murders and suicides had been committed at the hazardous cliffs and darkness clung to the very air. One of the forms was a beautiful young woman with flaming locks of red. She stood at Imeall Ifreann ar, frighteningly close to falling off the cursed cliffs. A wail of dismay erupted from her lungs as the other figure moved closer to her.

The one that stood above the young maiden was a tall, broad man. Upon seeing his crest-emblazoned tunic, I realized that the fair-haired lad was a knight. But, truly, this knight had lost all sense of honour and decency.

The dress of the lass was torn and rumpled -- evidence of the knight’s attempts of ravaging her -- and he now held the tip of his blade to her throat. His face was red and contorted in rage; he yelled, spewing droplets of saliva in his hysterical vehemence. I was not -- nor am I, still -- one to believe in ensorcellment, but there was something to be said about the man’s state of frenzy.

It had taken me but a few seconds to discern such things, and as the demented knight moved to hack the maiden with his broadsword, I lept from my place of hiding and let out a great roar.

Upon hearing my outburst, both figures turned in horror. The knight, who had been so enraged seconds before, paled as he saw my imposing form before him.

I stretched out, arching my neck and flashing my sharp, white teeth. My tail lashed about in fury, and my claws churned the sodden earth beneath them. Had it not been so dreadfully windy I would have spread my leathery wings to their maximum length. As it was, the knight was shaking in his pathetic boots.

For any who may yet be oblivious to my identity, I am the greatest and most feared of ancient beings; in these lands my kind are called the Cinn Ársa -- Ancient Ones -- and in the tongue of my kin, darastrix. I am a dragon. And should you think that the irony of a dragon saving a maiden from a knight had slipped my notice, it had not.

When the knight had quivered for a short moment, he turned and made to flee. With a snarl, I whipped my tail out and blocked his path. Giving a pitiful shriek of terror, the lad ran in the opposite direction. I extended my forearm and batted him back -- not without receiving a prick from the fiend’s sword, I might add. I grunted in agitation and finally made an attempt to speak with the human.

For indubitable reasons, my mouth cannot form the words of human tongue. Therefore, if I wish to speak to mankind and be understood -- there are very few humans that know and speak Draconic -- I must speak directly into the mind.

So it was that I tentatively imposed upon the minds of the two before me.

Let me take a moment to impress upon you how terribly queer it is for a dragon to delve into the minds of men. The mind of an Ársa Amháin is far more vast and superior to that of a human. There is nigh unlimited space within our brains, and we use them to their full extent. Rooting about in the mind of a human is often quite exhausting, as there is so little room -- not to mention the overwhelming lack of intellectual activity. It often makes a dragon’s mind feel quite cramped when spending any substantial amount of time mind-speaking with the human race.

Upon entering the minds of the two humans I received an equal number of surprises. The first that came upon me was the haze which shrouded the knight’s mind. He was undoubtedly possessed by some evil. Try as I might, I was unable to break through the cloud within him.

For a long moment I considered my options. I could let the cad loose to wreak havoc elsewhere and harm the lives and honour of other young women, or I could kill the man. After much thought, I opted for the simpler route.

With a flick of my tail, I sent the once-knight hurtling over the cliff’s edge. A cackling shriek rose up from the precipice. Glancing over the edge, I saw the deranged man land upon the ragged stones below, his body soon covered in the crashing, foaming waves of the sea.

The second wonder came when my mind touched that of the young woman’s. Hers was unlike any human’s I had ever encountered before -- or alighted upon since-- though it did have a small sense of familiarity. Although it was not as extensive or well-learned as that of a dragon, it far superseded that of any other human.

As our minds had connected, her radiant green eyes widened and her thoughts nearly washed over my own. I was immediately aware of her displeasure with what I had done to the knight, but greater was her curiosity. Before she flooded my mind with her countless questions, I blocked her and brought my face before her own, giving a firm gaze. She seemed to understand and ducked her head in submission.

Then, with a slight nod, I slowly opened my mind to her again.

What is your name? I questioned.

I am called Radha. Her voice came tentatively. In response, I flared a nostril and cocked my head.

Red-headed; could they think of nothing more original?

