NOVEL WEB The Princess and the Dragon
The dragon coiled itself upside down around the south tower, claws tearing into the stone walls. Its neck extended outward swaying sinuously as it surveyed the castle. Its wings were six great feathered things, dyed in the abyssal blue of oceans deeper than any mortal could witness. And yet, as the light caught them, they shone as gold as the summer sun above.
It sniffed the air gently, then turned its neck toward the prince below, staring at him with unblinking golden eyes.
“Calamity falls upon you,” the dragon’s voice was a placid roar, all power with none of the fury the prince expected. “I have come to lay waste to your kingdom, to vanquish your prince and your armies in combat and rest here among ash and ruin until challenged by one I deem worthy enough to reclaim this land for mortal hands.”
“That,” said the prince, managing not to stutter, “could be exceedingly inconvenient for everyone involved.”
The dragon eyed the prince and the prince found himself wondering how it was possible for a creature to be half serpent, half hawk, and all cat at the same time.
“Such is the way of dragons and angels,” the words were plain statements of fact, but the joy was clear in its voice, “to descend upon you in awful glory, to show you the excess and folly of sin and the reward the worthy may earn through virtue’s light.”
“Oh,” said the prince, wondering how it was possible to carry the import of being charged with negotiating with a primordial force and also to feel like a field mouse all at the same time.
The dragon did not seem to mind his pause; if anything, the beast accepted every indication of the prince’s fear as a welcomed step in the social ritual. It was, the prince noted, also eyeing the battlements quite eagerly. They had just finished repairing those; and it would be terribly expensive if they were to be destroyed by act of dragon. The prince wracked his brain for solutions.
“What about kidnapping a prince instead of killing him and destroying everything? My impression was that dragons were quite fond of kidnapping royalty,” the prince had read deeply on the peculiar art of negotiation. He knew well that often a compromise was less a matter of meeting in the middle than of unpacking the underlying interests of all parties and finding a novel means of making everyone happy.
“That,” said the dragon, “Is also permissible, but there is a proper way of things, and it is generally accepted that it is proper to kidnap a princess, and to crush a prince.”
The prince sighed at the perennial unfairness of gendered expectations. Sadly, he lacked a sister.
“Perhaps,” he offered, strangely calm, “we may have one of those. It might be best to verify before you engage in the wrong draconic actions. Destruction is one thing, but it wouldn’t do to be improper about it, would it?”
The dragon considered, spiraling slowly down the tower so that its head could extend closer to the prince. Its eyes were slit like a cat’s, and easily the size of the prince’s head. He shook like a leaf under the dragon’s breath, and retreated toward a nearby door, unwilling to break eye contact without the dragon’s leave.
“Oh very well,” the creature said after a minute had passed. Impropriety was, indeed, a step too far, “I do understand you mortals struggle a great deal to ascertain these things. You may double check if you must, but do not take all day.”
The prince ran. The dragon rubbed its neck against the battlements, sighing with pleasure. It approved of the prince’s commitment to a speedy resolution for all it suspected that such movement was not, itself, keeping with all proper decorum.
“And so,” said the prince, “it is the case that I see no other option than to cleverly disguise myself as a princess and fool the dragon. It is, obviously, a profound indignity to pretend to be something I am so clearly not; but I would gladly bear a thousand such indignities for the sake of our fair nation.”
The king looked awkwardly at his son, “Could we not just adopt a peasant girl and feed her to the dragon instead?”
“Nay,” said the prince, shaking his head, “I believe the deception must be total to fool such a creature. A peasant could hardly match the royal features or comport herself properly in prolonged captivity and the beast cares quite a bit about proper conduct. More importantly, I could demand from no other what I am not willing to sacrifice for my kingdom.”
“It’s just,” the king sighed, “back in our day we fought our dragons like proper men. Yes, sometimes we persuaded them to imbibe first, and we may have applied our fair share of deception. but there was a battle of it! Stabbing! None of this talking silliness.”
“Nay,” said the prince again, “you were not wil… lucky enough to face the beast yourself, so you have not seen its sharp claws, its monstrous wings, or even the way its eyes light up with glee every time it thinks about knocking down the West Tower. I do not believe we could face it in battle. Besides, we just rebuilt the south wall and the dragon seems particularly eager to begin its rampage there.”
“Yes,” the king admitted, “That was very expensive, but, what will the neighboring kingdoms think if you go dressing up as a princess of all things?”
The prince offered a melancholic sigh “It is well known that to be seen as feminine is intrinsically humiliating,” he took a deep breath, steadying his trembling hands, “But one who chooses to avoid temporary humiliation over one’s duty to one’s people is one who shall be called a fool for all time. On the contrary, enduring temporary humiliation to save our people from suffering is surely the path to honor.”
