Prince of Dragons

Chapter 12 - Sir Lannhil and the Dragon King

The seven year-old prince of the Flaming Lands was sitting beside his father at the long dining table. He gazed in awe at the three minstrels standing in front of it. One was playing the lute, another was playing the flute, and the third one announced that he was about to recite the epic story of Sir Lannhil. 

"Dad," the young prince Enorwin asked the earl, "who was Sir Lannhil again?" He had heard the name before, but to his shame he had to admit that was all he knew. 

The earl laid his hand on the boy's shoulder and bent towards him. "The first of the knights of old, son," he said. "He boldly confronted the first Dragon King, a golden dragon named Wainur, and slew him." 

"Wow," Enorwin murmured. Then he asked, "Will I also slay dragons when I am older, dad?" 

"There are not many dragons left, son," the earl said. "And sadly, there are many people who don't want to be like Sir Lannhil anymore, who don't want to be brave knights." 

"That's bad," Enorwin said. "But you are brave like Sir Lannhil, aren't you, dad?" 

The earl laughed. "I hope I am, son. And I am sure you will be a very brave knight, too."

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"It's not fair!" 

Nine year-old Enorwin slammed his door shut and lay down on his bed, hitting his pillow with his fists in frustration. "It's just not fair!" he sobbed. 

Someone knocked on his door. "Enorwin, can I come in?" It was his mother's voice. Enorwin didn't respond. 

The door was pushed open. "Are you alright, Enorwin?" his mother's voice asked. 

"I'm not!" Enorwin sulked. 

He heard his mother's footsteps approaching. She sat down on the side of his bed and laid her hand on his back. "What happened?" 

"Master Wilnasson says I can't fight," Enorwin said. "He said I'm a useless warrior." 

"Your sword fighting teacher?" 

"Yes," Enorwin said. "He's been trying to teach me a new technique, but I still can't do it." 

"Poor boy," his mother mumbled, stroking his back. 

It was silent for a long time. Then, however, the countess broke the silence and said, "You like the story of Sir Lannhil, don't you?" 

"I do," Enorwin said, "but Master Wilnasson is right; I'll never be like him." 

"Don't you know how much trouble Lannhil had when he was taught how to fight?" his mother asked. 

Enorwin turned over and looked at her in surprise. "Did he?" 

"He did," his mother said, smiling. "It took him ages to learn it. When he was fifteen, he could barely control the way he moved his sword. It was too heavy for him." 

"But swords aren't that heavy at all!" Enorwin said. 

"Lannhil wasn't very strong back then," his mother said. "And yet, when he was older, he slew Wainur." 

"But how could he do that if he was so bad at fighting?" Enorwin asked. 

"He practiced," his mother said. "It took him a long time, but he learnt how to fight. And he got good at it." 

"I don't want it to last so long," Enorwin said. "Master Wilnasson will only get mad at me again." 

"Master Wilnasson is going to get reprimanded," his mother said. "I'm not letting him yell at my little prince of the Flaming Lands!" She rubbed his head and Enorwin couldn't help but smile.