The Old Dragon in Room Seven by K R Thomas
Dragons & Wyverns Short Story Challenge
4th place
The Old Dragon in Room Seven
At an assisted living castle for aging dragons, the famous Brannigar comes weekly to tell its residents the stories of old and visit with Vessimus, an old dragon with dementia. Through a weekly treasure hunt, Brannigar leads Vessimus back through fragments of his past hoping Vessimus will recall he’s really Cordrin the Courageous - the great dragon that all the legends are written about. As Vessimus’ memory fades again, Brannigar patiently and lovingly begins the journey anew, honoring his mentor through a never-ending search for Cordrin’s prized collection - his memories.
Golden Dragon Assisted Living kept a social calendar, including Fire-Breathing Fridays and Sheep-Hunting Saturdays. Tuesdays were special, though. Yes, there was StoryTime with Brannigar the Brave, but it was the only day of the week they had beetle cakes. Some dragons gathered in the castle’s community room for the stories, but most gathered for the beetle cakes.
Brannigar’s eyes scanned the room. A blank-eyed, old dragon with a few missing scales and skin the color of decaying algae sat three rows back. Brannigar smiled, walked to the front, and sat. As the residents ate their snacks, Brannigar told stories all dragons liked - the legends of Cordrin the Courageous.
Golden Dragon’s nursing staff thanked Brannigar, as they always did, for coming. Only three employees asked for his autograph this time. Brannigar could have lived anywhere in the world, but he chose Ardosta, the sleepy dragon colony nestled below the Vendora Highlands.
When the beetle cakes were gone, Brannigar walked down an empty hall and knocked on the heavy wood-planked door of room seven.
“Come in.”
The door creaked as he stepped inside.
“Hello,” Brannigar said.
“Hello.”
There was a silence as the old dragon searched Brannigar’s face.
“Hello,” the old dragon said again - this time more as a question - maybe a plea. Brannigar smiled. “Yes, so, my name is Brannigar. Brannigar the Brave. I’ve come to visit with you a while. Is it ok if I sit?”
The old dragon got up from his bed and smoothed the cushion along a bench near him. “Of course, yes, of course. I love guests. Love them. My name is…”
The old dragon blinked and stared off, searching.
Brannigar smiled. “May I call you Vessimus?”
The old dragon smiled. “Oh, yes. I like that name. Has a good ring to it, that one does. Yes, Ves…”
“Vessimus.”
“Yes. Let’s go with that.”
Brannigar sat on the bench, and Vessimus leaned up against the end of his bed. “Vessimus, do you remember the story I just told in the community room about Cordrin the Courageous and all the treasures he stole from the rich dragons and gave to the less rich dragons? And how he kept his most prized collection for himself, but no one knows where he hid it before he disappeared?”
Vessimus stared back. “I’m sorry,” he said with a slight chuckle. “I’ve never seen you before in my life, but that does sound like a good story. I love adventure stories, and I’ve never met a dragon that doesn’t like treasure.”
Brannigar smiled. “Yes, I know you love adventures and treasure.”
Vessimus leaned in. “How do you know that about me?”
Brannigar laughed, stood, and clapped. “Vessimus, I just know, my friend. And you know what?”
“What?” he whispered.
“I believe Cordrin’s prized collection is here - in this very castle. …And I believe you are just the dragon to help me find it.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you.”
“But…but I’m a nobody - an old nobody, mind you.”
“Come - I know just the clue to get us started.”
“I don’t know that I’d be much help…but…would you…take me under your wing? Like a…oh, bother, what’s the word - apricot?”
“Apprentice?”
A spark of light flickered in the old dragon’s eyes. “Yes, that’s it. Apprentice.” Brannigar bowed. “It would be my honor.”
Brannigar led him outside to a garden area enclosed by a rock wall too tall for old dragons to fly over.
“Ah,” Brannigar said. He walked over and picked up a glass ball resting at a tree’s base. “Here - rub this and see if you see anything.
Brannigar watched. Vessimus rubbed. The clear turned to cloudy, then cloudy turned to… “Whoa,” said Vessimus, “Look at that.”
They both peered. A room filled with treasures materialized. The view panned past a younger dragon making a treasure angel in a pile of gold coins like they’d seen men do in snow. The view retracted out of the room. The room’s door closed with a clink.
“That has to be a room somewhere here in the castle, Vessimus. I bet Cordrin’s prized collection is here.”
“Who’s Vessimus?”
Brannigar smiled. “That’s you. You said it was ok if I called you that.”
“Oh, yes. I like that name. Has a good ring to it, that one does. Let’s go with that.” “Well, then, Vessimus, I noticed that the door didn’t have a knob. I bet it’s locked. I wonder if you could help me find the knob. If we found that, then-”
“Maybe we could open the door,” exclaimed Vessimus. “What did you say your name was?”
“Brannigar. Brannigar the Brave.”
“Can I call you Bran?”
A watery sheen came across Brannigar’s eyes, but Vessimus didn’t notice. Brannigar nodded. “Yes. Certainly. Now, I think I know where an old door knob is.” “Why do we need a door knob?”
After Brannigar explained the need for the knob again, he led Vessimus back into the castle. They trotted down three flights of stairs. The air grew cold and heavy as they descended. On the fourth to last step before reaching the dungeon level, Brannigar spotted the brass door handle in the shape of a wolf’s head that he’d placed there earlier in the day. “Look,” he said.
