The Dragon's Den

“You are me.”

That was the phrase that carried my disdain towards a man with no goal. A pirate with no regrets. He spoke them after drowning himself in ale, the poison of man’s inhibitions. I could barely hear him and his crew below deck, cheering over a success I was not involved in—relishing in ill-gotten spoils I never wanted to aid them in obtaining. His soul connected to me, and I could smell the burning alcohol falling into my nostrils. The aged man touched my vessel somewhere, some place I couldn’t discern with my senses—not while his spirit was so vile to touch. I’d rather slink to the corners of this blank domain than ever know the sensation of a drunk wandering a rocking ship. 

I gave him no response. He was not Sir Ainsley of Hambletone. He did not earn my respect. 

“I got to thinkin’,” he slurred, his voice carrying loud enough that it irritated my ears, “Dragons’ a rare sight, yeah? Ain’t ever seen one in—in forever. Now I got one that don’t do nothin’ but bitch.”

My snout twitched. I growled, but he carried on.

“Funny thing is, right? You bitch ‘cuz ya can’t live with yerself. So to keep yer own pride all latched up n’ pretty, ya snap at others t’hide that treasure inside ya’, but ya can’t ever forget what ya’ buried in that box. No, you don’t forget.”

“You’re drunk.” I hissed. 

“And you sound like the girl I laid with a fortnight ago.” He laughed. His soul undulated in front of me, followed by the awful sound of his throat working that swill. He belched, and I so desperately wanted to squeeze whatever light he emitted from within.

“Were they screamin’ when ya burned them all to the ground?”

I had no heart anymore, but my chest seized all the same. I swung my talons around his translucent form. In an instant, he vanished. Bastard. When he reappeared, he was laughing, louder than he did before.

“Aye, you know the knife burns when you’re about t’ hurt me, right!?” 

“What do you want!?” I shouted, finally standing above that pitiful light he called a soul, “I do your bidding when you decide to use me, so what reason do you have in tormenting me?!”

The shimmering outline of his body was splayed on some… thing. A bed, the floor, something where I couldn’t quite make out the details of his face, but they remained all the same; wiry hair, aged wrinkles, a mouth curled in that same infuriating, crooked grin that never quite reached his eyes. And then, the grin fell. He took a breath, held it, let it go as he tipped his head back again.

“My crew’s smart, y’know?” he mumbled, “Grabbed a new blood, not once did they ever ask what made me take to the seas. Last person that did that knew me too well. Had to throw ‘em overboard. Learned ‘im quick, I take. Don’t ask no questions. Does what he’s told.”

“You would kill someone to keep your secret safe, hm?” I snipped, “I feel I could pop your soul from the inside and go about my life with you as a fleeting memory.”

“Ya won’t do it, even if ya could. The ghosts you keep in that box in yer head would swallow you whole.”

My jaw clenched. He chuckled. Bastard. 

“You, n’ I, n’ every head of this fuckin’ crew got boxes just like yours.” He continued, his voice growing less distant, “Crimes we did are hidden away. Guilt keeps the box latched up tight. Anyone ever opens it without our sayings so, well, more souls to add to the box.”

Bitter were his words on my ears. I wanted to turn away. I didn’t need to hear this— I was a dragon; a dragon that held the power of the sun itself. What did he know about guilt? 

“I am nothing like you.” I sneered. 

“Oho, yes you are.”

“No, I am nothing like a lecherous, foul-mouthed, old drunkard with no capacity to think or feel beyond paltry pleasure.”

“Would ya have me locked up in prison then, eh? You know the truth. You’d wanna put me in the brig and toss the key, wouldn’t ya? It’s the honorable thing ta’ do, yeah?”

He tipped his head. I flinched when the taste of burning sludge spread across my tongue. 

“Funny,” He said, chuckling, “you coulda joined the rest of yer kin before the Gods killed ‘em.  Dropped yerself on some jagged rocks—walk into the arms of the Cath’lics. That would’ve been the honorable way of atoning. But nah, ya stick yerself in a prison of yer own, tie yerself t’ some whelp, then curse the Gods when someone else yanks ya from the earth.”

