A Mind Shattered, A Heart Sacrificed, A Legacy Cherished

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Written for “Smogust’s Story Hoard”, prompt 4.

It was a sorrowful sight indeed, the once proud and noble Walpurg chained to the stone pillars of the Roost he had called home for so long, his limbs twisted at awkward angles and held tight with enchanted metal links so there was no risk of him breaking free, his muzzle bound shut with thick bars. Perhaps more tragic were the way his wings had been pierced and broken during capture, to prevent him from flying away.
But certainly most painful of all were his blank eyes. No hint of the intelligence, kindness, and humour the dragon had been known of for fifty dwarven generations. A stalwart defender reduced to a mindless beast. It was as if that demon had devoured everything of him, leaving an empty fleshen shell.
Swanhild poured all this pain and loss and loving hope into her singing, the aching beauty of it bringing tears to the entire crowd. Gazing into Walpurg’s impassive eyes and imploring him to please still be there, to remember, to recognise…
Nothing.
Not a flicker of familiarity. Nor even enjoyment. The dragon showed no sign of savouring the tune, much less joining in. Indeed, she was not sure he had noticed the music. His gaze held only hunger - for flesh, and for destruction. As if he were now a demon himself.
Finally Swanhild’s voice grew hoarse and her hands dropped from the zither with a broken sob, letting her own tears flow freely, until her beard was as damp as everyone else’s. Desperate hope dimming once more.
“It was a fine effort.” Guntrum said gently, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I know Wal would have been grateful.”
A mournful murmur of agreement flowed across the crowd.
Guntrum turned to Kunibert. “Any news?”
“Not yet.” Kunibert said, as apologetic as if he were to blame for their allies not springing to their aid. “But you know how elves are - take ten times longer than needed for anything. And the humans are still in disarray from the demons’ strike.”
“Mm.” Guntrum looked up at Walpurg - or at least, what was left of him. “How much longer is it fair to wait? I… I fear perhaps it is time for us to give up. To… end this.”
“What?” Kunibert said sharply. “You cannot mean - what, what would your forebears say, if they heard you speak of murdering our loyal guardian??”
“What would they say about me torturing him?!” Guntrum exploded, his pain bubbling to the surface. “Do you think I suggest this lightly?”
He threw a hand out towards the bound, broken dragon. A wrecked echo of the proud, powerful creature they had grown up knowing.
It was for the best. Necessary to try and treat him. None of them regretted what they had done to try and rescue their dear friend and comrade from the effects of defeating that terrifying demon. But they dearly, bitterly regretted that it had come to this. That such measures had been necessary.
That nothing they tried helped.
“If…” Guntrum took a deep breath. “If Walpurg was lost bringing down that demon, I would much rather he be remembered as he was - a stalwart warrior who gave his all in battle to protect us and his home. Not like this.” His voice broke. “If all that remains of him is memories… as the final Dragon Steward, my duty is to protect that legacy. No matter the cost.”
Silence. Nobody could disagree, but… none felt ready to agree, either.
Finally Mechtilde rapped her spear on the floor and declared “Let us wait until we hear back from the wizards and druids. For then we will have done all we can. And… if they cannot save Wal, perhaps they can at least give us peace of mind that he is already gone. Then we will… end this. And bury him with honours, and remember him having fallen beating back the demons’ strike by felling their foul champion. Losing his life in the process, as a noble warrior.”
Guntrum gave a slow nod, which was echoed by the others. “Alright. I shall pray that the Earth Mother and Sky Father both take mercy on this fallen child of theirs.”
“As shall we all.”

Prompt was “Holding it up are four towering granite pillars. Its limbs are twisted at odd angles and tied, so that it cannot strain against the chains and break free. The joints of its wings are pierced, the ligaments broken, so that it may not fly…”