Show a Little Respect Chapter 2
It was just a few hours later when I heard the other dragons being released, one by one. There were no fighting sounds, no Viking sounds at all, except for one quiet voice. Dragons released... no fighting... something was very wrong. The one voice was the little Viking. And he was talking to me now.
I did not understand him, of course, but his tone was peaceful. I would not have believed it if I had not seen him cast his weapons aside, such a short time ago. I heard the door begin to open. I braced to leap.
And then I relaxed. Leaping had done me no good the first time. If this really was some trick, I would not leap into it. I would let the situation develop, and strike at my own chosen moment, not theirs. And if this little Viking somehow meant peace...
Then what? Dragons do not even have a word for "peace;" we have to say "not-any-war" to communicate the idea. What do you do when you are at peace with someone?
The doors opened, daylight flooded in, and there was the little Viking again, unarmed and helmetless. Again, he reached for my nose, in a gesture that acknowledged what I could do, combined with a firm request not to do it. Respect. I stepped out of the cell; he gave ground and let me move freely. Or was he leading me? I was not sure.
Behind him were a handful of other Vikings, most with helmets, but none with weapons. The little one stopped me – he stopped me! – next to one of them. This one looked strong, but fearful. The little one made the same "issokay, issokay" noise he had made to me, but he was talking to one of his own kind this time. He placed the other one's hand on my nose.
I looked at him. His fear faded, but was not replaced with attack. This one also understood respect, mixed with strength. "I like this one," I rumbled. I am sure they did not understand me, but the meaning was clear enough.
The next thing I knew, I was part of a four-dragon mixed flight with five human riders. We left the ring that imprisoned us, never to return. Our destination: home. We did not know what we would find there; we had all been imprisoned for a long time. All we knew was that anything was better than the dark cells and the fighting ring. Flying again was perfect pleasure; the Viking on my neck did not weigh me down.
We arrived in the middle of a battle between the great dragon and a horde of Vikings. The great one was winning, of course. Should we throw our weight behind her, or just let her fight?
The great one only made demands, and ate those who failed her. She had never shown respect.
We fought the great dragon, to help the Vikings. If that was not proof that the world had turned upside-down, then I am a Terrible Terror.
My rider made the clattering noise that makes it impossible to aim, see clearly, or think. He must have meant it for the great dragon, but it affected me as well. I could not hold my position. I felt the great one lurch against me, felt my rider fall off. There was nothing I could do; I could barely save myself.
The effects of the clattering take a minute to wear off. I spiraled down to the ground and landed, hard. The Vikings ignored me; when has that ever happened before? They were fixated on the great one and her fight with – what? The night dragon? Again, where did he come from?
I noticed that the dark one also has a rider. It is the little Viking, the one I tried to kill. They flew well together, thinking and moving as one, staying just ahead of the great dragon that plainly wants to eat them both. Is there some bond between them? Do they share respect? Is that why the dark one defended him? I quickly looked at the army of Vikings in front of me, and I found my own rider, safe. Good.
The dark one shot upwards into the clouds, followed by the great one. I saw a firefight in the clouds. They dove down again, straight down. The night dragon pulled out; the great one did not. A huge fireball marked the end of our slavery to the great dragon. The Vikings had won.
But where was the celebration? Why were they so somber, so still? As the smoke cleared, I saw the night dragon, lying limp on the ground. Where was his rider, the little one? I suddenly understood the Vikings' mood. This little one who showed respect, who flew bravely, who set dragons free – was he gone? For so long, I had wished Vikings dead, and now that one had died, I felt only sorrow.
The dark one moaned; apparently he had hit the ground hard. He had some kind of interaction with the largest Viking – what a contrast to the little one! And suddenly, he opened his wings, and – the little one! Alive! Even the joy of escaping my cell did not compare to what I felt at the sight of that tiny Viking. I stuck my head in between two of the other warriors and roared out my delight. I think I surprised them. They surprised me by not attacking.