Man's Trash, Dragon's Treasure

[WP] The dragon's lair is not what you expected. Instead of the mountains of gold and magical artifacts of fantastical power, the lair is instead filled with display cases of historically significant but common items. It's not really a hoard, its more like a museum... they even do tours...

*****

I stand before the undulated frame of the mighty dragon, Fafnir. It’s ebony scales gleam beneath the shafts of moonlight that seep through the cracks of its jagged cavern. Before me, a leviathan, a waking disaster that could consume the world if it please. In my hand, a blade of steel that could do no more than chip one of it’s serrated talon. I should be on my way to Valhalla to join my ancestors, I know this true. And yet, this beast of majesty has other designs for me still.

“What do you think, child of man? Is this not the most resplendent collection that your kind has to offer?” The great beast bellows. There is a an unmistakable look of smug satisfaction as he shows off its most guarded treasure. According to the legends, the serpent should have sat atop a mound of majesty and dreams. Riches beyond imagination, artifacts of unbridled power. That was what I expected to find when I ventured into this lair, hoping to steal even a sliver of the great dragons hoard.

Instead, we stare at the most crude and undersized ceramic pot I’ve ever seen. There’s blemishes everywhere, the craftsmanship piss-poor at best. It’s a farce of a thing, and yet the dragon beams with pride.

I am speechless.

“Yes, yes! That is what I expect. My galleria is enough to make a man turn green with envy!” It barks out gleeful laugh. “I’ve scoured your lands, carefully selecting only the finest valuables you see here.”

Sweeping it’s leathery wings out wide, Fafnir directs my attention at his display. There are simple blacksmiths tools behind one glass casing, a shepherd boys crook in another. There’s a rickety loom that stands on one leg and a bakers pin with a set of trays. The more I see of these ‘grand treasures’ the less impressive the haul becomes. Soon the riches devolves to the makings of a wooden chair, a craft not even complete.

“So, human, what do you have to say when you behold the treasures befit for a king?

“I-I” I stammer. If I say what’s truly on my mind, I wonder if it would eat me for giving insult. Instead, I dig out the most blatant lie. “I’m humbled by your prizes, mighty dragon. I’m unworthy to even gaze upon them.”

That must have been the correct answer. Fafnir puffs out it’s chest, swelling with satisfaction.

“That is just the beginning. Come along, let me show you the rest of the wonders I’ve collected from your people over the centuries.” The lair spans for miles and every nook is filled with another useless bauble. “This here was a tool I once saw a man catch a fish with. Over here, we have a blade that was used to split a tree in twain. Ah, and this! Behold, the mighty earth splitter!” It’s a half-bent pickax, and it appears to be one of Fafnir’s greatest prizes.

After hours of trailing behind, listening to it speak, my mind goes numb. I believe the pair of knitted wool socks was what did me in. This legendary dragon hoard that many dreamed of, is nothing but the greatest insult to any treasure hunter alive.

“Why, Fafnir? Of all things you could have stowed away. Why this? Any of this!?” To both our surprise, my words came in an exasperated shout.

“What do you mean?” It’s snout flares, expressing displeasure.

“I mean-“ to hell with it, I am a dead man anyway. “This is nothing more than common baubles! This here, look. I’ve never seen a harvest scythe of such a sorry state. The edges are so blunt you would smash the crops instead of harvesting them. And what is this!? A quill and parchment? The moment the quill so much as touches that sheaf it would crumple to dust!” I do not hold back. I continue to point out the flaws of its collection of household accoutrements.

“Where are you jewels? What of the rubies, the sapphires, the emeralds!? Why collect this, this... this junk! When you should be hoarding piles of gold that could last a man hundred life times!”

“Junk?” It asks me, it’s voice sinking deeper. “You would call my trove, junk?”

“What else could it be!? These are nothing but the common, the mundane! They are prolific in nature, near worthless in value!”

It roars at me. A blast wave hits my chest, threatening to sweep me off my feet.

“You want to speak of junk, Human?” It huffs in annoyance. “Then what of the useless metals you call gold? Is that not the most worthless of all?”

I am flabbergasted by the claim. “It’s the complete opposite! Gold is worth-“

“It is worth nothing! What can you do with gold other than to collect it? Can it catch you your next meal? Will it repair your broken home? Can it scrawl a message to be sent a distance away?”

“No of course not. It can’t do any of those things, but you can use it to trade for the tools that can!” I reply.

“Than it is useless! It’s only made worth by the arbitrary value that you foolish humans give it!” Fafnir is vexed as it tangles with the complexities of mankind. “Why would I ever display mounds of purposeless objects when instead I can showcase the very tools that helped shaped your civilizations!?”

I stand there, dumbfounded by its argument. Why indeed, I ask myself.

Fafnir continues. “You belittle my treasure when these are the very items that built your society to what it is today. I’ve seen your kind erect towers that soar as high as only dragons can. I’ve watched towns turn to cities, cities to kingdoms all because of the hammer and any, axe and saw. You besmirch the rod that snatches fish from the sea and instead give praise to a gold saucer that could do no more than collect dust in your coffers? Of all curses that have befallen your kind, shortsightedness is the gravest of all! You place stock and value in things that sparkle instead of those that provide foundation for a fulfilled life.”

In this moment, all I can do is blink stupidly in confusion. Am I truly being scolded by a dragon? More so did it have a legitimate point?

“Enough.” Fafnir says. “If you do not value the ingenuity of your kind than you do not deserve to gaze upon your people’s greatest treasures. Go now, leave and never return. Continue to waste your life pursing the meaningless.”

I know I should be thankful to be walking out of the dragons cave alive. But as I head home empty handed, I feel poorer still as the dragon’s lecture weighs on my mind.

*****

THE END.