//------------------------------// // Chapter Eight - The Dragon of Canterlot // Story: Telling Tales // by James Washburn //------------------------------// Chapter Eight The Dragon Of Canterlot This story actually happened, five hundred and twenty-three years ago, and I know that because it was told to me by somepony who was there. And what happened was this; a dragon came marauding across Equestria from the East over the sea, through the farmland towards Canterlot. And he wasn’t a nice small dragon like Spike, or a reasonable dragon like the one we convinced to leave last year. He was a big, angry dragon. Huge teeth, long, sharp claws and big yellow eyes. He could swallow a house in a single mouthful, he could burn an acre in a second, he could... (“Sorry Fluttershy,”she said, shrugging to the yellow pegasus who was shaking like a leaf, “but that’s how it was.”) He burnt everywhere, from Manehattan all the way inland to Canterlot, leaving nothing but ashes in his path. He destroyed homes, stole anything of any worth and even burnt and ate anypony who opposed him (or just burnt and ate them anyway). And of course, the more he stole and the more he burned, the larger and more dangerous he became. A big dragon needs a big cave, and the biggest caves around were under Canterlot. So it was natural that he’d go there to sleep for a thousand years, which as we already know, would be a bad, bad thing. The dragon dug through into the old gem mines, where it bedded down on its treasure and soon, smoke billowed out of every crack and crevice on the mountain. Now, I’m sure you’re wondering why Princess Celestia couldn’t deal with it. She is, after all, the most powerful pony in the land, who lifts and controls the sun (and at the time, the moon too). Well, you see, any magic she had great enough to defeat the dragon would’ve blown Canterlot off the mountain. A more nuanced, subtle solution was needed. First, the Guards went in to fight it. They marched down the tunnels, with their shining spears, their shining armour (“But not my brother,” she muttered to herself, “he wasn’t born then, let alone in the guard.”), and their can-do attitudes, chests puffed out and their heads held high. They exited the caves mere moments later, scorched, battered and bruised. The dragon clearly couldn’t be removed by force. So the university professors, all powerful unicorns, went in. They all had more specialised magic than Celestia, and had trained for years in their fields. There were experts in levitation, alteration, teleportation, thaumo-harmonics (theory and practice) and narrative causality. Famous ponies, like Doctor Golden Cowl, Professor Tinderdry and The Emeritous Professor Sunshine Lolipop the Sardonic. (“Who?” said someone in the audience. Twilight just rolled her eyes and sighed.) And, just like the Guards, they ran back out moments later, singed and fearful, and with them, came the dragon, with an ultimatum for the Princess. “Now, this just isn’t neighbourly, interrupting of my sleep like this,” he said, in his deep booming voice (Although Twilight knew she couldn’t hope to match Celestia’s original dragon voice). “What’s say we make a deal? I’ll stop burning and looting and eating your kingdom, and in return, you send me... oh, I don’t know... one filly a month, just in case I get hungry down there.” (“Not of course that he needed it, since dragons subsist entirely on a carbon-silicon diet,” she said to herself. “I think it’s symbolic of something, but I’m not sure what.”) “Never,” said the Princess. “We don’t negotiate with bullies.” “But you will,” said the dragon. “Because if you don’t, I’ll smoke out your entire kingdom, then I’ll eat whatever’s left and take all the shiny bits back to my horde here.” “You’d never.” “Watch me.” So, what was the Princess to do? She held an emergency court session, to see if anyone else could see a way to solve the crisis, because at this point, any solution was better than giving in to the dragons demands. Every member of the upper crust in Canterlot went. Every Earl, every Duke, every Lord, every Prince and Princess, all looking for some reassurance that someone knew how to deal with the malign presence under the city. Unfortunately, no one did. Everypony just stood together and worried. Princess Celestia was doing her best to keep everyone calm, but they were getting more nervy by the minute, more anxious. It was only a matter of time before everyone panicked, and then there’d be no saving Canterlot, no saving Equestria. But at this point, when things looked at their worst, a single earth pony stepped forward. His name was Doc Marten, but he wasn’t even a doctor. He didn’t even have a master’s degree. He wasn’t even a liberal arts major. He was a cobbler, and he was sick and tired of the dragon. It had burned his shop, destroyed his livelihood and now threatened to smoke out his country. He marched into that meeting and stood before Princess Celestia. “Milady,” he said, because he didn’t have the time or patience for court etiquette. “I have a solution for our problem.” Of course, the court was in uproar. Who was this pony? A mere earth pony, and a tradespony. Just who did he think he was? But Doc was nonplussed, as was the Princess, who simply held up a hoof for silence. “I shall need a woolen fleece,” he said, “and a hundred pounds of sulphur.” “And how will that save us from this dragon?” she asked, raising an eyebrow quizzically. "Don't worry," he said, smiling. "I know what I'm doing." No other solution presented itself, so she had to take his word for it. So it was agreed. Princess Celestia would provide Doc Marten with as much sulphur as he needed and a sheepskin (a gift in rather poor taste from a griffon ambassador). Doc filled the skin with the sulphur, and stitched it up so it looked, from a distance, like a sheep. Then he put it on his back and carried it down the tunnel to the dragon’s lair. Down