The king sighed as well, mirroring his son’s winsome demeanor to far less success, “We suppose. But, back in our day we won glory by doing glorious things. There was none of this martyrdom or humility. You fought your dragon barehanded in the snow and then went home and got drunk and bragged about it and people all praised you for your strength and virility.”
The prince paused momentarily, failing to imagine the rather sedentary king ever fighting a dragon, barehanded or otherwise.
“It is true,” the prince said, “obviously I wish nothing more personally than to go fight the dragon myself aside my trusty destrier, lance in hand,” the prince did not keep a horse and had yet to successfully hit a target with a lance, “But, the dragon is already here! Surely it would destroy the castle and the court were we to do battle. Think of the harm that such violence might cause! No,” the prince shook his head. “A noble who will draw a sword to defy his fate, but who trembles at the thought of donning a dress to the same ends is not noble at all.”
“It’s just,” the king hesitated before producing his strongest counterargument, “our heir is ever so manly. Do you really believe the dragon could be fooled?”
“I know,” said the prince said with a bitterness far more genuine than he’d yet managed in the conversation, “I am irreparably manly. Alas, I believe this our only hope. I shall leave presently to arrange the deception as best I may and hope that this allows us to prevent draconic obstruction.”
The king surveyed his son. The boy was broad shouldered, and his strong jaw had not changed in the hours since the king had last seen him; this was true. But he had also not become any taller or more muscular; he remained obsessively clean-shaven; and the general arrangement of the prince’s face was far more in keeping with the late queen than his father’s more striking mien. Indeed, the king reflected ruefully, at least nine out of ten enchanted mirrors would judge his son the fairest prince of all. In short, there was nothing the king could see about the prince that would justify calling him manly without even considering his heir's lacking talent at arms or his disappointing failures to adopt any hobbies the king found sufficiently masculine.
Alas, the king found such complaints difficult to express in polite company.
The king, sagged in his throne feeling all the weight of his crown at the thought of an heir like this, “If it must be so, it must be so. But we fear for our reputation if it were to be discovered that the prince of our kingdom once deigned to masquerade as a woman. Your mission should proceed in all secrecy and haste.”
The prince nodded, shaken but determined, “I will do what I must! Just find a hero to slay the beast with all due haste, so that I may return to my princely duties as quickly as possible.”
“That, my son,” the king agreed, “is the least I could do.”
The prince—no he was to be a princess until his rescue—ascended the stairs to the southern wall with a quiet grace. He had not, on some level, believed that he would actually be allowed to go through with this, for all it had seemed the only relatively plausible plan of action. Even now, he mostly believed that the dragon would immediately see through the deception and devour him.
And perhaps, the prince mused, his father would prefer it that way. The thought should have been horrifying, but the day had been bleak enough that he found himself giggling instead. Still, what a deception it was! He was not sure how the castle staff had found a dress that fit him, much less one in such lovely blue satin, but they did find it somewhere and, with patience and perseverance, the princess had made himself up in a fashion almost suitable to his supposed station from a distance. Why, he had been frozen in shock when he actually looked at himself in a mirror.
This pleased the princess, if, he thought, he was to put on a masquerade, it was only meet that he look as stunning as might be achieved with his regrettably masculine features.
Giggling once more, the princess found himself quite glad that his father had forbidden him any guards. At the time, the princess had found the gesture pointless. It was no humiliation to trick a dragon for the sake of one’s people. But now, overcome by the nameless exuberance of one for whom fate’s cruel die has been cast, the princess found himself entirely unable to maintain the decorum his disguise demanded.
And so with hands that shook only a little, and the unsteady steps of one who has never worn heels before, the princess marched onto the balcony.
“I greet you Calamity,” he said without stuttering as he managed to offer the beast a clumsy curtsy.
The dragon was currently occupied using the protruding stone of the battlements to scratch its neck. Slowly its eyes opened, honing on the princess.
“Well princeling,” the dragon spoke, “have you prepared yourself to lead your armies against me in a doomed battle, to stand against the tides and fall as you must?”
The princess hesitated; clearly, the dragon was less fooled than intended. Perhaps, he thought, the nuances of the prince/princess dichotomy escaped the beast.
“You see,” the princess gestured toward his dress, spinning in place so that it would flare around him to make the point clear.
“Yes?” asked the dragon, befuddled.
The princess gestured once more toward his dress.
The dragon twisted its head to the side, unable to grasp the significance of this act.
“This is a dress,” the princess said at last, his face flushed with humiliation.
The dragon slowly nodded, uncomprehending.
“Princesses wear these,” said the princess, “I am wearing one; you should surmise that I am a princess.”
The dragon emitted a sigh with great force nearly bowing the princess over, “Is that how one ascertains the difference between princes and princesses?”
