They cheered and called them a Hero. All they did was convince the dragon to please leave the village alone, the dragon annoyed by the noise, only demanding that the new den be somewhere QUIET for a change.
They were no hero, they just preferred to peacefully resolve problems, rather than revert to violence. -- Anon Guest
Heroism is easy to misidentify. Just like bravery. People mistake being fearless with being brave, but that is not bravery. That is just foolishness. Likewise, people mistake heroism with traversing the countryside and leaving a trail of blood in their wake.
That's just being a Murder Hobo.
Vidal Wue didn't think himself a hero. Just a wandering troubadour with a touch of silver to his tongue. He had learned his patter skills from confidence tricksters like his Rennie, but still attempted to use them for good. Convincing a Dragon with such nonsense had to be a masterwork of some kind. On the other hand, it wasn't written down at the time, so it wasn't real.
"You want quiet?" argued Vidal, idly strumming his lute. "My friend of the sapphire scale, gleaming and gilded... you set your lair next to a town full of artificers and tinkerers! The only quiet you can hope for is if, by some miracle, they all sleep at the same time. And we should all know that craftsfolk of such repute never do anything to a schedule."
Beryl the Brilliant rumbled a low, warning growl. Telling the world that she was getting tetchy. "And what would you have me do, little snack? Move again? I only just settled last century."
"Oh my glorious glistening marvel... there are places on this world where no other intelligent thing would dare set foot. Cursed lands where monsters and abominations rule the sunlight, and nothing better lurks in the darkness. Entire territories where you could feast without complaint, rest to your contentment, and otherwise remain free and unchallenged for your chosen burrow." He kept strumming, since it was also the spell that kept Beryl calm. "I doubt even the D'Varuv have dared attempt to build there."
Another growl. "What guarantee is there that other Dragons haven't already found lairs in those places?"
"True, true. There are also volcanic islands in the uncharted seas? Lost temples in the distant and dangerous jungles? Gigantic cursed craters that mark where wild wizardry scoured once golden cities into slag?"
"Golden cities, you say?"
"It may be a metaphor, but... yes. Golden. Cities."
"Find me a good one," said Beryl. "Then I will move."
The town below had a reprieve for the days that it took to scry through potential real estate for a Dragon who just wanted to get a sound millennium's sleep. Somewhere that would not know the tread of intelligent life for at least twice that long.
Somewhere with, perhaps, the peace of a tomb[1].
Vidal found six. Just in case Beryl didn't like any of the views.
"Ah. Here we go. Mountain fastness. Formerly inhabited by D'Varuv who dug too deep and incurred a curse of greed. You might have to clean out a few mummified corpses and isolate the cursed gemstone for your own mental health, but... otherwise scenic views, plenty of space for your hoard chamber." He couldn't help himself, "Or a nursery."
Beryl had to close one eye to ponder the image within the orb. "It will do," she announced. "And there is gold already there?"
"Oh yes. Lots of gold. Some deep terror monsters to snack on if they dare approach. And one cursed gemstone that I did mention."
"No tricks. No catapults. No adventurers."
"None," vowed Vidal.
They held a party for him when Beryl the Brilliant flew away with the last of her hoard. Praised him and called him a hero.
He never felt like a hero. He'd just tried his best to save as many lives as he could with the least harm to anyone else in the process.
That is what true heroism is.
[1] Presumably one of the civilised tombs where the interred don't get up once a century to murder tomb robbers. They're rarer than you think.
[Photo by Lucas Kapla on Unsplash]
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