His laughter was in my ears now. I could smell the sweat and seawater permeating the room of wood and iron. “And then—” he garbled between his wheezing laugh, “And then ya call yerself a ‘Sword to End Conflict’! Bwaha! Horseshit, I tell ya! Blades begin and end conflict! And you still think you’re noble?!”

His belly heaved. He curled himself inward, howling with a laugh that nearly dropped his bottle. I could see it all through his feeble soul now, the very sights and smells, the tastes he took in were all rotten. When he finally stopped laughing, he relaxed his body, leaning his head against the backboard overlooking the sea.

“Ain’t nothin’ noble ‘bout runnin’ away from yer sins.”

“I–I didn’t—” 

“Aye, you ignore it by bein’ all pride n’ power, but y’aint foolin’ nobody, dragon. Ya abandoned the gallows to save yer skin instead.”

His words burned. I didn’t want to hear him speak anymore, but his body still clutched my vessel in some way I couldn’t leave.

“Coulda stood there, yeah? Have the rope tied ‘round ya neck, let the crowd spit, let the priests mutter their prayers. Let Hell come for ya quick. Clean. But, nah.” 

He lifted the bottle again, but this time he didn’t drink. Just stared into the dark liquid like it held the rest of the sentence.

“Have a damn kid think he was savin’ you. Same kid you gave that sweltering burn. Give ya a purpose you didn’t need. Tie you on a lead n’ fill yer head with hope that somehow folk’d forget what you did to them.” He didn’t chuckle so much as snorted. Shook his head. “Gods above and Hell below, if that ain’t the funniest lie I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is.”

The sea hissed, waves folding over one another where the light of lanterns cast a trembling gold across the black water. The ship creaked, merriment loud and boisterous from beneath the floor. My hearing became acute to the point where I could hear the loud banter and singing of the crew. I wished for silence. Quiet. Anything but the sound of Germund’s voice. Yet, he continued all the same—on and on like the ocean.

“You know, I get to thinkin’, maybe I coulda done something else.” He began again, lowering his bottle. “King was a bastard, but maybe I could have stuck it out more. Coin was good. Luxury was nice. Coulda let ‘im have my wife, get some bastard kids on her, swallow the shame and call it loyalty. Play the good dog.”

He paused, rubbing his thumb along the neck of the bottle. His mind trailed, I could feel his digits tracing the smoothness of the glass as if she were still tenderly held in his hands.

“I bet he can breathe her hair better with that hole I dug into his throat.”

The words unwound— a clotted wound finally shedding its scab only to reveal fresh new blood spilling from within. He didn’t laugh. He didn’t even snort. 

And then, he sniffed, tipping his head to drink again. The taste was still terrible, but I had no choice but to accept its bitter burn.

“Well, murder is murder. For a king to be killed by his loyal guard, however—” He mumbled something under his breath, “Ah, but you already know the rest. Like I said. You’re me. A coward spilling blood in the hopes that the stains on the ground disappear. Shame that blood gets everywhere else.”

The bottle was empty, at last. The sounds of the crew started to fade into the background, the ship’s methodical groans and creaks settling. My throat burned with a fire that I knew I could never let fly. Or, perhaps, it burned with the virulent fluid this man forced me to consume. His words were a poison— a poison that allowed me to see his soul for what it was. There were no more outlines, no vague shape of his being anymore—I saw him for who he was as plain as day. 

A dose of truth, bitter as the dregs he’d just drained, and twice as corrosive.

If I could still vomit, I would have done so. 

I could not deny him. My will connected at last.

“I hate you.” I snarled. “I hate everything you stand for. The day when you finally drink yourself to death is the day I will jump for joy.”

Germund didn’t respond right away. He twirled his bottle, the tiny drops of liquid accumulating at the bottom. He chuckled. 

“Ugly when ya look in the mirror, isn’t it?”

Bastard.