The princess had the grace to blush, “No, but princes do not wear dresses. As it is, you are simply born one or the other, and I happen to have been born a princess,” he lied.
The dragon considered, “If,” it said at last, “that is your decision, then it must be so.”
It hesitated for a moment, resting its head on the battlements as it looked at him almost pleadingly, “will you at least have guards that attempt to stop me from catching you?”
“No!” Said the princess defiantly, “You shall have no cause to hurt any of my people; I shall surrender peacefully!”
“Must you?” pleaded the dragon, its tail thumping against the south tower’s roof.
“I must,” confirmed the princess, “To spare my subjects is only proper. I may not have claws to rend and tear nor the strength of arms to batter down a castle wall, but a princess too has things a princess must do.”
At that impassioned statement, the dragon gave one last longing look at the castle’s south wall then enveloped the princess in a surprisingly gentle claw. With a flap of its wings, it lifted its entire body into the air and departed the castle and neither the princess nor the dragon was seen in that castle again.
The dragon’s lair was, naturally, carved into the side of a mountain. Half mine and half natural cave, the princess was shocked to find that, for all the altitude left the air thin and cold, the rocks themselves seemed warm to the touch and only grew warmer yet toward the center of the lair.
“And what,” the creature said as it set the princess down atop a haphazard pile of gold, “should we do with you?”
The princess frowned, he had not thought that far ahead, nor, being new to princessing, was he particularly well acquainted with the proper etiquette for being a dragon’s hostage.
“I will admit,” he said, “that I am not particularly well acquainted with the proper etiquette for being a dragon’s hostage.”
“A regrettable lack,” the dragon admitted, “Unfortunately, I must inform you that I also possess a dearth of knowledge in this field.”
“Alas,” said the princess.
“Alack,” agreed the dragon.
For a moment princess and dragon found themselves united not through the bond of captive and captor, but through shared awkwardness and uncertainty.
“I suppose,” the dragon said after the moment had passed, “that you will need to be fed, watered, housed, clothed and provided medication.”
"Medication?” said the princess.
The dragon lowered itself next to the princess, staring at him only with its closer eye.
“My understanding, though mortals often elude me, is that when a princess is born with a body type generally more associated with princes there are certain witch’s brews which may provide relief to these unfortunate circumstances.”
“Is that so?” the princess said surprised and worried, “How queer a thing, that such medications would exist.”
“Of course, if you would rather be a prince, we could dispense with these cumbersome logistics,” offered the dragon.
“Alas, I am a princess and as such I would gladly welcome such medication,” lied the princess. Obviously, he knew himself to be a beacon of masculinity. Deep down in his heart of hearts he welcomed nothing of the kind. Equally obviously, the dragon would relish any excuse to invalidate his claims to princesshood; and wouldn’t an actual princess in such circumstances as his desire a potion as much as she desired life itself? No, to be any less than perfect in this deception would risk the doom of his country.
“Alack,” the dragon agreed, “It would be improper to provide anything less.”
For a moment, the two were left to their thoughts. The dragon rolled uncomfortably to scratch the back of its neck against its hoard. Gently, the princess reached out and traced a finger across the length of one scale, rubbing it as best he could.
“Perhaps,” the dragon purred, “I should simply kidnap some peasants to attend to you. A princess should have servants, should she not?”
The princess hurriedly shook his head, “You may be a calamity brought into the world to exemplify the futility and consequences of sin, but there are some depths to which only nobility should stoop.”
The dragon considered and decided that the princess was right, whatever his underlying motivations for avoiding the company of his fellow mortals.
“Besides,” the princess continued, emboldened by the dragon’s agreement, “I am sure that my father will contact a hero momentarily and thus my accommodations need not be calculated to endure in the long term.”
“If you believe it,” the dragon said appeasingly, “I am sure it must be true.”
The princess hesitated, then ignored the creeping doubt at the corner of his mind, “I am sure that whatever servants you have on hand will be more than adequate to provide for me for my short captivity.”
“Alas,” said the dragon, “dragons are not generally in the habit of retaining servants for longer than a single meal. If you do not countenance the kidnapping of any of your subjects then you must provide for yourself.”
The princess momentarily reconsidered his ethical position on draconic kidnappings.
“Alack,” he agreed sadly, “I shall simply have to provide for myself. How hard could it be if even the lower classes can manage?”
The dragon considered, “There are,” it said, “a number of pilfered beds in the hoard. I am sure you could find one to accommodate you, and the eastern shaft leads to a cave with excellent ambiance and adequate privacy.”
“Thank you,” said the princess without much feeling, “I appreciate that such unplanned circumstances were not what either of us desired or anticipated, but you are being quite accommodating.”
“It’s only proper,” the dragon said, slightly embarrassed.
“As is gratitude,” said the princess, blushing despite himself.
The dragon turned its head away from the princess in defeat. Victorious, the princess flounced off toward the east cave.