Vessimus bent his long neck down and sniffed. “What is it?”
“It’s the door knob we were looking for.”
Vessimus stared at him with a grey cloud in his eyes. “Why were we looking for a door knob? And, forgive me, but who are you?”
Brannigar smiled. He reintroduced himself and recapped their adventure thus far. The old dragon gasped to know he was part of the adventure unfolding. Accepting his name, Vessimus literally danced at the idea of finding the prized collection.
“Let’s go this way,” Vessimus said, bounding away into the darkness like a young dragon at the first sight of sheep.
Brannigar followed, but at a distance. He watched as Vessimus methodically surveyed the dungeon halls. His approach, his efficiency, his ability to make decisions and move on - all of it was like it had been in days before.
“Here,” Vessimus exclaimed. “This door. This one is missing a knob.”
Brannigar smiled.
Vessimus tried, but the door wouldn’t budge. “See, Bran? My good dragon, see? This is the door. We’ve come upon the treasure - the prized collection of Cordrin the Courageous.” Brannigar handed him the brass knob. Vessimus fitted it in place, and something clicked. Vessimus looked up at Brannigar.
“Go ahead,” said Brannigar. “See if it opens.”
Vessimus looked at the knob then back at Brannigar. “I don’t know. I think maybe you’ve got the wrong guy. This is a big deal, you know? Discovering treasure and all.” Brannigar took a hand and held the back of Vessimus’ neck and stared into his eyes. “I said the same thing once to my mentor, but he assured me I was the one, the only one, who could play this role. He said God gives us all a role to play. Our job is to do his work while we’re here. That’s it.” He looked at the door. “And this is your job. This is your work.” Vessimus turned the knob. There was another clicking noise, and the door gave way. Hinges creaked as it opened. The light from the room’s window cast about not on gold and silver, but on shelves of dusty boxes - a castle’s dungeon cell turned storage closet. “I don’t understand.” Vessimus stepped in and looked around. “Where’s the treasure? I thought there was supposed to be treasure - the most prized collection of Cordrin the Courageous.”
Brannigar stayed silent. He watched as Vessimus walked along between the shelves. The older dragon stopped as he read the name on a box. It was the same box he stopped at this time a week before and this time most weeks when the fog of his memory allowed.
“What do we have here?” Vessimus carefully pulled the box off the shelf, studied the name again, then looked at Brannigar. “What did you call me again?”
Brannigar’s voice cracked. This part always got him. “Vessimus. To me, you are Vessimus.”
Vessimus looked down. “That’s the name on this box. Vessimus.” He stared. “What…what do I do next?”
Brannigar walked towards him. “Well, if it’s your name on there, then I think you have the right to open it and see what’s inside.”
Vessimus searched Brannigar’s face, then took the top off the box and started slowly pulling out the contents.
“This flute came from the bard of Wilderfrome. It was a gift to me for…protecting their town in the Festaldown rebellion.”
“That’s right.”
“And I can play the flute.” He looked at Bran. “I can play the flute.”
Brannigar smiled and wiped his eyes. “Yes, you can play the flute.”
“And this,” he pulled a fairly dinged up metal bowl out of the box. It would have passed for trash to anyone else. “This is the bowl I drank my morning tea from during the Seventeen Year War. It was given to me by…King Pellinore…and it was King Arthur who gave it to Pellinore. It was a gift of peace between Men and Dragons.”
Vessimus’ eyes grew larger and larger. Brannigar thought they looked about to pop right out of his head.
“And this is a fang from the basilisk I smote in the dungeon…” He looked wild around. “The dungeon of this very castle,” he said in a whisper.
“And this…” He pulled out a tattered blanket, colors faded with time. He put it over his face and smelled of it deeply. “This is the fireproof blanket made for me by my grandmother - Porticus the Patient.” He put the blanket to his nose again. “It smells of cedar and wool and the moss of my homeland.”
He stood quicker than an old dragon should be able to stand. He walked past Brannigar and stared at the brass knob of the door. “And that is the great wolf, Aesch, who rules from where the sun rises to where the sun sets.”
Brannigar saw the change come over Vessimus’ eyes which then grew to the whole of his face.
“Bran, it is you,” he exclaimed.
Brannigar was snotty crying now. “Yes, Master. I am here.”
“And I am Vessimus affectionately to you, but to the rest of the world, I am… Cordrin the Courageous, Fighter for the Fair, Servant of the Saints.”
“And many more well deserving names, my Master,” sniffled Brannigar.
“When did you get here? Where must we go? Who needs our help? Let us go, Bran. We must go.”
Brannigar tried to stop Vessimus, but he was still strong, even for his age. Vessimus galloped for the stairs. He made it half way up to the next level before his pace slowed then
stopped. Brannigar stood at the base of the stairs and watched. Vessimus looked around. He eventually noticed Brannigar.
“Hello,” Brannigar said.
“Hello.”
There was a silence as the old dragon searched Brannigar’s face.
“Hello,” the old dragon said again - this time more as a question - maybe a plea. Brannigar smiled. “Yes, so, my name is Brannigar. Brannigar the Brave. I’ve come to visit with you a while. Is it ok if I walk with you?”
The old dragon turned. “Of course, yes, of course. I love guests. Love them. My name is…”
The old dragon blinked and stared off, searching.
Brannigar smiled. “May I call you Vessimus?”