A random little flash fiction piece I wrote with the prompt: "Where someone is trying to hide something."
He opens the latch door and watches the gold spill out of the secret room, in large, vast amounts like a shining sea.
“Okay, seriously?” he groans, wiping a nonexistent bead of sweat off his forehead. This is so cliché. The knight’s sword drops noisily to the ground. Forget gold. Forget double-winged dragons who breathe ice instead of fire.
The dragon soon tumbles out of the room, sliding on gold coins and adorned with gold dollar sign chain necklace. It lets out a puff of frost. “What?”
It’s surprisingly small, only three-quarters of his height, and its blue scales are dull from lack of fresh air, spending its time locked away in a hidden room inside of a palace older than his father’s father’s father’s father’s father’s father’s father. (To be precise, a couple of centuries ago.)
The knight takes a deep breath before exhaling. “Can I just kill you to get over with this?”
Frowning, the dragon scrambles off the pile of gold. More and more coins clink. The knight suppresses an unfathomable urge to steal some for himself.
“The valor, the glory, the gore!” the dragon cries, flapping its four wings and lifting itself above the ground unceremoniously. “What happened to all of that?”
The knight picks up his sword, not moving his gaze once from the dragon. His knuckles grow white clenching the hilt. “Gone. Deceased. Flew away. Now, can you help me pack up this gold so I can leave?”
The dragon sounds truly anguished this time, the way its jaw is agape and the whites of its eyes are exposed like a vulnerability. Its claws snatch at a jeweled chalice.
“I’m forty-nine years old, do you expect me to have the back muscles to kill you?” the knight grumbles, rolling his eyes. “This isn’t some low-budget movie. Just give me the gold and I can leave.”
“Well, I’m three hundred and seventy-six, and I stole this gold rightfully.” Ice starts to form on the ground the dragon hovers above. The knight wants to pretend that it doesn’t exist, but takes a step back nonetheless before the tip of is boot is covered.
“Which means you are still a juvenile.” (The dragon groans at this.) “Now please, Sir Dragon, can I just bring something back to report to the princess?”
The dragon’s toothy smile perks up a bit and it crashes to the ground noisily, sending gold pieces flying in all separate directions. The knight picks up a pendant at his boots and blanches as the dragon shrieks.
“Not over my dead body!”
“The princess will have the both of us killed!”
“Then why don’t we both stay here?”
“I have food!”
“It’s probably rotten!”
“Don’t insult my cooking!”
“How in three worlds can you cook?!”
The dragon lets out a lofty sigh more superior than the knight’s. “Hear me.”
Blinking, the knight blinks. A tense silence fills the empty room in the castle, and the old rotting floorboards start to creak as the knight adjusts his stance.
“It’s either me or me and the gold.”