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“Who is there.” Rumbled a demand of a question that shook the stone floor beneath his feet. A familiar rumble, though not a familiar voice. The rumble of a roar shaking the ground accompanied by the smell of smoke right before flames burst forth. Dragons.
Or in this case, one dragon.
Underneath the castle, many stairs below the ongoing ball not seeming that far above, Morgan never would have thought he'd have encountered a dragon of all things. One that could talk, nonetheless. But this stone room, just past heavy iron doors, did not scream of a dragon's lair. It spoke of confinement and concealment.
Heavy metal clanged against equally heavy metal; Morgan felt more than saw the dragon move. A large one from what he could tell even without the need of sight or the mental mathematics to know how big those chains would need to be to make that sound. Smoke hit his face and then he was eyes to eye with a giant golden eye. The eye locks onto him immediately, slit narrowing.
“Ah, you are neither a regular guard nor food, are you?”
It's then that Morgan takes in his stance, reels himself back. He's standing before a dragon, chained up in a room below the castle he lives in. He's never heard of a dragon being captured and imprisoned below the catacombs. The fact that this area is so hard to get to and typically heavily guarded can only mean one thing, really. This dragon has been here for a very long time. His parents definitely know about this dragon. The dragon isn't stupid.
Morgan resolves that he doesn't have to be so tense, but that he definitely shouldn't lower his guard. Never lower your guard around a dragon.
“I'm afraid not.” Morgan finally replies, curt. Reluctant. He's no idea what to say, honestly. Never spoken to a dragon before, never knew they could speak.
“Then who are you?” The dragon booms. Morgan realizes that the booming is more from how big the dragon is compared to the space they inhabit than because the dragon is trying to be menacing. That if he pays attention to the tone, which he is because his every sense is on alert, the dragon sounds tired. Defeated. Withered. Ancient.
“I don't think that matters.” Morgan replies hesitantly, for surely if the dragon knows who his parents are, then the dragon would kill him in an instant.
“Surely it does if it is information that you are keeping.” The dragon's eye narrows.
“Uhm, okay. My name is Morgan.” Morgan finally introduces himself, hoping that will appease the dragon. The eye alone is likely taller than him, Morgan can't even comprehend how massive the rest of the dragon probably is. He doesn't want to think about that.
“Morgan.” It sounds as if the dragon is tasting his name, rolling it around in their mouth, like the syllables are foreign. They might very well be, since the dragon speaks with many voices overlapped, as though a crude mockery of English, without contractions. With a specific roll on certain letters as though speaking in a language that isn't their mother tongue. Of course dragons don't speak English as their first language.
“And your name?” Morgan asks.
“You know that knowledge is power and yet you wish to have power over me? When I am already imprisoned here and have none.” The dragon head then moves away from Morgan, those eyes locked onto him and glaring. Then a glow lights the room and Morgan realizes two things at the same time:
1) This dragon is massive. Far more massive than Morgan could comprehend, larger than any dragon Morgan has ever slain let alone seen in person. This dragon is like the old tales of legend. When dragons were gigantic and burned down whole kingdoms and the appearance of only one would be a real threat. When it was a feat of war to slay a dragon, making Morgan's task one of pest control by comparison.
And 2) He, somehow, offended a dragon by asking for their name. Because the glow? That's coming from the dragon's chest.
Morgan barrel rolls out of the way just in time to avoid being burned to death. Not surprising that his reflexes are still up to par, he's only been away from the borders for a few months – about as long as it takes to get there. But he has no weapons with him, no armor, he's completely unprepared to face a dragon right now. Even if this one is chained and at half their power. He didn't expect to face a dragon within the capitol. Within the castle.
So, Morgan does the next best thing. Talk out of his ass.
Right as the dragon is rearing up to prepare another blast of fire, Morgan raises his hands in surrender.
“Wait! Waitwaitwait-” He pleads. The dragon, for some reason, stops. The room goes dark again and that gigantic eye gets closer once more, glaring down at him in boredom.
“I'm sorry for asking for your name, I didn't mean to offend you.” The dragon scoffs with an eye roll and takes a deep breath as though to speak, but Morgan continues. “But what do you mean you're imprisoned here? I mean, obviously I can tell that you are. But how?”
That definitely catches the dragon's attention. They back away from Morgan again, though not to turn him into a charred skeleton this time. Rather they seem to be getting comfortable, sitting down.
“That is a long story, but I am rather surprised you do not know it.” The dragon speaks, sounding a bit stumped. As stumped as layered voices in an echo chamber can sound, anyways. “Surely you are jesting.”
“No, not really. I've been uhhh… fighting dragons at the borders for a few years now. Not once in my 28 years of life have I ever heard of a dragon being imprisoned instead of slain. Not even in history books.” Morgan explains, probably more than he should. But his curiosity is piqued and he thinks a little oversharing is fine.
The dragon snorts and coughs.
“You were pretty young for a human soldier when they sent you, were you not?” Then a glare. “That is what you are, correct?”
Morgan nods in agreement. “Yes, I'm a soldier from the borders.” But he gives no more details.
“And you are human?” The dragon asks, as though skeptical and expecting any other answer.
“I'm not aware of any other species?” Morgan answers with an unsure lilt, a small voice in the back of his head screaming as loud as it can. Morgan mentally shoves that voice into a box. His existential crisis can happen later, when he's not playing with fire. Or, you know, trying to convince a literal dragon not to kill him.
