I took my seat next to a window, set to travel to the Emerald Isle, at the behest of my lord and master. I rubbed at my sleep sodden eyes, clutching my copy of Game Of Thrones, the world spinning about me as real life blurred with fantasy fiction. This is my account of the journey.
I stared uncomfortably ahead as a man and woman, foreign merchants by their garb, took their seats next to mine and continued their obnoxiously loud conversation. Although they didn’t speak the common tongue, presumably they talked of splayed elbows given the accompanying actions and the bruises that later blossomed around my ribs.
A serving maid with hair of golden silk stood before me, glassy eyed like the dead returned to life, risen none too fresh from the barrow. She wore the blue and yellow crest of her house and spoke with the accent of one of the free cities in the east.
“Magazine?” she enquired with the feigned enthusiasm of a young squire asked to muck out a stables with her bare hands. I shook my head and she shuffled despondently onwards.
A booming voice commanded my attention, sounding as if a man shouted only inches above my head. I looked up, wide eyed, to see a speaker only inches above my head. What sorcery? I thought. Is he clairvoyant? He speaks of the weather in the Emerald Isle before we have reached our destination, at which point I will been well acquainted with the weather, being able to experience it first hand. Damn the gods, it’s raining and I had not the foresight to wear a cloak.
The sorcerer’s voice trailed off as a sound like the roar of twin dragons cut the air. The dead eyed servant and her associates began waving their arms, each one in time with the other, as if bewitched by the sorcerer’s commands. My fellow passengers watched on, equally enthralled.
Images had been scribed into the seat in front of me, seemingly depicting the scene of a dragon attack; a man crawling on all fours through the smoke filled carriage, wearing the same armour donned by the enchanted servants. The armour, I surmised, must protect against a dragon’s fire. Plus it had a whistle.
I clutched despairingly at my arm rests as the carriage leapt into the air, but my surprise soon gave way to annoyance. A babe fresh from the mother’s teat, screamed inconsolably not far from my seat. I reached for my dirk, eager to silence the poor wretch, but remembered that it had been confiscated by security. What kind of noble travelled unarmed to a foreign land. My protests had been greeted with a raised eyebrow and stifled laughter.
I wondered if this was what it was like to ride a dragon, as I looked upon the clouds below. Did the dragonriders of old buy scratch cards and smokeless cigarettes? I can only assume, yes.
The carriage landed. Ah! A welcome worthy of nobility, I thought, as the blast of a fanfare heralded the arrival of our carriage to the Emerald Isle.
