Stunned, that's how Peter looked. In the fifty years that he'd spent studying in the nursery ring, there'd been no mention of anything like that, and he'd had no cause to believe that dragons didn't live in complete and utter harmony with one another.
"I'm slightly surprised that Gee Tee hasn't put you straight on that front. I'm pretty sure he has a tale to tell on that subject, as well as a few others," said the king.
Peter thought for a split second.
"Come to think of it, he did mention... Councillor..."
"Ahh... yes," ventured the king, knowing exactly where Peter was going, despite the fact that he hadn't finished his sentence. "Councillor Rosebloom, disappointed about not being employed, does everything in his power to make life hard for the old shopkeeper. I know all about it, from the things his family arranged that led to the royal seal of approval being taken away, to the regular visits from the guards that are supposed to search for anything untoward in his shop."
"You know all about it?" asked Peter incredulously.
"Of course," replied the king, matter-of-factly. "I am the king after all."
"Why do you let it go on if you know all about it and know that it's wrong?"
"Because I'm constantly fighting battles, many of which I can't possibly win. Not real battles of course, but battles within the council to affect political decision making, to pass constitutions and to uphold dragon values and our laws. I, much to my disappointment, have to pick and choose which I can win, which I can lose and how much each will cost me in favours, resentment and prestige. I could probably have put a stop to the shop visits by the guards long ago, and believe you me, I wanted to. I really did. But the cost of doing so would diminish what little power I have, power that I need to keep the council in line, to wield when absolutely necessary. Being king is not the be all and end all that it seems. In that, your grandfather had a much greater understanding than I ever did, that is until I gained the position of king, by which time it was more than a little too late. As for Gee Tee, even though he looks a little frail at times due to his age, he's more than capable of looking after himself. I know full well that the guards and captain in charge who go to his shop to carry out the searches just sit around and listen to his old stories, something Councillor Rosebloom has absolutely no idea about. Long may it stay that way."
It all seemed pretty complicated to Peter, and sounded a complete nightmare; however, he was glad the king had at least one eye on the wellbeing of the old shopkeeper.
'The master mantra maker deserves that at the very least,' he thought, watching the king lean down beside the giant bed and flick a switch of some kind.
A whole section of the wall in front of them swung around one hundred and eighty degrees to reveal a really old and well worn... trunk. Its dark, oily wood was scuffed and scratched, the metal holding it together had started to rust, and numerous dents and knocks had taken their toll.
As Peter sat and stared at it, suddenly it dawned on him what it was.
"My grandfather's trunk," he remarked excitedly.
"I hadn't forgotten," claimed the king. "Even with the sudden arrival of Flash, and the urgency of the situation, I still remember why you're here, and since there is a natural lull in proceedings while we wait for everything to arrive, this seems like the perfect opportunity for you to have this," the king said, gesturing towards the haggard old trunk. Peter wandered over to where the king was sitting, not once taking his eyes off the chest. Standing up, the king put his hand on the youngster's shoulder.
"I'll leave you to it."
Peter looked perplexed.
"You should open it on your own. Whatever the chest contains is yours, Peter. I've done my part in looking after it for you. If you want to tell me after you've looked through it, then that would be great, but I really think you should open it and check it out on your own... in private. I'll make sure you won't be disturbed in here. Come back into the main room when you've finished. I doubt we'll have gone anywhere."
Smiling, the king turned and left, leaving Peter alone with the trunk.
Plonking himself down on the bed, he felt reluctant to open it, not having the vaguest idea as to what it might contain. Instead, he chose to study the outside, knowing that his grandfather would have once opened and closed this chest all the time by the looks of things. From up close, the trunk appeared even more magnificent than when he'd first clapped eyes on it, only a few moments ago. Despite being old and worn, he could see and feel just how sturdy it was. Clearly well made, he found himself tracing the lines of different patterns and initials with his fingers. Something else nagged at the back of his mind as he did so. It was a... feeling. A feeling of... power. That was the only way to describe it. Something inside the box, or the box itself had power. Gulping, he knew that he should just get on and open it up.
Carefully avoiding the splinters of wood that surrounded it, he flicked open the old latch, with much less force than he'd thought he'd have to use, and opened the lid right up. Inside, it was a mess. All sorts of one off mantra scrolls littered the top. Pulling out one or two, he couldn't make head nor tail of what was written on them, and that was just the ones where the ink hadn't faded. Working meticulously through the scrolls like a child opening his presents at Christmas, he lost all track of time and his surroundings.
After opening the last scroll and reading something that looked more like a cave man's scrawl than a complicated mantra, he delved deeper into the chest. Reaching in, he pulled out a pair of worn, dark brown, leather boots. They smelt... awful, but looked awesome. Putting them to one side, he grabbed hold of some sort of frame and gently tugged it out. Turning the small wooden frame over in his hands, he gasped... shocked. Inside, lined by dark blue velvet, sat a shimmering golden medal that seemed to quite literally be... on fire! Pretty sure he knew what it was, his eyes read the text that appeared under the medal anyway, just to be sure.
'The Flaming Cross presented to Fredric Bluewillow on the 6th day of September 1843 for heroic deeds beyond the call of duty, in service to your king.'
Tears splashed onto the smoky glass, racing down its length until they reached the frame and dripped silently onto the oak flooring. For minutes, he just sat and cried, but so absorbed was he, that it might as well have been for hours.
Only a handful of dragons throughout history had ever been decorated with the flaming cross, understandable given that it is the highest honour that can be bestowed upon any dragon. It was something dragonlings are taught about in every nursery ring throughout the world. And Peter's grandfather had earned this particular one. Remaining dumbfounded, he cried his eyes out with pride at what little he knew about the grandfather who he'd never met. All the things the king had told him in the hospital in Salisbridge shortly after his near fatal encounter with Manson, had made him so proud of his grandfather, but this, this was just... well, words couldn't really describe it.
'Why didn't the king tell me about this?' he wondered as he stroked the case that contained the medal. He resolved to ask him about it later. Placing the case gently down on the bed, he reached into the trunk and pulled out a set of human shaped robes from near the bottom. Standing up, he unfolded them and let them hang out in front of him. Clean white with a purple trident running from corner to corner across the front, the material they were made from felt scratchy and uncomfortable.