Death of a Dragonslayer

The last dragon lay dying on the forest floor. Trees strewn about as if a confused tornado had been through, everything charred by wildfire or disrupted by flailing tail and sword. She was beyond the point of pain and had made the final surrender. The fight was over and the only living dragon-slayer had won. All that was left for him to do was come and claim his bounty. With a quick chop it would be over. The dragon would cease to be and the slayer would be the hero for centuries to come. The last, most ferocious of all the dragons would be dead and the slayer the final champion. The man came out from behind a rock barricade and limped towards the dragon. He was smiling, but tears were streaming down his face. He gently set his sword and shield down and cradled the dragon’s head in his arms.

“You were the best one! Put up a long chase with many a good fight! You never backed down. Never ran away. Never showed me any mercy. You are such a brave warrior! “ At this the slayer began to sob. It was a series of long low wails, punctuated with coughing fits. There was not a creature in the forest that moved throughout its chorus. Everything was still. All were mesmerized by the majestic cries.

The dragon struggled to understand. What was happening? This cold-blooded killer had chased her for thousands of miles over months with the singular wish to kill her, yet, when success was in his grasp, was he questioning his resolve? He finally put her head upon the ground and stood directly in front of her.

“You are a noble and beautiful creature.” He began. “It is a travesty that I should have to be given this commission. You must understand I am not killing you for myself. I would love to see you thrive and live out your days. But forces greater than you and I have decided our fates. We were to be put against one another. I will suffer this day for as long as I live. The King will proclaim a holiday. The people will shower me with praise for doing nothing more than being more ruthless and cunning than you were, something only you can truly appreciate.” He began to sob, but this time more privately and quietly.


If the tables had been turned and the slayer was dying in the embers of the forest floor, how would she feel? For months it was the two of them, point counterpoint, scheme within scheme, wits matched, meddle tested, and battles waged. Now, one of them would be alone with no one to hunt. The battle would have to be exchanged for the domestic life. Dinner at six, horseshoes, gardening, meet the Royal Family, these would be the new battles, battles against boredom. The dragon laughed at the irony of the situation.  She now understood that her death represented the death of the slayer as well. He could no longer do his task. The joy of the hunt, which she keenly understood, would be lost forever. She tried to lift her head and nuzzle him. There was too much pain. She opened her huge eyes and looked straight at him. He fell to his knees and bowed lowly.

When he stood upright he hardened his features. “What I do now, I do for you. I do this to put you out of your anguish, not to take your life. She closed her eyes to let him know she understood.