A Dragon's Dilemma

Ancalaga sat on her treasure trove. Gold piled around the room, more than these peasants before her would ever see again in their lives. She stared down at them as they begged.

“Please, M’Lady! We’re but humble farmers, we can scarcely survive, less cont’bute to yer mighty horde! Were we to give all we ‘ave, we’d die when the frost comes!”

It was a collection of them, or whatever the collective noun for humans was. Gaggle? Town? Not a concern right now, she thought. Were they trying to keep HER SHINY away from her? If so, they would suffer!

Her displeasure must have been visible on her draconic features, as most of the crowd dove to their knees in full prostration, begging forgiveness. Their subservience pleased her, but not as much as treasure did. Many of those who begged were women, but one caught Ancalaga’s massive eye. This one had an infant with her, swaddled in cloth, held in her arms. Though her eyes were larger than a full grown man, they were keener than any other being’s, and she noticed the mother and child’s sallow features, gaunt expression, and pallid skin. She lowered her head down to the humans, who backed away in fear, before inhaling their scent. They all smelt ill, malnourished, not enough meat on their bones. In her normal speaking voice, so a terrifying bellow for the people, she spoke:

“LIFT YOUR SHIRTS.”

The peasants were confused. What did this dragon, who recently took command of their home city ask for them to do? One lad, young, brave and foolish in equal measure, dared to speak back.

“Umm, pardon?”

Ancalaga spoke again, louder, almost deafening.

”LIFT YOUR SHIRTS! I WILL SEE IF YOUR RIBS PROTRUDE FROM YOUR SKIN!”

They didn’t need to be told twice. The women lifted just high enough to show that they were starving while retaining modesty, while many of the men simply yanked their shirts off and dropped them on the floor. Ancalaga saw what she thought she would; they were skin and bone, barely keeping themselves going, much less able to contribute to her horde. She raised her head back up and closed her eyes in thought. One human took, what? 10 years to become productive? That sounded about right. So, for each one of these peasants that starved to death, it would take 10 years for them to be replaced. That was a large time investment. Meanwhile, what could they offer? She doubted any of them had so much as seen a gold coin before they had beseeched her for an audience over how much the former governors were taxing them. Their only use was to be productive, but how productive could a starving one be? She doubted they were able to subsist on their own magick the way she could.

The peasants hardly dared to breathe. This dragon was not what they expected. They had half expected that they would all be eaten on the spot, but at least that was quicker than starving to death. But it she (another surprise, who would have thought there would be lady dragons?) had taken an interest in their malnourished states, which was far more than any of their fellow species had. What would happen?

Ancalaga wasn’t paying their fear any notice, she was busy thinking the numbers through. 1 peasant represented a 10-year investment. A few coppers meant the difference between a continued profit, derived in labor and economic activity generated tax revenue, and less than a bite to eat. Were she a mortal being who thought in such short terms as “years” or “decades”, then those coppers would be worth more than the long-term benefits that an existing population brought. This wasn’t even considering the time it would take for these little things to learn how to be productive. An older one was able to work forges and fields; the babies couldn’t even walk! They were born with no inherent knowledge; they had to learn, and that required older ones to be teachers. She made up her mind.

The peasants trembled as the colossal dragon’s eyes opened, and she once more lowered her head to as close to eye level as was possible. Her booming voice was somewhat muted compared to before, as though she were trying to whisper.
“YOU HUMANS ARE CALLED PEASANTS, CORRECT?”

The one who had spoke to start with was the only one who recognized that it was a question that she would expect an answer to and responded.

“Th-that’s right, M’Lady. We have noth-”

He was cut off by a single terrifying talon being raised, commanding silence.

“YOU ARE OF ZERO USE TO ME DEAD, AND MY JUDGEMENT IS THAT ALL OF YOU ARE NEARLY THERE. AS SUCH, I DECREE: THOSE WHO EXIST ON SUCH SUBSUSTINENCE LEVELS ARE TO BE RELIEVED OF TAX BURDENS. THEY SHALL PAY THEIR WAY WITH THEIR LABOR, NOT THEIR LIVES. NOW, BE GONE! GO WORK, SUCH THAT THE BUSINESSES AND ECONOMIC ACTIVITIES YOU GENERATE CONTRIBUTE TO MY COFFERS!”

The peasants could scarcely believe their ears. Relieved of taxes? It was said in legends that few former rulers had allowed such kindness, but none in living memory wanted to risk the peasantry being able to better themselves and challenge their authority. When given time to reflect on this, the people would realize that it was because they stood zero chance of ever overthrowing a dragon, much less one larger than castles! But that was no concern for the peasants; they would not starve to death!

As the initial shock passed, many burst into tears of joy. Many simply thanked the dragon, who the rulers had said would destroy them, as their savior. Those with their senses intact simply bowed, thanked Her for clemency and mercy, and got everyone else to leave before she changed her mind.

Many of the nobility scoffed at the decision, though none in public, seeing it as too good for the unwashed masses. The merchants simply saw an increase in spendable money in the hands of those who always needed goods. Ancalaga though, simply saw these tools as becoming more efficient, and an overall growth to her new domain.