The dragon makes a weird chuffng noise, almost like a laugh.
“Alright, what year is it then?” The dragon asks him. “The guards refuse to ever tell me. I have no concept of time within these walls.”
Morgan feels a pang of sympathy for the dragon at those words, knowing full well what it's like to lose track of time trapped in endless battle at the borders. He tells the dragon what year it is as a response and the dragon seems shocked once more.
“So then it has been almost a thousand years since they built these walls around me.” The dragon states, attempting nonchalance but it's clear that the realization affects them negatively.
“They built the cage around you?” Morgan asks, incredulous. How can that be possible? The castle was carved out of the side of the mountain, they're deep within the foundations, probably deep in the mountainside itself. They would've had to have-
“I do not see it any other way.” And it's like those words are spoken with a grin.
“They built the castle on top of you, then.” Morgan says, with a tone of finality, repeating their conclusion aloud.
“Is that where I am? Underneath a castle?” The dragon seems to consider something. Taking a moment to ponder.
“I will tell you something of great value if you tell me something in equal exchange.” The dragon offers, surprisingly not bargaining to be freed or fed, which is what Morgan thought would be the request should the dragon have any at all. The dragon is surprisingly civil, despite the earlier burst of rage.
Morgan takes a moment to think, himself. He doesn't really have any knowledge to offer to the dragon that he thinks could be considered “of great value”.
“I don't really have anything to tell you.” Morgan says in lieu of a response, with a shrug. Besides, what kind of information could a dragon trapped for a thousand years provide?
“You could tell me who you really are.” The dragon gets close again, eyes narrowing into a glare. Morgan gulps audibly. There's that.
“Oh. I mean. I really am a soldier, my name really is Morgan.” Morgan says, but even he can tell that it sounds like a lie. Though it is true. Just not a whole truth.
“That, I have no doubt of. But I know that is not everything.” The dragon seems to debate their next words, from either not knowing what to say or how it should be said, Morgan can't really tell the difference. “Where do you hail from?”
“This kingdom, the Kingdom of Fairmont.” Morgan replies, still beating around the bush. Morgan knows the dragon is inquiring about parentage, seeking Morgan's last name. But he isn't sure that risking his life is worthy of whatever knowledge that dragon can supposedly give him.
The dragon chuffs again, though they sound far from amused. Muttering lowly, though obviously Morgan can still hear it. The words vibrate through his bones. “Of course they named it Fair Mountain.”
“You know full and well the answer I seek.” The dragon booms. The chains rattle and smoke is once again blown into Morgan's face, accompanied by the threat of a glow. Just a glint, no fire to attend the released breath. “The very fact that you dance circles around the question means that I know my knowledge will be of great use to you.”
The last statement is accompanied by a stern glare, it's obvious Morgan has worn the dragon's patience thin. He should be grateful that the dragon clearly intends to let him leave this room alive. Anymore beating around the bush could change that fact very soon.
With his life on the line, Morgan caves against his better judgment.
“Alright, fine. My name is Morgan Sterling. First Prince Morgan Sterling of Fairmont. Though, I'm mostly referred to as Lieutenant General and I'm hardly recognized as a prince among anybody but my siblings.” He explains reluctantly, stubbornly, harshly. Probably too much. Again.
The dragon huffs in surprise, it seems that Morgan keeps surprising the ancient beast. Maybe that's why the dragon hasn't gotten bored enough to kill him? Or perhaps it's because Morgan has given the dragon more knowledge than they've received in the past millennia. Knowledge for his life. Honestly, a small price to pay in the grand scheme of fate.
“Not surprised considering you never let your guard down once.” The dragon says and Morgan notices the way he's still tensed up, ready to roll or jump the moment the dragon strikes. Though the dragon has shown no real interest in fighting. Not since Morgan disrespected them, anyways. “Though what does intrigue me is the fact that you hail from this kingdom as royal blood. I would have assumed you were an enemy soldier.”
“Why else would you be down here?” The dragon inquires, but it's purely rhetorical. A thought spoken aloud. At least, Morgan thinks so.
“And you're not gonna kill me for it?” Morgan asks, wondering why that very revelation didn't end his life.
The dragon's pupil expands momentarily, then the dragon blinks and their pupil has returned to a narrow slit, glowing in the darkness of the huge, echoing room. It's like Morgan could sense the moment of consideration the dragon takes and he suddenly feels very, very mortal. He's only leaving this room alive if the dragon allows him to. Which means he definitely let down his guard and gave away the only bargaining chip likely keeping him alive. Stupid.
“Not particularly, no. More curious than anything, to see how you use this information.” Then the dragon slithers away once more, from the sound of shuffling and rattling and the new positioning of their eyes – both now, still boring into his soul – Morgan assumes the dragon has decided to lay down. Morgan doesn't even know where in the room they are. How far away is the door?
“All the dragons you have fought at your borders are because I have called them to my location. Your parents are aware of my existence.” And with that, the dragon pushes him towards the door without any further exchange. Nearly pushing him out of it entirely. It's a marvel to note that the dragon definitely wouldn't fit through the doors, which to Morgan, only proves that the castle was built on top of the dragon.
Morgan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, in front of giant iron doors hiding an even more massive dragon. Miles underneath his sister's ceremonial ball.
There's a lot of stairs to get to his bed.
The voice he shoved into that box earlier? Yeah, it falls out and screams the entire way.
When he finally finds sleep, Morgan dreams of golden yellow eyes in a dark room deep below the castle.