Kestrel's Nest


This story arose from being asked to write my own myth for a Living Druidry course. After thinking about it awhile I came across the piece written about what remains of the history concerning St George and England and I realised that the story had not been written from the Dragon's point of view. I decided to redress the balance. They say that history is written by the victors. On those grounds I felt I could safely discard everything written about the subject and let the Dragon tell his story in his own way. Of course, not being from around these parts, the Dragon has an accent. I'll leave it to your imagination to fit an accent to the words...

How did I get in this fix?
You might well ask.
Believing a bleedin’ human, that’s how.
I had a nice little number here;
I had this arrangement. See?
I wouldn’t flatten the place
if they kept me fed
with the odd virgin now and again.
Well, it got hard to find them.
All they had to do was jump into bed
and it’s you can’t have me
I’m not qualified. Isn’t it?
So the old king had to offer
his daughter.
Well, I didn’t mind.
But this guy comes along,
young chap, sharp type.
I should’ve smelt a rat
from the beginning,
but you know me – easily swayed.
He says look, be reasonable,
the king’s upset
he wants you dead
and he wants me to do it.
Very forward.
But then this guy says
he sees a way that both of us
can come off OK from this.
So he explains the cunning plan.
He’ll challenge me to battle
and come along with a big show
and I’m to do a lot of roaring
and fire-breathing and so forth
and he’ll provide me with this
fake blood pack,
Kensington Gore he calls it.
And he’ll have this rubber lance.
I’d got to fix the pack over my heart
and he’d burst it
and I’d roll over and play dead.
He’d find me a new place to ravage
with plenty of fresh virgins
and he’d be able to play the hero,
get the king’s daughter and all that.
Well, pickings were getting a bit thin.
Last couple of virgins
were a bit long in the tooth,
a bit gristly; past their sell-by date.
So I says, OK, go for it.
Well now, take it from me
Turns out this guy
only wanted to find out
my weak spot.

So I fixes this pack on
come the big day
and instead of a rubber tip
he has this real lance
but I don’t know, See?
Sneaky. So I do the act.
Roaring and fire and so forth
and he comes charging along
on his white horse.
Real show-off, this guy.
And hits me for six.
So there I am
bleeding all over the place
and he’s ponceing about
Playing the great hero.
One good thing. I got the king
and his bleedin’ son
when I took the fall.
But come to think
the guy probably
set that up as well.
I mean – he told me where to stand
and who gets the kingdom?
Well, he does
‘cos he gets the daughter
don’t he?
Bleedin’ con-artist, I tell you?
What’s his name?
I dunno – summat poncey – George I think.

Course, what they don’t know
Is what happens after!
You see all this blood I’m losing?
It joins up with the earth
And forms dragon’s eggs!
And in a couple of thousand years
give or take
this place’ll be crawling with dragons.
Mark my words,
They won’t call him no hero then – no way!
Should be good for a laugh. Come to think
They won’t be calling him anything much
‘cos they’ll all be dragon’s food.

Oh, buggar, that’s me done for.
Gotta go – bye for now – Tarraah!


© Angela Grant (Kestrel) 21/1/2004