The princess sat on his bed reading a jewel-encrusted tome. The dragon did not mind him touching items in the hoard provided nothing was stolen. (technically, as a captive princess, it was only proper that he be considered part of the hoard himself) The dragon had acquired a great many things including a truly massive library; or, at least, a truly massive number of books haphazardly thrown around the whole of its lair with no regard for their preservation, much less their organization.
At least there was something to do. Being kidnapped and forced to be a princess was one thing for the poor boy; being forced to go without material to occupy his mind would have been categorically unbearable.
A strangely subdued roar echoed from the main hall, demanding the hostage attend the dragon. The princess froze for a moment, then marked his place in the book and went to see what his captor wanted.
Of the many things the princess anticipated, most involving his being outed followed by a gruesome and immediate death. None of them involved the possibility of being bowled over by a small mass of feathers and scales.
“Princess!” the dragon spoke solemnly, for all its voice carried little of its normal weight from such a smaller body, “the time has come for you to serve. This, I have decided, it is my right to demand of you.”
“You are,” the princess said, catching his breath, “much smaller.” Indeed, the dragon now was little larger than a cat. If not for its statements of familiarity, the princess would have suspected it to be a different creature entirely.
“Size is no matter to one such as I. I am always precisely as large as I should be,” the dragon insisted proudly; the revelation of this remarkable ability was undercut only by the fact that the dragon seemed far less intimidating than adorable at this size.
“Very well,” said the princess, struggling to avoid petting or cooing or doing anything else which might offend the proud monster, “you have been an exceedingly accommodating host. How may I perform the duties of a guest?”
“There is,” gravely said the dragon, “a space on my back between my wings where my claws may not reach.”
“Yes?” said the princess, confused.
“Scratch it. This I command of you,” the dragon reared up majestically, its front paws clawing into the princess’ chest
The princess stared for several moments. The dragon’s claws pressed down through the fabric of his dress, piercing a layer of skin.
“Scratch it.”
Hesitantly, the princess reached up and traced a finger down the dragon’s back. The dragon purred in quiet satisfaction. The princess repeated the gesture, pressing down on the scales with some force. The dragon withdrew its claws from his chest.
“May I sit up?” the princess asked. The dragon hissed, but retreated into his lap and coiled itself into a ball. The princess pushed himself off the ground awkwardly, doing his best not to disturb the dragon and resumed petting the creature. To a princess who had never been allowed the company of a pet, the dragon’s purrs proved oddly comforting, as did the warmth of its scales against his hand.
Presently, the dragon uncoiled itself and leapt from the princess’ lap to a nearby pile of gems. It fought for purchase, scrambling furiously to climb to the top as it collapsed much of the pile beneath it. Once there it spun to face the princess and spreading its wings triumphantly.
“Your service is acceptable,” the dragon noted imperiously, “you have my gratitude.”
The princess bit his lip to avoid laughing.
“May I ask a question?” queried the princess, once he had control of himself. He found it much easier to talk to a cat-sized dragon than it was to talk to a dragon-sized dragon.
“You may,” answered the magnanimous dragon.
“Do you really plan to just roll over and accept defeat when someone comes to rescue me?” For all that it might be better for castles and kingdoms everywhere, the princess found he did not hate the beast or crave its death.
The dragon rolled over, exposing its belly, “All things die,” it said at last, “some more easily than others.”
“So you seek your death?” the princess asked, surprised to find himself sad at the thought.
The dragon shook its head, gesturing for the princess to scratch its belly. He rose to his feet and obliged, eliciting yet more purrs.
“I do not desire death. But,” the dragon hissed, swiped the princess’ hand away and retreated once more, “Better to find a storied death than to be caught off-guard and gift one’s demise to one unworthy. This is the way of dragons and revolutionaries.”
The princess hesitated, “I see,” he said at last.
“But,” continued the dragon, staring at the princess, “I could, perhaps, deign to allow a rescuer who is only slightly lacking in worth to escape with you and drive me away from the kingdom.”
The princess found himself embarrassed, and averted his gaze from the beast.
“Thank you,” he managed at last.
“My chin has been insufficiently scratched,” replied the dragon.
The princess stared at the strange potion in front of him. He had anticipated extensive delays before any medication to help with his ‘condition’ could be acquired. However, the dragon had, apparently, ransacked a witch queen’s domain in the past few decades and its hoard contained a great number and variety of concoctions. So, the prince found a potion designed to alleviate the symptoms of an undesirably masculine body provided to him less than a week after his arrival in the dragon’s lair.
The princess, citing a need for privacy, had successfully absconded back to his room in the east cave rather than drinking the bottle in front of the dragon.
“I could,” he said to the potion, “simply dump you out, could I not?”
