[NON-PONY] Gortlundyr the Dragon

This was, admittedly, spur of the moment on a visit to /tg/ land.
The first non-pony-related story, this was more meant to be a kids' tale based on an idea of dragons hoarding strange things other than just gold and jewels. No, this one hoards a different kind of treasure. A comfy prize. Blankets.

-----------Gortlundyr the Dragon-----------------------------------

And lo, the dragon swept upon the town and roared mightily.

"Fool who does not flee; surrender your blankets and linens or feel my wrath!"

And old lady knitting a blanket, looked up at the disturbance from her rocking chair.

"Oh, is that you, Charlie? Just in time for the picnic race. Everybody's running around in a hurry today. My you've gotten so big!"

The dragon snarled and jabbed at the woman with a claw. "The blanket, human!"

"Oh goodness it is so nice to have you visit again, Charlie."

"I am not Charlie, peasant, I am Gortlundyr, the Destroyer!"

"Oh my, well I'm glad your new job is working out, you have a promotion and a new fancy title already!" She got up with aching slowness and approached, holding the blanket like any good old lady would. "You're just in time, Charlie, I finished a new blanket, here, can't have my baby Charlie getting cold."

"Er... thank you." The dragon could sense the love put into it. This would make an excellent addition to the hoard.

"Ah that's my good boy, always with your please and thank you's, Charlie."

The dragon started off, when a voice called behind him.

"Oh, Charlie, stay a bit with your poor old grandmama, I'll bake you some fresh cookies like you used to love and you can tell me all about your day. in the big city."

"I... um... "

"I'll give you just the right amount of sugar, nobody beats old grandmama's cooking." She started to shuffle back inside as the dragon was simply too unsure of what to do to begin to leave.

"O... okay."

The villagers eventually came out, wondering why the beast would not leave. A huntsman bravely peaked around the edge of the home of old lady Nezbit.

And lo, the dread dragon Gortlundyr was there. The voice was burdened heavy with emotion, the old lady was sitting at a breakfast table she had brought out.

"And then I told him to go away but Salaraf was determined to try and steal my softest blanket to decorate the top of his hoard."

The old lady was perched in her rocking chair that bore some new claw marks and was at the front of a line in the dirt, implying it had been dragged forward to its perch by a mighty force. She nodded, solemnly. "Oh my, he sounds like such a meanie."

The dragon was nearly blubbering, though everyone knows it is extremely impolite to say that about a dragon, Gortlundyr in particular, who had burned down an entire keep because someone had started a rumor there that he gathered no gold for his unconventional hoard because he was a pansy. "H-he was, grandmama. I should have listened to my instincts but I came back one day and it was gone. My most prized possession!" He drew circles in the dirt with a claw, etching a frowny face.

"It's okay, dearie, let it out, grandmama is still so proud of you." She proffered a tray of cookies, freshly baked, according to the scout who could smell the aroma from his vantage point. The dragon took the cookie and wolfed it down hungrily.

"Thank you, I, I just got so mad at him but he hid so I just flew around and burned down some guy's cottage. He didn't have anything to do with it, but he was there and I was just so mad."

"Aw, sweetie, goodness no. Did you apologize to the poor man?"

The dragon looked away, shamefully, as if he was truly ashamed that some old lady would know he did something wrong. "N-no, grandmama, I didn't."

"Now that's not how a proper adult acts, Charlie."

"But, but it's so embarrassing."

So it was. That a dragon so fearsome was brought down to this level made the huntsman chuckle. He immediately knew his mistake when the dragon set a fiery eye upon him. The embers of hatred reignited in his belly and he inhaled to roar angrily. But the wind died in his lungs as quickly as it came.

"Charlie, I know how you always get into spats with Duke from across the street but you two are grown men now. Put it aside and have some more cookies."

"I..." the dragon murmured to himself as the huntsman was terrified beyond ability to escape, caught and in clear sight. "I... fine."

"There, Charlie, such a good boy," the old lady chucked. "Now, why don't you come over for some cookies, Duke?"

The dragon, however, was still glaring at the scout. "Yes, why don't you?"

The hunter was simply at loss for words. If he ran the dragon might go on a rampage again, but if he stayed it might kill him and the old lady anyway. What was he to do? The most he could muster was a simple, "Okay."

And so, Gortlundyr had cookies and bemoaned his problems to the old lady and the huntsman, who excused himself a while later and the old lady insisted he should be let go so he can get back to his own grandmama.

Gortlundyr did eventually leave the town, and for the first time, peacefully, at that.

He was sighted leaving the old lady after she held him up just before he took flight. She presented him with a new blanket, the softest she had ever made. It was not, in all truthfulness, the softest one in the world, but it carried with it the love and earnestness of a sweet old lady.

A man stumbled into the village later that night, saying he had met the dragon, who had apologized for a terrible misdeed and offered one of his prized blankets as recompense, a gorgeous piece from a kingdom far to the North. The man later sold it back to the kingdom it was taken from and used the money to buy a new, better cottage. He still comes by every so often to talk with the old woman, the huntsman, and the dragon, when they meet twice a year.