Fiction: The Last Page

Meet Asphodel & Margot

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Today, I bring you a little entertainment in the form of a short story about a dragon, the brave librarian who befriended him, and their shared love of stories.

In the town of Eldridge, where the hills roll gently into the horizon and the nights are stitched with starlight, there is a library built of stone. The building, ornate and ivy-draped, stands as a silent sentinel at the edge of town, guarding the area’s rarest and oldest documents and books. It is here that Margot, the Rare Documents librarian, spent her days immersed in old ledgers, historic records of births, deaths, marriages, and all manner of legal documents. 

The basement of the library, seldom visited by anyone else, was a labyrinth of shadows and dust-covered shelves. One rainy and thundering day, Margot decided to catalog the oldest documents and turned down a long-ignored aisle and came face-to-snout with Asphodel—a dragon of iridescent blue scales and eyes like molten gold. He made no sudden moves, but stayed atop a pile of blankets, mats and what looked like cast-off coats. He blinked at her slowly.

“How did you get in here? How long have you been here?” Margot asked once she was sure she wasn’t hallucinating, her voice more curious than frightened.

“Since the leaves turned golden, then fell, then grew again. Many times over,” Asphodel replied, his voice a deep rumble that echoed off the stone walls of the library’s foundation. “I sought shelter from the cold one night when I was young. It was warm here, and there were many small chittering things to eat. So I stayed.”

Asphodel was a creature of intellect and solitude. Fed only by mice and rats through the years, he was smaller than Margot expected a dragon would be. She brought him what meat she could buy from the grocer without attracting too much attention. He expressed a desire to read, but his talons made handling books a challenge.  Moved by the dragon’s plight, and being a braver sort than most, each night, she would stop work an hour early and read aloud to him. She chose texts of legendary heroes, distant worlds, and intricate poetry, her voice filling the cavernous space and softening the edges of their stark surroundings. He seemed to like adventure tales best, and while she read, Asphodel would lay his head on one of his front feet, close his golden eyes, and listen to his human friend.

Over time, their friendship blossomed like the wildflowers on the library’s lawn. Margot found joy in sharing her knowledge and passion for reading. Asphodel, in turn, shared his memories of the world before he had found the library, of empires risen and fallen and skies filled with winged brethren now gone.

Their routine was a well-guarded secret, until one evening, as Margot read from Beowolf, a group of young scholars took a wrong turn at the stairs, and stumbled upon their reading session. The sight of a blue dragon listening intently to a librarian might have sparked fear and chaos, but Asphodel’s calm demeanor and Margot’s composed explanation turned their astonishment into awe.

News of Asphodel spread, though not through screams, but through whispers of wonder and rumor borne of curiosity. The library’s director, a stern woman named Mrs. Harrow, decided to meet Asphodel herself. She asked Margot to introduce her to Asphodel, and so it was that one night she found herself facing not a beast, but a being of wisdom and peace. He explained to her how he had found the storm cellar doors open one night - flapping in the wind of a storm he was trying to take refuge from. He told her too how the sheer number of small squeaking rodents provided him enough meat to live, and he told her about the quiet nights he would steal upstairs and roam the aisles of the library when he was smaller. He was always very careful not to knock anything over, he said. And before he got bigger, he read almost anything. He told her about the books he did not like. The legend of St. George and the dragon, for instance.

“No, I can understand why that would not appeal,” she said, nodding her grey curls.

Mrs. Harrow, seeing an opportunity to revive the town’s waning interest in the library, proposed a new role for Asphodel: the Guardian of Lore. He would be a living symbol of the library’s mission to preserve and share knowledge. Margot and Asphodel could host reading sessions open to all, where legends leaped from pages and history spoke aloud. And he could share his memories of times and events that had, perhaps, been forgotten. Through his knowledge, the youngsters of Eldridge could learn about history while their parents and guardians played games that had been popular when Asphodel was young. 

“Unless of course, you are leery of humans?” she asked.

“It has been a very long time since a human poked at me with a pointy stick,” Asphodel rumbled. “If you can promise there will be no pointy sticks or torches to hurt me, I will consider your request.”

“Pointy sticks?” Mrs. Harrow asked.

“Swords,” Margot helpfully supplied.

“Ah,” Mrs. Harrow said. “I promise there will be no pointy sticks, torches, or any other sort of weapons allowed. We will not permit anyone to hurt you.”

The sessions became a cherished event, drawing crowds from towns well beyond Eldridge. Children sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes wide as the blue dragon read them stories; adults listened too, rediscovering their sense of marvel. Asphodel, with Margot in medieval dress and turning pages for him, read from volumes that had not been touched by human hands for centuries. Adults learned about jousting, brewing ale, and mead, and how books were illustrated by hand.

However, not all were pleased. A local councilman, suspicious of the dragon’s influence, plotted to remove Asphodel under the guise of safety concerns. He stirred fear among the townspeople, speaking of ancient curses and the dangers of meddling with a mythical creature that could burn them all to a crisp with a single breath. Finally, when he felt his plans would bear fruit, he called for a vote to send Asphodel away.

When the children heard of the councilman’s intentions, they wept and refused to eat. Asphodel’s friends (by now he had many) vowed to fight the Council if they sent the blue dragon away. Mrs. Harrow and Margot went door to door, asking people to sign a petition pleading for leniency for Asphodel.

The night before the council was to vote on Asphodel’s fate, Margot and Asphodel devised a plan not with cunning, but with truth. They invited the entire town, including the skeptics and naysayers, to a special reading. The text chosen was a rare manuscript prophesying the unity of different beings through the pursuit of knowledge.

Asphodel read the manuscript aloud, his voice more resonant and emotive than ever. The story spoke of a time when dragons and humans worked side by side, guardians of knowledge and peace. It ended with a reminder that fear should never eclipse understanding.

The impact was palpable. The councilman’s fears lost their grip on the hearts of the listeners, overshadowed by the shared experience of the ancient wisdom and the genuine bond between Margot and Asphodel. The vote the following day was unanimous. Asphodel would stay.

Years passed, and the library flourished as a beacon of learning and unity. Margot, older now, still read every day to Asphodel, though their sessions were often quiet, filled with the comfortable silence of close friends, and no longer hidden away in the basement. One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows through the stained-glass windows of the library, Margot turned the last page of a particularly moving poem.

“Do you think they’ll remember us?” she asked, her voice tinged with a wistfulness that mirrored the twilight hues.

Asphodel nuzzled his head against her arm, his blue scales catching the last light of day. “As long as there are stories, Margot, there will be those who remember.”

And at the edge of Eldridge, in a library built of stone, their story continued—a testament to the enduring power of friendship and the unbreakable bond between those who guard history and those who live it.

The End