Vengeance Part 1: Hatred

Notes: “Vengeance” was a short, fiction essay written in three parts for my Honors English class.  It started with going to the Creation Museum in Kentucky (Go.  Sometime soon.  Amazing.)  and watching their little video clip on dinosaurs vs. dragons.  While I don’t agree with their premise that dragons are just another breed of dinosaurs (all the legends seem a bit too specific for that one), I do believe that they once existed at some time.  Every culture on the globe has some kind of dragon legend, and the discrepancies can easily be explained by different species within the overall umbrella of “dragon”.

*ahem* anyway.  The story about St. George got me fired up again, because I’ve always thought he was a huge jerk, and here we are.  Please note that I wrote the story about George of Cappadocia, not the English George.  Legend has it that after he slayed the dragon, the town was razed to the ground and never seen again.  Hmm…

So here we have the legend of St. George and the dragon, from another point of view.  What if the story didn’t end that day?

*****

Vengeance

Part One: Hatred

I watched as my mother died.  I just stood there and watched.

The man didn’t know it, of course.  He was so focused on her, I doubt he would have noticed if our whole family had come screaming down from the skies.  But our family was scattered, and I was too young to be of any help.

So I hid.  I cowered in the underbrush, peering out from behind branches and leaves.  I nearly screamed when he plunged the sword into her side, sending out a spurt of dark blood.  I moaned softly along with her when he wrenched it out, injuring her further.  I let a soft hiss escape as he freed the maiden and bound Mother with her girdle.  Helping the young woman stand, he tugged on the free end of the silken cord and led them both away.

I was young and foolish and full of anger.  My mother was my entire world, and now she was taken from me.  The fury emboldened me, and I followed them, creeping through the shadows.  Then, as I entered the city behind them, I grew timid once again at the presence of so many people.  I watched, hidden behind a cask of ale, as he led her through the streets.  Mother had always been fierce, the fiercest of all of us, and yet now she was tame as a lamb.

How, I still wonder, had he known our weakness?  That if we were bound, we could do no harm to anyone, not even in self-defense?

He greeted the king and queen and delivered their daughter to them, speaking of his religion all the while.  Then, with one swift stroke, he drew his sword and sliced Mother’s head from her neck.  I sobbed in the shadows, hot tears of grief and anger and shame running down my cheeks.  If only we had stayed at home.  If only she had fled instead of telling me to hide.  If only… if only… if only…  The people roared, though it was a feeble squeek compared to one of my kind’s roars.

And they made him a saint.

That action I found nearly impossible to accept.  I could understand how he hated Mother – she had, after all, kept the kingdom terrorized for some time.  Even her bondage was not that terrible.  At least there was the possiblity she could have escaped, flown free.  But to have killed her while she was tame and helpless-!  It angered me almost to the point of madness.

Perhaps I did go a little mad.  I developed a deep and abiding hatred of humans, particularly those under the guise of Christianity.  I swore vengeance on them – not just for Mother’s sake, but also for the other murdered members of dragonkind.  Though I might be slain myself, I vowed they would remember my fang and claw, my wings and flame.

My name is Wirenth, daughter of Freith, and I will not rest until I have my revenge on the knight named George who slew my mother.