The potion, a viscous pink liquid in a glass container, fizzed pleasingly.
“Of course, were I to be caught in that, the dragon would obviously conclude that I am a prince in truth. Indeed,” the princess sighed, “it must be seeking any respite from the inconveniences our arrangements pose. If it was willing to compromise its principles, it would indubitably have long finished with me.”
The potion opted not to dignify the princess’ speculation with a response.
“So, really, I have no option but to drink,” the princess said to himself, “This is not by choice; I must simply bow to fate’s cruel whims. Besides, I am sure any changes as might occur will easily be reversed upon my prompt rescue, so there is no reason not to pursue this deception to the utmost in advance of that occasion.”
Except, the prince considered, what if his rescue was not prompt? Obviously the prince knew that his father would pay any price to secure his only child’s freedom; but, heroes could be notoriously difficult to marshal at the best of times.
“Perhaps,” the princess mused, “I could drink the first few doses, but plan to pour out latter months' should the worst transpire and my father takes slightly longer than might be desired to locate a sufficiently heroic knight.”
The potion waited in companionable silence, allowing the princess to take all the time he needed to confirm his plans.
Unable to identify any better solutions, the princess grabbed the potion, pulled off the stopper sealing the bottle and downed the entire thing in one gulp.
A strange feeling of lightness overtook the princess, and he found the glass dropping from his fingers as he was overcome by the magnitude of his own actions. He winced as it shattered against the hard cave floor. Without servants, the princess would have to deal with the glass himself, to say nothing of the waste involved in destroying a good glass vial.
Still dazed, the princess moved to his room’s vanity, one of several proffered items from the dragon’s hoard. He looked… unchanged. This first potion had not done anything immediately visible.
The princess sighed and moved to deal with the glass as best he could. Cleaning, it was turning out, could be remarkably onerous.
Things settled into an odd rhythm for the pair. The dragon only ate for pleasure and only the wicked and, left to its own devices, would hibernate more often than not. Nonetheless it adapted to hunting lesser prey with ease and, if anything, took some pleasure at providing the princess with choice sustenance. For his part, as the days turned to weeks turned to months, the princess soon grew bored of waiting for rescue.
The princess found, and, through much trial and error, learned to mend a number of curtains that could be used to add dividers to the cave. He then practiced embroidering them until they reached the dragon’s aesthetic requirements. He also began the laborious process of organizing the dragon’s hoard. It was tempting, he thought, to steal a few coins or perhaps a magical artifact or two that might help him make his return to the kingdom. But that would have meant abusing the dragon’s hospitality, and so the princess did nothing of the sort.
And sometimes, as time passed and the dragon lowered its guard, the princess would find the beast asleep, its neck exposed and a sword or a lance left carelessly close by. On such occasions, he would pick up the weapon and contemplate felling the beast and being done with these strange potions and uncomfortable caves and back to a world of families, castles, politics and responsibilities.
At these times, the princess would remember the dragon’s words and find the thought of depriving it a death at worthy hands to be simply unbearable. “Besides,” he would tell himself, “this is but a trick to see if I will betray my role as dutiful hostage. Should I aim at the beast, it will spring awake and devour me whole! Why, I know I put this sword away properly only a week ago.”
And so the princess would carry the blade back to the others of its kind and stow it away properly where a sleeping dragon would be far less likely to roll over and risk injuring itself.
And as the seasons changed, the dragon and the princess would ponder the princess’ rescue, and the princess would say that his father must surely have sent someone who would arrive any day now and the dragon would nod companionably and agree that if the princess believed this, it must be so.
“Alas, my princess,” said the dragon to the princess, one spring morning, nearly a year after the princess had arrived. If there was something possessive in the dragon's use of 'my,' the princess decided that he should good-naturedly ignore it. The princess was, after all, technically a part of the dragon’s hoard and thus the appellation was not unwarranted for all it might imply a certain degree of undoubtedly accidental familiarity.
“There is,” the dragon continued, oblivious to the princess’ thoughts, “a looming crisis.”
“Alack!” said the princess, “A crisis looms?” He reached out and scratched the dragon under its chin. It was no larger than a lion this morning, and the princess had long learned that his dragon appearing at any size smaller than that of a house was most often a shy demand for such ministrations.
The beast purred, then pulled its head away, rearing back and swiping the princess’ hand, “this is no time for distraction!”
“Oh,” said the princess, worried. He had rarely seen the beast so serious.
“My supplies of your potion,” the dragon said sheepishly, “are nearly consumed.”
“Oh,” said the princess, who still quietly planned to begin dumping the potion outside the cave instead of actually consuming it as soon as he could be confident that this was not a clever ruse on the dragon's part, “that is alarming. I suppose the unanticipatable delays in my inevitable rescue have strained your resources.”
The dragon hissed in agreement.