The young woman had blinked in surprise, looking into the distance. Then she looked into my eyes, unafraid, and spoke again.

What is your name, Ársa Amháin?

A low growling rumble came from my chest. Radha looked frightened for a brief moment, until she realized that I was, in fact, laughing.

To my kin, I am known as Ator Taevarth. But you may call me Abhainn.

River; it suits you. Your scales shine like silver and are perfectly smooth. You are truly incredible, Abhainn. I’ve never met another dragon, nor even seen one, but I doubt any are as magnificent as you.

I will admit that my pride swelled at her words. It is true that dragons are quite susceptible to flattery, and are rather proud of our physique and intelligence. But -- and though I am rather biased in my opinions, I believe they hold true -- why should we not have pride, when we are the greatest of creatures upon this earth?

It was more than her pretty words that had intrigued me, though. It was the agedness of her mind. She was a young human, barely a hatchling by dragon standards. And yet her mind was like that of a human near the end of its lifespan.

Who are you? I turned my head so that one of my large eyes looked over her. Radha looked puzzled.

I do not understand what you ask. I am nobody.

Hmm…not so, young one. Yours is a mind like that of a fledgling dragon, while the rest of your race doesn’t come remotely close. Even the most aged and learned of your kind are nothing compared to you. So I ask, again; who are you?

I do not know. Her response had been filled with sorrow.

I decided then, to open my mind further to the fire-haired woman. By so doing, Radha unwittingly left her mind completely open for my perusal. I gently slid in and navigated her thoughts and memories -- even those she, herself, did not recall.

As a wee child, she had been orphaned; her parents a dim shadow in her infant memories. I carefully sifted through memories of a cruel man with a riding crop, taunting and jeering human youth, long nights spent alone in a dingy hovel, and various other memories filled with sorrow.

Sparingly dispersed among these, I had also seen moments of joy; mostly consisting of being in the wilderness of the mountains, or among animals of varying kinds.

After gently plodding along her trail of memories for some time, I saw something which I shan’t ever forget. I witnessed a memory which had been lost for countless years; I watched through the eyes of a very small Radha.

 

~          ~          ~          ~

 

She was running. The mean man with his stick was going to hit her again. She didn’t know why. She must have done something wrong; she always did, and he always beat her for it. She had heard him yelling; she was scared. She decided to run away.

She snuck away before he could see her. She ran for the mountains. She kept running for a long time; it seemed like forever.

Finally, she couldn’t run any more. She lay down and cried. But then she heard something. She crept to the sound.

She peered over a hillock and across a glade. There was a big mark in the earth. It looked like a giant plow had gone over the grass, and now quite a lot of dirt showed.

She carefully looked around. Then she ran across the glade to where the mark started. It was deep and wide. She hopped into the trench and skipped along it.

She was getting close to the end; it was very long. She saw something odd in the dirt and ran to it. It looked like a very big snake tail. She poked it with a stick; nothing happened. She followed the tail and came to an area of the body with feet.

Not a snake.

She continued along, seeing big wings sticking out all funny like. She poked the belly of the creature with her stick; still nothing.

Again she walked on, past another pair of legs, and along a snake-y neck. Then she saw the head of the creature.

It was very beautiful and very frightening all at once. It looked like a smooth, silver coin. There was a long snout, and horns that went straight back. Big, pretty frills were on its head, and went down its neck. Its eyes were closed, but its mouth was open a small bit. Inside were very big, very sharp teeth.

Ársa Amháin.

Her heart fluttered in fear. She should run away.

But she didn’t want to. She wanted the dragon to wake up. She looked at the big monster. Then she looked at the dirt mark. She looked to the dragon, again; she saw one of its wings didn’t look right.

It fell and it’s hurt.

She walked closer to the head. She was scared, but she put her hand out and touched its nose.

Pain, so much pain; she screamed. She tried to take her hand away, but she couldn’t. The pain was in her head. She was crying and yelling; it wouldn’t stop. Her heart started to beat very quickly; it felt like it would burst.

Then she felt hotness come from her; it went down her arm and through her hand. And then the pain stopped, and she fell.