in the caves, it was smoky and dark, but Doc kept going. Eventually he reached the main chamber where the dragon lay, big as a castle atop his gleaming pile of treasure, puffing smoke and snoring. Doc cleared his throat gently, and the dragon awoke, eyes snapping open. (“He was probably a light sleeper,” said Twilight. “There are instances of dragons sleeping through wars taking place literally on top of them.”) “Who dares awake me?” the dragon boomed, as dragons are wont to do. “Ahem, er, me,” said Doc, feeling less certain. “I’ve brought you a gift.” “A gift? Is it gold?” "No.” “Jewels?” “No.” “Does it shine?” “Not as such...” “Well what use is it to me, then?” “You could eat it,” said Doc, shrugging. “I brought you a sheep, milord, as a snack to keep you while you slept.” “Sheep?” he said, enraged. “I asked for FILLIES!” (When she first heard that bit, Twilight had almost wept with fear. When she wanted to be, Celestia could be astonishingly loud) “Ah, yes, well, think of this as a down payment,” said Doc, quaking in his size-nines “We’ll give you the sheep now, and a filly later, how does that sound?” The dragon grumbled. “Oh, well, if you say so. Just leave it there, would you?” Doc nodded and bowed, and left his gift in front of the dragon. For a moment, wondered if his plan could work. The sheepskin seemed so small in front of the dragon... Regardless, he backed out and ran out of the cavern, up through the caves, and back to Canterlot. Everypony sneered when he emerged unharmed and unburnt. What kind of dragon-killer was he? Meanwhile, the dragon was intrigued by the sheep. He sniffed it, and it smelled... tangier than usual. This wasn’t like any other animal he’d ever eaten. (“Dragons have good eyesight at long range, but they can’t focus on objects too close,” said Twilight, helpfully, “which explains why he couldn’t tell the difference between a sheep and a sheepskin full of sulphur.”). He took it between his teeth and, in one swift movement, swallowed it. Sulphur, you see, is to dragons what salt is to ponies (She spoke from experience here. She’d fed Spike sulphur tablets and charcoal biscuits as an experiment when she was little, and that had ended spectacularly badly), and the dragon had just eaten a hundred pounds of the stuff. Even on a dragon of his size, that was enough to affect him. It made him terribly thirsty, his tongue shrivelled and his throat closed up. That made him mad. He wanted water. No, he needed water, like he’d never needed anything else in his life. He thrashed and writhed, shaking the mountain from top to bottom, bringing some of the higher spires in Canterlot crashing down. Everyone stared at Doc Marten in shock. If anything, he seemed to have made things worse. Finally, the dragon could take it no longer, and he burst out of the mountain through the cliff. He flew up high in search of water. He cast about desperately and, there! He saw the river, flowing through Canterlot and down the waterfall. He dived down and sat underneath it, drinking it dry in one gulp. Now, as anypony knows, water and fire makes steam, and inside that dragon there was a surplus of fire, and now there was a surplus of water too. Thus, a surplus of steam was created. And, also as anypony knows, steam expands, but the dragon didn’t have a surplus of space inside him. (She loved that line. It was just so neat) The blast was heard as far away as Timbucktoo. Bits of dragon rained for miles around, and the threat was no more. Doc Marten was hailed as the saviour, not only of Canterlot, but of the whole of Equestria. There were those who demanded he be given a knighthood, others that he be made a duke, other still that he deserved every penny of the dragon’s loot, but when asked what he’d like for a reward, all he asked for was enough money to set up his old cobbler’s business again, and go back to the life he knew. This was granted, and his fame ensured he always had business. The dragon’s hoard was used to fund the rebuilding of the kingdom, and thus, Equestria rose again. A few weeks later, a set of shoes were delivered to the castle for the Princess. Each one was made from dragon skin, beautifully stitched, and (Twilight could vouch for this) smelled faintly of sulphur. * * * “...and so, Princess Celestia told me, that if Spike got too much, I should tell him that story, and warn him that if he didn’t start behaving, I’d go tell Doc Marten, and he’d make him into shoes!” There was a ripple of laughter and applause. Tales laughed too, to cover the fact he was screaming in terror inside. By all accounts, this was a disaster. There was another teller and she was just as good as he was. She was up here, telling a tale he didn’t know, and she was being applauded. How was he supposed to get away now? She’d challenged him now. He tried to think of some cruel story to tell about uppity unicorns who got their comeuppance. “I’m not sure I quite get along with all these stories,” said a white unicorn in the second row. “They’re all so...” she waved a hoof vaguely, “sordid. I mean, I’m not squeamish (shut up, I’m not), but exploding dragons, eyes gouged out, abominable table manners? Why can’t we have any pleasant stories?” “Why don’t you tell one, Rarity?” said El Pinko. Tales almost lost it there and then. He was going to let this preening sod on stage? He was going to LET THIS HAPPEN? “Oh, well, I don’t know,” said the unicorn. “I mean, I’m not sure I really know any stories.” Damn right you don’t, he thought, sullenly. “Come on, it’ll be fun!” No it won’t, thought Tales. You try doing it every day of your life. You spend three weeks living out of one suitcase and see how you like it! You try learning how to sleep on park benches! Walk a mile in my horseshoes! “Yes, Rarity,” said Pretty in Purple, smiling wanly. “I bet you’d be great at this.” The unicorn glanced away bashfully. “I suppose... I suppose I have one...” OH NO YOU DON-