Long ago, in times of magic and on realms of constant turmoil and battles, deep in the heart of the jagged Mount Silver, there lived a clan of dwarves. They were, as passed down from their forefathers, tireless miners and skilled smiths. The weapons and armor they crafted were greatly appreciated and their little community thrived.
The dwarves of Mount Silver were not particularly known for their humour, since work always came first and the work was hard. Maybe these dwarves did not have the funny bone in their genes... And it was true of all... but one.
Bilkin was seemingly a dwarf like any other. He also worked hard to mine the ores from the mountain and was not a bad blacksmith. But he had one flaw - he liked to sing and joke and, even if no-one else laughed at his jokes, he would laugh at them himself.
Because the other dwarves could not stand his exhuberance, they stayed far away from him as he worked, well out of earshot. His joyous voice resounded in the empty caverns, punctuated by the "dang-dang-dang" of his pick-axe against the rock:
"IIIIIII am a dwaaaarf and I'm diiiiging a hole!"
He stopped suddenly, frowning hard, as if he'd just been given the most puzzling riddle and his life depended on solving it correctly. He grunted and shuffled his foot, leaning heavily on his pick-axe. Was Bilkin sick? But he immediately brightened up, smiled broadly and bellowed "Diggy-diggy hole!"
"Would you please stop that infernal racket?" another voice thundered, making the walls of the hall shake and little pebbles and dust trickling from the ceiling.
"Who said that?" Bilkin was alarmed. No other dwarf would be working so close to him. Could it have been a spirit?
"I did! And I warn you, Mr Dwarf, I don't take too kindly to anyone disturbing my slumber!" Bilkin heard the warning all the way to his knees, who wanted to start buckling. He willed them to be still and cleared his voice.
"I do apologise for waking you up! I will do my digging in silence from now on, so as to not rouse you again." He hid his snicker behind his sleeve and pretended to have a cough from the recently stirred dust.
"Will you now?! Then suppose I will not crush you with a stone boulder, but with a cluster of diamonds, so as to not hurt you, hmmm?!"
Bilkin had known his joke would be a mistake, but for some reason, one of his reflexes when in trouble had always been to joke. Sometimes that would get him in even bigger trouble. No surprise there!
Trying to appear fearless, he countered "Why, diamonds could never hurt me! My helmet and armor are made of mithrill, a secret precious metal that cannot be crushed or pierced by anything! A metal so rare and wonderful, that only a precious few items were forged from it and only by the most skilled dwarven masters!" He twirled once on his heel, to show off the impenetrable armor and helmet he had boasted. And of course, to peek around, looking for the owner of the thundering baritone.
"Hahahaha! You jest, Mr Dwarf! The mithrill armor you speak of would only be worn by kings! You are no king! Perhaps the court jester!" The walls of the cave quaked as the voice laughed copiously.
But Bilkin had no time to enjoy finally amusing someone else with his humour. A voice so big could only come from one creature in a cavernous mountain like this... a dragon! But why hadn't he nor his mates ever seen or heard of him before?
"Sir, I beg you not to mock me! I am truly just a humble dwarf, but I have earned this priceless armour in battle! Why, I have single-handedly slain a..."
"A what?" the voice was a bit suspicious. Just a bit.
"A mighty dragon!"
The silence that followed stretched uncomfortably over the dwarf and his unseen interlocutor. Finally, the dragon spoke:
"Any dragon could easily scoop you up with one claw, you measly rodent! He could crush you like a flea, blow you into thin air like a dandelion! You could never defeat any dragon! Mighty or not!"
The voice was haughty and confident and Bilkin had no doubts even the least mighty of dragons could do that to a small dwarf. Yet he was unswayed.
"Perhaps, perhaps! But you must not have heard of me. I have the strength of ten dwarves and the agility of ten more! Why, Sir, I could slay you as well, if only you weren't hiding - if you would pardon my saying, Sir - like a coward!"
At this, the dragon growled angrily, making pebbles and dust fall on Bilkin's helmet and back. Bilkin coughed for a good few minutes and added: "A brave and noble dragon would come out and face me properly. How do I even know you are a dragon? You could be nothing more than a flea yourself!"
The dragon was no longer coherent, instead growling and snarling who-knows-where. After he had regained his words, he spat: "I am indeed a dragon, the oldest and mightiest in the world! And I am not hiding, you measly crumb! I am simply retired to the deepest depths of this mountain, seeking nothing but peace and quiet! Which is what I had until you came close to my cosy cave and started your infernal singing! Why can't you be quiet, like the other dwarves?"
Bilkin wasted no time with his retort: "Good grief, Sir! How can you say my fellow dwarves are quiet, when all they do each day is dig with their pick-axes and hammer in their forges?!"
"Those are rhythmic, almost pleasant sounds. They lull me to sleep. It is your horrid singing that wakes me!"
Bilkin felt a little hurt that nobody in the entire Mount Silver cared for his singing. He himself thought he had a lovely voice.
"Well, if you are so far deep in the heart of the mountain, how come you hear me and I hear you?" Bilkin asked.
"I have closed off all entries to my quarters except for a few very narrow ones through which I get my air and rats."
"Rats?!"
"A true delicacy! Have you never had rats?"
"No, I don't believe I have..." Bilkin felt a little queasy thinking about such a meal. He looked around for a boulder to sit on to compose himself. It was then that his eyes fell on a narrow tunnel in the ground, leading downwards farther than his eyes could see. Could this be the air (and rats) supply shaft the dragon had spoken of? He decided to test that theory. "Say, my good dragon, do you get many rats down there?"
"Oh, not many, unfortunately. Most of the time I have to make do with the small fish and creatures that live by my lake. Rats are a rare treat for me..." The dragon sighed.
Bilkin realised that, far from the stories of fire and greed, this dragon only wanted to be left alone and snack on a crunchy rat or two. Ewww, crunchy rats! But to each his own!
Bilkin spoke up: "Mr Dragon, what do you say about a deal? We have quite a few rats nesting near our pantry caves and they are eating our food as if the end of the world were near. We brought a cat, but those rats are vicious. Could you make another one of your rat vents leading to our pantries?"
"I most certainly could. My fire breath can still bore through the rock. As you know, I am a mighty dragon!"
"Indeed, you are, Sir! And I will guide you to the pantries with my -"
"Don't even think it, dwarf!" the dragon gnarled.
"- Singing!" Bilkin concluded triumphantly.
"The things I have to do for fine dining!" the dragon resigned.
And the caves resounded once more with Bilkin's merry singing: "IIIIIII am a dwaaaarf and I'm diiiiging a hole!"