She stared at the sky; it was starting to get dark.

The dragon’s head came above her. It looked down at her with beautiful eyes; they looked like liquid silver. A deep voice spoke in her head.

You shall be called Mwynen.

Everything went black.

 

~          ~          ~          ~

 

I retreated from her mind, shaking my head; the memory-mind of a human child is quite chaotic and had a rather dizzying effect on my brain. After sorting out my thoughts, I looked to the young woman before me.

She looked at me in awe and wonder. I was equally in shock. For it was I, Ator Taevarth, that she had saved that day. I shared a portion of my own memory with her.

I shared how I had been attacked by one of the Turned Ones of my own kind -- a dragon that had let evil corrupt his heart, and became the monster that so many feared. I had fallen to the earth and remembered nothing until a searing pain ripped through my mind. I roared in agony, but could not move. Opening my eyes, I saw my torment reflected in the face of a small child; tears streamed down her face, and her mouth was open in a silent shriek. But she wasn’t screaming for fear of me. She felt my same pain. I could feel her, as I had felt no human before -- or any creature, for that matter. I felt all of her; I sensed her with my very being. I felt warmth come from her palm and course through my veins.

And then the pain had ceased and she fell to the earth. I felt her tender-hearted soul; her care for me. I felt her young mind begin to age.

I had Named her, then -- as is the custom of the darastrix, when a child comes into its intelligence and his or her True Heart is shown. I had named her Mwynen -- a name in her own tongue -- which meant “my gentle one.”

I had taken her, then, to the Great Road. I knew that someone would find her, there, and help her as I could not.

And so I had left her lying in the packed dirt and I crept back into the trees. I waited until I saw someone come upon the road and near her. And then I left, feeling an odd weight upon my heart.

For a decade, I spent time flying about the area in search of Mwynen, longing to see her and to touch her mind again; to teach her the ways of dragonkind. But I had been unable to locate her, and for the next seven years I kept to the mountains.

Ator. Her voice had been filled with awe. Tears began to pool in her beautiful eyes. Mwynen reached out and laid a hand upon my snout, in the exact spot she had as a child.

Immediately, warmth spread through me and I could feel our minds merge.

After much delightful sharing of memories and ancient knowings, she climbed upon my back, and I loped and bound across the earth, to Caillte Gleann -- as we later named it. Once upon the edge, I leapt down, unfurling my great wings at precisely the right moment. I could feel the pounding of her heart, the rush of excitement in her veins.

Ours was a rather unique relationship. It may seem odd that a great dragon, such as me, would come to love a human; but that is precisely what happened. My heart beat for Mwynen, as hers did for me.

We spent countless years in one another’s company. She was my anamchara, in the strictest sense of the word; our souls were bound. Mo chuisle never married a human; choosing instead, to remain loyal to me.

Mo chuisle mo chroí has been dead for some years, now. My heart aches for her companionship and -- though I have come to accept the cruelty of our ill-fated love -- I shall think of Mwynen, mo chroí, until my dying breath.

Author's Note

This was based upon a writing prompt I saw recently; write a story about a maiden who is saved from a knight, by a dragon. Naturally, I was excited to see what sort of tale I could tell; this is the outcome.

The following are Irish:
Imeall Ifreann ar -- Hell's Edge
Cinn Ársa -- Ancient Ones
Ársa Amháin -- Ancient One
Caillte Gleann -- Lost Valley
Anamchara -- soul mate
Mo chuisle -- means, literally "my pulse," but can mean "my love" or "my darling"
Mo chuisle mo chroí -- my pulse of my heart
Mo chroí -- my heart

Radha is pronounced row-a

(Image credit: ghostwalker2061 on DeviantArt)

Reviews

[Josh Dollar]

Amazing story! Creative as usual.

[Elina]

Thank you so much!

[Justin]

that is awesome!!!! :) :) :)

[Elina]

Thank you very much.

[Justin]

your welcome, it has a lil bit of everything, it felt like i was there

[Elina]

Good; that's what I was aiming for. I am glad you enjoyed it.

[Justin]

yea, all your stories are amazing!!! keep it up!!!!