“So,” said the princess, reflecting that he did not overly mind the softening of his features and actually enjoyed the decreasing need to shave, but that the potions remained, on the whole, obviously unacceptable, “I suppose I shall have to suffer without.”
“Fret not my princess, I have a plan,” the dragon soothed.
“A plan!” exclaimed the princess.
“A plan,” confirmed the dragon as it scampered across the floor of its lair, perching on an unfamiliar book.
“A plan?” asked the princess.
“This grimoire,” offered the dragon proudly, ”was one of many obtained from the same witch queen from which I rescued those potions. You shall take it and all the others and you shall read them and you shall teach yourself to brew the potion for yourself.”
“Ah,” said the princess, “I fear that learning witchcraft is rather unbecoming of a princess. Besides, if the supply is running out, then surely it will expire long before I am adequately skilled to safely brew the concoction for myself. I must simply survive without.”
“Nonsense,” replied the dragon, “how would so many queens have poisoned their stepchildren if it was not in vogue for princesses to learn witchcraft? And, my dear princess, it just so happens that we have exactly the supply remaining to provide you the time you’ll need to learn to brew the potion yourself.”
“That is fair,” admitted the princess, glad that his father had not yet remarried after his mother’s passing, “and that is also a suspiciously ambiguous amount of potion to have left.”
The dragon nodded, “Then you shall learn to brew. And you will be relieved to hear that, whatever your suspicions, that happens to be exactly the remaining quantity of potion in our possession.”
The princess picked up the volume and paged through it, idly worrying that he was depleting the dragon’s hoard of a precious brew that he had not earned, did not need and obviously, as a fake princess, didn’t even want. He would have to learn quickly, lest the dragon feel compelled to waste any more treasures on a fraudulent princess.
“There are,” said the princess, struggling to find the right concoction, “a great many poisons and hexes in this grimoire.”
“This is the way of grimoires,” responded the dragon.
“This one describes itself as a dragon slaying poison,” the princess noted, worried that his captor was still suspicious of him.
“An exaggeration no doubt,” said the dragon, avoiding eye contact, “besides, a princess should be able to take care of herself if she ever happens to find herself lacking a dragon to hunt for her and devour those who wish her harm.”
“Thank you, this is a queenly gift,” the princess hugged the grimoire tightly to his chest, “though I am sure my rescuers will arrive any day now and I will find my efforts wasted.”
“If you believe that to be the case,” the dragon responded as always, “then I am sure it must be so.”
And then it was summer, and the princess had been the beast’s captive for exactly a year.
“I fear, my dearest princess,” said the dragon as it curled in the princess’ lap, allowing him to pet it, “that I have been a poor host. I have provided you no entertainment nor feasts, no servants with which to gossip and only the barest minimum in accommodations for a princess which, prior to your organizational efforts, I now accept were in a truly heinous condition.”
“Nonsense my dragon,” the princess scratched the beast’s throat, drawing forth a most delightful purr, “nothing could be further from the truth. Everyone wishes to be royal, but to be royal and not fall too far into depravity is a demanding task. One must balance their father’s expectations, the tasks laid out before them at court, the games of courtiers and their endless studies. There is little time spared for one’s own enjoyment.”
He smiled at the dragon, “My captivity has afforded me opportunities to learn embroidery, to rest and to read; not because I must master a novel skill, but because I may choose to pursue one. Witchcraft has likewise proven a most fascinating diversion. And,” the princess stumbled over his next words, “I must confess, that I have never stayed in the company of one whose words are not sweetened with wants or whose appreciation is not but scheme. That is, while you have provided no attendants, I find you do a great discredit to your own character to suggest that I am devoid of companionship.”
The dragon looked away, at a loss for words, “I too,” it admitted, feeling obliged to reciprocate for all the softer emotions have never been a domain of draconic expertise, “did not anticipate that I would enjoy hosting a captive in my lair. Dragons are not social creatures, and I expected to abhor my obligations, insofar as they would keep me from any longer rest. However, if your conduct has been representative of princesses, I now believe the act of kidnapping to be a far greater joy than the momentary pleasure of crushing an army of enemies beneath one’s claws.”
It thought to say more, but such open displays of feeling are not in the nature of dragons and the beast’s capacity was quite exhausted already. Instead, it curled up in the princess’ lap and allowed him to resume his ministrations.
“Alas,” said the dragon, “someday you shall depart from here and return to your kingdom.”
“Alack,” said the princess, “I am sure rescuers will arrive before winter makes the mountains untraversable again and then you shall get the proper death to which you aspire and I shall return to my duties and my solitude.”
“If you believe that to be the case,” said the dragon, “then surely it will be so.”
The princess studied and, in time, began to brew his own potions. Initially this provoked a great many mishaps; but, in time the princess grew expert at the witch’s arts.
