The Tale of Cincinnatus

"You will never know until you try..." The words echoed once more through the desolate corridors of my mind. I wished that I had punched my noble lord father in the face the moment he uttered them. Alternately, out of respect for his many winters and gray hairs, I could have simply turned my back and walked away in silence. Or perhaps I could have embarked on a different quest of my own choosing in a less painful but still futile effort to earn his respect. Anything but what I actually did: allow him to bludgeon me into attempting the impossible with the blunt weapon of his decades-old disdain for me, his youngest son, too far down the family tree to even be useful as a spare heir.

Brutal experience had handed me a new understanding of the limitations of that trite adage: it neglected to consider the potential costs of trying. The greatest insult was that the demanding old bastard would never appreciate – nay, even comprehend – the magnitude of the sacrifice that I had made to achieve the impossible. After all, was he not willing to trade my life for the prospect of a few months of familial fame, a few thousand acres of additional land that our family didn't actually need, and the fleeting gratitude of a fickle king?

"Be prepared to sacrifice all for glory and honor," he told me unthinkingly, as if these hypothetical concepts were the sum of a man's life. Perhaps, in his narrow, skewed world, they were.

Turning my head as I stood on the dais behind my lord father – always behind him – I glared at the thing being hoisted into position on the far wall. With its jaggedly protruding horns and dagger-like teeth, the damned creature's skull looked as if it belonged in the armory instead of being mounted in the great hall. Even the court wizard's preservation-spells couldn't save the beast's original eyes, and its empty eye-sockets had been filled with large topazes from my lord father's treasure room. At least I would be spared that fixed, spiteful stare during court functions.

My inner vision filled with huge, glowing orbs, glowering gloatingly down at me through a curtain of flames. It was as if those awful, reptilian eyes had channeled the crushing weight of centuries of existence directly onto me. How dared I lift my hand against such a mighty being? I thought despairingly. Not that any man was capable of defeating a dragon, but the idea that I, George Lenster, despised seventh son of Duke Lucius Lenster, was worthy of even attempting it was preposterous. I could have sworn that the dragon's toothy grin widened mockingly as it bent its head towards me.

With a forceful jolt, I shook my head, wrenching my eyes open. I knew all too well how that half-reminiscence, half-vision would end and I desperately wanted to avoid experiencing it once more, particularly here. Hopefully, none of the vassals bowing gratefully before my lord father had noticed my moment of inattention. While the men droned out lengthy recitations of the damages to their small-holdings inflicted by the marauding dragon, I felt their eyes flicker both towards and away from me, like the confused fluttering of butterflies' wings. As they strewed thanks like flower petals along my father's stately path, they stared at me even while they mouthed the words.

When would this interminable audience end? I fumed silently. And why was my presence deemed necessary? After all, it wasn't as if my lord father customarily invited me to participate in court proceedings. Involuntarily, my teeth clenched into a poor imitation of the skull's snarling grin as it occurred to me that I was now as much my father's trophy to display as it was. Surely my current usefulness to him would fade even more quickly than the wizard's preservation-spells, I thought bitterly. I had far more important duties to attend to than standing here and pretending to be impressive.