A king and a dragon

"Your grace," the scout greeted the king as he and his escort entered the camp. "We have located the lair. Luckily, we haven't had any encounters yet."

Casimir nodded. "Good work, soldiers. We'll take this from here. Any advice?"

The scout looked at his feet. "I'd recommend not going there at all, your grace..."

Casimir chuckled and made a gesture towards his group of guards. "Even if we wouldn't get what we wanted from the dragon, the battlemages could take him on. And he knows it." The Breton battlemages, although looking imposing in their enchanted plate, did not seem to be eager to meet a dragon.

The king gathered his men, made sure that his valuable prisoner is bound and gagged correctly, and asked for directions to the lair. A few hours walk through the thick forest of Wrothgarian mountains was quite a difficult journey, but Casimir was determined. He was already too far away from the comfort of his palace, so why turn back now?

As a jagged smile on a rock face, an entrance of a large cave could be found in the described place. Skeletons of various animals were littered on the ground, coupled by an occasional piece of clothing or armour. The beast killed anything, or anyone, what wandered too close. The prisoner, bound behind the group of mages, made an angry sound.

"We go in," Casimir ordered. Everyone, including him, casted spells to muffle their steps, as they crept into the cave. They advanced slowly, step by step. The king walked in the front, his ten soldiers right behind him, and followed by the bound Colovian man. Casimir's breathing became rapid, as adrenalin rushed through his body. The cave was dark, and his Night Eye enchantment was starting to not be sufficient enough.

Suddenly, a deep rumble sounded from the depths. The men could feel it in their bones - power. Ancient magic in flesh was lurking there, and it noticed them. "Joorre..." it said. "In my cave?" The Bretons stopped dead in their tracks. "Tahrodiis munne! How dare you?"

Without warning, the dragon spoke three words in his tongue, and a stream of fire poured into the tunnel, right at the poor mortals. Casimir's entire life ran in front of his eyes, until he realized that there is a ward placed right in front of him. Even then, the immense heat could be felt. But the battlemages did a good enough job.

"Still there?" The dragon raged. "What do you want? If it is a fight, then expect my teeth in your neck!"

Casimir took a deep breath, trying to speak clearly, without fear in his voice. However, that was impossible in the situation. "No... mighty... dragon! No, we come in... in peace. Yes! We - I - come to strike a deal with you. A pact."

"Stay where you are, joor." The dragon remained in the dark corner of the cave, unable to be seen by the mortal eyes. "I am listening. Who are you and what is this pact of yours about?"

Casimir cleared his throat, now more confident with himself. "My name is Casimir Gardner the Second, King of Wayrest. Your existence was brought to my attention when a certain Dragonguard officer tracked you down into my lands. I decided to not help him in his quest, but to help you instead." He made a gesture and a battlemage shoved the prisoner forward. "This is him, dragon. A gift of good will. Do with him as you please."

The prisoner, now unbound, removed his gag. "You are an abomination! The Dragonguard will find you, sooner or..."

He was interrupted by another breath of fire, this time with no protection. The man was burned to a crisp in seconds. "I see we can do business, mortal. What do you propose?"

"I propose an alliance. Both of us have enemies. Yours is the Dragonguard. I hold enough power in these lands to mislead them, or, if they venture too close to your lair, dispose of them. I can do that for you. In return..." Casimir took a step closer. "I heard tales about the ancient Tongues, everybody has. How they were able to call storms and winds upon their foes, how they could shout down walls. That power comes from the dragons, correct? Of course, if I am to keep you a secret, I cannot send you to battlefields. However, such abilities may prove useful elsewhere."

"Send me? I am not going to be your subject, mortal, I hope you understand that. I am the one who makes decisions. Am I clear?"

"Naturally. So, as I said, my kingdom can make use of your powers, if you decide to help. There is a fragile balance between the many kingdoms of High Rock, and any edge can amount to a great advantage after enough time passes. Much of my land is an inhospitable rainy highland. If I understand, you would be able to give my fields more sunlight. In addition, if the harvest of my rivals is hit by a storm or a hail, it would be most fitting for me."

"So I am to shout weather to your liking, joor? Sun and mild rain on your land, storms and frost on your neighbours'? Easy enough. But I warn you, I see one Dragonguard here in this forest and Wayrest will face the biggest storm Taazokaan has ever seen."

Casimir took another step closer. "You have my word. I can station a unit of soldiers close by, to hunt down any agents. No harm will come to you under my rule. And my rule will be as strong as your voice up in the clouds."

The dragon crawled out of his shadowy corner into the magelight. He was enormous and barbed, yet elegant and graceful. His red scales glimmered like fresh blood. "We have a deal. I, Nahfahlaar, Red Plague of the Reach, Qahnaarin do Bronne, promise to aid your realm, king Casimir."

Casimir, experiencing the full might of the dragon, bowed his head in respect. "And I, Casimir Gardner, King of Wayrest and Knight Commander of the Rose, promise to keep you away from harm, Nahfahlaar."

Storytellers argue if dragons are narcissistic killers or honourable warriors. Casimir realized that, in actuality, they are both.