“Next time,” he would say each month without fail, “my skills will have grown to the point where I may safely render the potion inert without any risk of poisoning myself and then I shall safely deceive the dragon,” then he would study the arts in the book and a month would pass and the princess would conclude that his skills were not yet adequate to the task and brew and drink his medication. And, he decided, if he was doomed to present himself as a princess, it was perhaps not so bad to better imitate the part.
As time passed, the princess’ jailer grew far less and less restrictive. The princess had spent the first year, and much of the following winter all but confined to the inside of the dragon’s lair, but witchy brews often produced noxious fumes and the dragon had relented under the logic that the entire mountain was its domain and allowing a princess to wander throughout the entirety of one’s lair was hardly the same thing as setting one free.
Thus, it was not at all unusual that, one autumn day shortly after the third anniversary of the princess’ captivity, he found himself descending the mountain path outside the dragon’s cave, gathering a number of ingredients with which to practice his craft.
What was markedly more unusual was the man the princess met on the mountainside. He was heavyset with a full beard. Between his leather armor and the large sword on his back; the man’s profession was obvious. He walked next to his horse, carefully guiding the hesitant animal—and the luggage it carried—up the twists and turns of the half-faded mountain trail.
The princess, for his part, was dumbstruck. He had awaited a rescue for so long that actually seeing a presumptive dragon slayer was simply an alien experience. Worse! The dragon slayer had seen him, a prince, wandering the mountainside in a stout woolen dress. Not only was the princess sure that he was obviously a man in woman’s clothing, he had allowed himself the small comfort of attending to his tasks in clothing that was far too plain and clearly failed to reflect his proper social status. Surely the dragon slayer would think the prince he was to rescue to be unbearably deviant in such circumstances!
For his part, the dragon slayer was equally surprised to stumble upon a maiden on a mountainside known as a location few dared venture and from which none returned.
“Milady,” he said cautiously, uncertain of whether the damsel before him was truly as she seemed or else some fell spirit in disguise.
The princess stared silently at the dragon slayer, his eyes widening as he blushed brightly. He realized of course, that he had somehow been taken for an authentic woman. And, while he certainly felt relief at the avoided faux pas of immediate identification, the confusion provoked a complex storm of emotions which he was entirely unprepared to process in the present circumstances.
“Milady,” the dragon slayer repeated, his hand drifting toward his blade.
“Well met good sir,” the princess said eventually, speaking quietly in the hope of disguising a voice decidedly unaffected by any potions. Somehow, the princess realized, the dragon slayer had not ascertained his identity, and the princess had not the heart to explain the circumstances behind his appearance in his first non-draconic conversation in over three years.
“Are you here to slay the dragon and rescue me?” asked the princess.
“Aye,” the dragon slayer nodded, “I’ve come to slay the fell beast and the traitor prince.” He surveyed the princess from top to bottom, “But, I would be honored to rescue a beauty as well.”
“The what prince?” asked the princess, suddenly finding herself profoundly cold.
“The traitor prince,” said the dragon slayer, “he conspired with a wicked beast to destroy his own kingdom. Only the king’s quick thinking managed to drive off the pair. But they must be slain to avenge the kingdom’s honor.”
The dragon slayer grinned, “besides, the king swore that whoever slayed the beast would take possession of all its treasures. But I did not imagine,” he grinned untowardly, “that the brightest jewel in the beast’s hoard would be a maiden such as yourself.”
The princess stumbled and nearly fell off the path, “Apologies, I feel a little faint.”
“Of course,” the dragon slayer seemed appropriately chagrined, “such gruesome matters as politics should not be discussed with the fairer sex.”
The princess would likely have found himself forced to confront a great many complicated feelings at being the target of that sentiment, had not the dragon slayer spared him the need by also indicating that it seemed as if the princess’ father had lied about his sacrifice and now planned to have him murdered. Nor was the princess blind to the implicit danger that the dragon slayer both expected to take ownership of all the dragon’s treasures and numbered the princess amongst them.
Dazed, the princess could only oblige as the dragon slayer ordered the princess to guide him to the beast’s lair. It was undeniable that the man was well-muscled, confident, and that he moved with the grace and discipline of a master of the blade.
“This,” thought the princess, “is every bit the knight the dragon wants to slay it.”
And something about the thought of allowing such a man to slay the princess' dragon proved unbearable. The princess swayed on his feet, struggling to find something he could say or scream or do to express the impossibility of the crisis before him. Except, while the princess knew intellectually he was outraged and horrified and that his heart was broken, it proved near impossible to feel anything at all save distant and cold, as if he was floating above it all.
“Fair maiden,” said the dragon slayer, gripping his shoulder more possessively than might be desired, “is something wrong?”
The princess glanced away. He should have been unable to contain his tears. Instead, it felt as if he was watching his own actions play out in the theater; he knew well his role in this production.
