Jamie and the Dwarves, Part 3

[x-crowdofone.livejournal.com]

In which a dragon visits the dwarf hold, and Jamie slays it. In a manner of speaking.

Takes place a month or so after Part 2.



". . . so then they all ran for the one toilet in the house, or out behind the barn for a little privacy, and I about fell out of the tree laughing, and when, well, the urge subsided, I was grounded for a month and had to help my dad build a second bathroom, but it was so worth it." Jamie grinned as he finished the story. "They still don't let me make dessert at family reunions."

Disa howled, wiping her eyes, then smacked him playfully with her other hand. "You were a very naughty little boy, Jamie. We will have to keep a very close eye on you now that you can walk again. No dwarf would make such mischief."

Jamie arched an eyebrow. "No? Try that on somebody who hasn't talked to your father . . ."

"Oh, that is not fair. My father exaggerates. Why-–" Whatever story Disa was about to tell was interrupted by the deep chime of a bell, thrumming through the walls; she cocked an ear, listening to the cadence, then sighed. "That is the dragon-bell, Jamie. We will all be needed in the hall."

Jamie blinked. "Dragon? Are we, um-–I mean, I'm not really that good at fighting-–"

Disa chuckled. "No, no, it is nothing like that. Fyrlaf is very old, and not much interested in taking new gold for his hoard anymore-–but he is the son of Fafnir, and one of my many-times-great-grandmothers was a cousin of that cursed family, so when he has occasion to travel he claims the kin-right and stays with us for a night." She sighed. "It is, to be honest, a great nuisance. He eats and drinks a very great deal, and insists on the best of everything. But his fires are still hot, so we treat him with respect and hope, when he leaves, that he stays at home."

"So I guess mentioning Sigurd would be a really bad idea, then." Jamie levered himself to his feet-–he was only limping a little, now, and didn't need the crutch at all, but standing up was still a pain in the ass. "And, y'know, I am getting way too blase about weird things happening."

Disa snickered. "I would certainly avoid mentioning the Volsung, yes." She patted his arm comfortingly. "You live a very strange life. Better that you grow used to that, I think."

"Yeah, but I'm taking a dragon in stride, here. That's a new level for me." Jamie shook his head and grinned. "Oh well. Let's go see the dragon, then."

The great hall of the dwarven kingdom was long and many-columned, with a ceiling high enough that despite the torches and lanterns it was nearly always lost in shadow. It widened at one end into a vast empty space, where six massive fireplaces always burned, keeping the underground chill at bay. Normally, this was where the feasting tables were set up, but today, the space was instead filled with dragon.

Fyrlaf seemed, to Jamie's eyes, to be nearly as big as a house, long and serpentine, his tail curling between the columns, his wings folded against his back, giant claws folded almost demurely into his body as he crouched. Except for a slight grey tinge on his beaklike muzzle, the dragon was a rich purple, and sharp teeth flashed as he declaimed something that, to Jamie's improving ear for the dwarven language, sounded like an interminably long list of names. Gunnar's eyes looked decidedly glazed when Jamie and Disa joined him at the front, and the girl nudged her father unobtrusively in the side when the dragon looked to be wrapping up.

". . . who was the son of Thrymgar, who married Gudfrith, who was the daughter of Hreithgeld, who was the son of Hallbjorn, who married Lyngheith, who was the daughter of Hreithmar, who was the father of Fafnir my father, and so by the tie of blood I ask guest-right in this hall."

"The ties of kin and blood have ever been observed by the clan of Eitri," Gunnar rumbled, "and by those ties I welcome you to this hall, Fyrlaf Fafnirsson." He looked decidedly unenthused as he continued the formula. "May you eat your fill, and drink until you are satisfied, and go on your journey with the blessing of your family." A team of dwarves dragged two whole cows on spits out of the nearer fireplaces, and another team rolled one of the giant storage vats of ale into the hall.

The dragon wasted no time, biting the hindquarters off of one of the cows and using the entire barrel as a tankard to wash it down. "Mmph!" he growled. "Eitri's heirs have always set the best table in the mountain kingdoms, young Gunnar-–glad I am to see standards have not slackened in these lesser days. Glad indeed. I seek news, if you have any, of a rumor that came to me in my high cave-–a whisper that spoke of a new dragon somewhere in the west, a dragon that cannot speak."

Gunnar raised his eyebrows. "No such news have I heard, though I will watch for it now, and send you word if I hear any tidings."

Fyrlaf shrugged philosophically and popped the rest of the cow into his mouth. "Then I journey still, and give you my thanks for the promise." His eyes narrowed suddenly, and his head darted in, blindingly fast for its size, to regard Jamie curiously. "A Midgarder, is it?" he said in perfect English. "Not a Volsung, I hope?"

"Uh." Jamie swallowed. "Nope. Wrong part of the world." The dragon's breath smelled like sulfur and burned meat, and he wrinkled his nose, trying to lean away without looking like he was being rude. "You speak English?"

The great head drew back to a more comfortable distance. "The merest taste of my father's heart gave thrice-cursed Sigurd the understanding of all the tongues of the birds of the air. I am not my father . . . but then, I also have my whole heart."

"I've read that story." Jamie looked up at the dragon, and was struck by one of the same impulses that had, when he was six, resulted in mass familial panic and an extremely clogged toilet. "So you're Fafnir's son, huh? And he was a dwarf, before he turned into a dragon?"

"I am . . ." Fyrlaf growled, curiously. "What of it?"

Jamie tried, and failed, to resist a grin. "Just thinking, it's a little strange that here you are, a dragon, but it's your dwarf ancestry that really gives you your claim to flame."

There was a long pause, and the hall fell silent except for the crackling of the great fires and an unidentifiable strangled noise from Disa.

Then Fyrlaf smiled-–and a dragon's smile, Jamie very quickly decided, ranks very high on the list of the world's most disturbing experiences. "So it does," the great creature purred. "I see you consider yourself an Edda-cated man, Midgarder. Might I have your name?"

"Jamie Danielsson." Jamie's grin widened a notch. "And I dunno if I'd call myself educated, really. More hard-Skuld, if you ask me."

"Thor-oughly," the dragon agreed. "There are very few who would jest with me."

Jamie shrugged. "What can I say? There's a lot of entertainment that costs the earth, but you can always have a joke for Frey."

Fyrlaf snorted. "I have been Loki-ng for some time, but as I say, I have found few who have the courage."

"You say that a-Sif you're not a hundred feet long with claws taller than me, or something." Jamie raised his eyebrows challengingly. "Maybe you oughta think about having those trimmed? I mean, you Woden't want to give people the wrong idea."

The dragon's jaws gaped, and his laughter shook the hall. "By my wings, boy, you may have something there! A trim, indeed." The great head shook ruefully. "You are clever, Jamie Danielsson, and you have courage, whatever you might say about it. Hold out your hands."

When Jamie did, a little uncertainly, the dragon reached back underneath one wing and carefully dropped something into them. Jamie-–and Disa, and many of the other dwarves-–gasped: it was an opal, shimmering in the firelight, roundish . . . and it filled Jamie's cupped hands completely. Fyrlaf's grin, when Jamie looked back up, was more than a little smug. "Those who would jest with dragons should be encouraged to do so. May it bring you luck."

". . . Thank you." Jamie shook his head, looking back down at the gem, then over at Disa, who was looking relieved, and maybe a little proud. Jamie staggered slightly as Gunnar suddenly slapped him on the back.

"Bring out the feast," the dwarf king commanded. "You've traveled far, Fyrlaf-–perhaps you've heard tale of our Jamie's friends."