Dante's Heart
ANDREW HALLAM - Chapter 1
Chapter 1
All Things Considered
People in fairy tales do continue living, after all. But that wasn't really
Andrew’s problem. He had confused the happy ending with the beginning
of his adventure...for this is not the tale of Andrew in his bliss. No one
wants to read about that. Rather, it is the tale of how he came to be who
he is now.
Andrew had not properly appreciated how worrisome living in a modern
fairy-tale world could be. The “happily” part suddenly seemed further off
than he had thought and the “ever after” a distant star upon which he could
only wish. But he did not know why. He should be furious at what had
happened that night while he slept, after a pleasant evening of
conversation with his troll-friend. Instead, he felt all . . . wrong, and his
stomach lurched sideways whenever he thought about it.
Naturally, Andrew went over to his friend’s cave when he realized what had
happened. The troll was older and more informed. He nodded sagely to
Andrew, knowing quite well that stolen gold was a serious thing for a
dragon. It is a serious concern for a dragon’s neighbors, for that matter;
one should not unduly upset a dragon, even in these more civilized days.
“So,” Troy asked (for that was the troll’s name), “what, exactly, is
missing?” His voice was ponderous, like slow stone against stone.
“Do you need to ask!” Andrew raged, almost letting out flame. “A cup, of
course! A golden cup! What else?”
“Of course, of course.” Troy pushed his glasses up his nose. No one
really thought to steal anything else from a dragon’s hoard. It was tradition,
and for some the height of hilarity. But it was an old literary joke gone
stale. No one really laughed at it anymore.
Andrew was less upset about the cup than about something else, though.
Troy could see that. So he asked his friend what was really bothering him.
Andrew’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s the guilt.” He couldn't look
the troll in the eye.
“Guilt?” Troy asked, chewing a mouthful of his own cinnamon roll in
typically loud trollish fashion, for a troll’s table manners are notoriously
bad. It is one reason why he had a dragon for a friend rather than, say, a
human or an elf. “What – guilt over having lost your gold?” Troy was very
wise and learned, having read all the great fairy-tale literature and other
epic stories about dragons. It was why he wore glasses. Reading by
firelight had its price. But he did not remember ever reading of a dragon
feeling guilt. Greed. Hate. Rage. Malice. These were the emotions more
proper to a dragon. But then, dragons usually went for fresh, still-
quivering, bloody meat, too. Not cinnamon rolls and other tasty troll
pastries. Or so his books said.
“No!” Andrew hissed. He tried a nibble at his cinnamon roll, but his
stomach turned in anguish. “It’s something I ... I felt when I was a . . . a man. I
never expected it as a dragon. I feel . . . I feel bad for being angry about it. I
feel bad for keeping the gold to myself. People are starving . . . destitute,
yet I keep the gold. It’s horrible . . . .”
Ah, Troy thought. Now we come to it.
Back to Andrew, Page 2 Next page
Chapter 1
All Things Considered
People in fairy tales do continue living, after all. But that wasn't really
Andrew’s problem. He had confused the happy ending with the beginning
of his adventure...for this is not the tale of Andrew in his bliss. No one
wants to read about that. Rather, it is the tale of how he came to be who
he is now.
Andrew had not properly appreciated how worrisome living in a modern
fairy-tale world could be. The “happily” part suddenly seemed further off
than he had thought and the “ever after” a distant star upon which he could
only wish. But he did not know why. He should be furious at what had
happened that night while he slept, after a pleasant evening of
conversation with his troll-friend. Instead, he felt all . . . wrong, and his
stomach lurched sideways whenever he thought about it.
Naturally, Andrew went over to his friend’s cave when he realized what had
happened. The troll was older and more informed. He nodded sagely to
Andrew, knowing quite well that stolen gold was a serious thing for a
dragon. It is a serious concern for a dragon’s neighbors, for that matter;
one should not unduly upset a dragon, even in these more civilized days.
“So,” Troy asked (for that was the troll’s name), “what, exactly, is
missing?” His voice was ponderous, like slow stone against stone.
“Do you need to ask!” Andrew raged, almost letting out flame. “A cup, of
course! A golden cup! What else?”
“Of course, of course.” Troy pushed his glasses up his nose. No one
really thought to steal anything else from a dragon’s hoard. It was tradition,
and for some the height of hilarity. But it was an old literary joke gone
stale. No one really laughed at it anymore.
Andrew was less upset about the cup than about something else, though.
Troy could see that. So he asked his friend what was really bothering him.
Andrew’s voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s the guilt.” He couldn't look
the troll in the eye.
“Guilt?” Troy asked, chewing a mouthful of his own cinnamon roll in
typically loud trollish fashion, for a troll’s table manners are notoriously
bad. It is one reason why he had a dragon for a friend rather than, say, a
human or an elf. “What – guilt over having lost your gold?” Troy was very
wise and learned, having read all the great fairy-tale literature and other
epic stories about dragons. It was why he wore glasses. Reading by
firelight had its price. But he did not remember ever reading of a dragon
feeling guilt. Greed. Hate. Rage. Malice. These were the emotions more
proper to a dragon. But then, dragons usually went for fresh, still-
quivering, bloody meat, too. Not cinnamon rolls and other tasty troll
pastries. Or so his books said.
“No!” Andrew hissed. He tried a nibble at his cinnamon roll, but his
stomach turned in anguish. “It’s something I ... I felt when I was a . . . a man. I
never expected it as a dragon. I feel . . . I feel bad for being angry about it. I
feel bad for keeping the gold to myself. People are starving . . . destitute,
yet I keep the gold. It’s horrible . . . .”
Ah, Troy thought. Now we come to it.
Back to Andrew, Page 2 Next page
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