“I was simply worried about what tragedy might occur should you face the dragon in open combat,” he admitted honestly.
“Worry not!” the prospective dragon slayer bragged, “I fear no creature on this earth.”
The princess considered and found that to be a distinctly unacceptable state of affairs.
“There is another option,” he admitted, surprised at his own capacity to do what he knew he was going to do, “I have some small skill at the art of potions. In fact, I am frequently called to minister to the beast. I could, perhaps, provide a liquid that would render your scent imperceptible to the dragon, allowing you to hide in its lair then strike the decisive blow with the element of surprise.”
The knight grinned, “Fair lady! Do this for me and not only shall I rescue you from the beast, I will gladly take you as my bride.”
The princess nodded and hurriedly withdrew a number of ingredients from his satchel. With practiced motions he began to cut and stir them together. How odd, the princess realized, that even taking such actions his well-practiced hands did not tremble at all.
“If you drink this it will serve to hide your scent and keep the creature from noticing your presence. This should allow us to sneak you safely in its lair and take the beast by surprise.”
The dragon slayer looked at the potion warily, then, staring at the maiden’s eager face and perceiving it to be no threat, downed the entire contents.
“It tastes foul,” he noted, with some disgust, “but I am sure we will have plenty of time together to train you toward more palatable creations. Such arts as these are rather unbecoming of a lady.”
The princess glanced away, unable to look his victim in the eye.
“We should hurry,” he said and resumed his ascent, “the beast will often return to its lair at dusk, so we have but a few hours to hide you away.”
The dragon slayer nodded, and followed the princess. And, if the ascent proved a little more exhausting than anticipated or he found himself sweating uncomfortable throughout the climb, he could scarcely ask the maiden to slow down without humiliating himself.
Come dusk, the dragon found the princess, weeping inconsolably outside of its cave next to the still form of a dragon slayer.
Gently, it lifted the princess in its claws and, with barely a single hungry glance at the body, carried him inside.
The dragon carefully deposited the princess in its lair. Then, arranging itself into a size far more accommodating for comforting a young princess, proceeded to nuzzle softly against his cheek.
“My princess,” it said at last, “I promise you are safe and that no harm shall befall you. Now, tell your dragon what troubles you so.”
The princess tried to stop his tears, but found himself entirely unable.
“I am no longer,” he said at last, “a prince.”
The dragon hesitated, unsure of how to handle this non-revelation.
“Yes?” it managed at last.
“I mean,” the princess sniffled, “that my father has said it was he who resolved the matter of the dragon and has had me disinherited for treason.”
“Alas,” said the dragon, unsure of how to respond. It contemplated offering to remove the matter of the princess’ country entirely. Sadly, it concluded that whatever the princess’ newfound tolerance for murder, he would likely not yet countenance it at a draconic scale.
“I am sorry,” the dragon offered instead.
“You shouldn’t be! You must know it was all a lie?” the princess snapped, “I was never a princess. The wicked prince deceived the dragon for his own gain, though I am not a prince at all anymore and, for all I have earned the fate, I wonder if I am even worth eating.”
“I suspected at first,” the dragon admitted, “but your conduct has since convinced me otherwise.”
The princess did not respond.
“Initially I hoped,” the dragon admitted to itself, “that you would reveal the deception, and I would eat you. But, you said you were a princess and, regardless of the motive, it would be highly improper to treat a princess as anything but. I will confess twas a scheme to force you to admit the truth when I left faint implications that you might need a potion that could have been avoided merely by declaring you were already a princess and desired no alterations.”
The princess gasped, and glared at the beast, momentarily shocked out of his introspection.
“But, I soon grew to respect you and your conduct and to accept that this judgment was in error,” the dragon admitted sheepishly. “I hoped then, that you might slay me and return to your kingdom in glory. Whether clever prince or wise princess, they fooled the dragon and returned triumphant showing the folly of the beast’s lusts! And yet you did not make use of any of the many opportunities I provided.”
The princess glanced away.
“I’m pathetic,” he stated, “and your only desire was a worthy death. I could not deprive you.”
“I suspected that being, as you said, a princess of particular circumstances, you might perceive yourself dependent upon me for that potion, and so, I allowed you the knowledge of its creation, along with a great many tools that might be used to vanquish me without any need for a gruesome spectacle.”
“I’m a coward,” the princess shouted, then continued more quietly, “I would never have had the courage to genuinely struggle.”
“I am not going to eat you, no matter how you try to tempt me,” the dragon chided, “and a coward would never have surrendered herself to me despite her obvious fears; nor would she have disposed of the lout outside.”
The beast continued its tale without allowing the princess to engage in further deprecation.
“I surmised though, that you might be entirely unwilling to grant me my end, and so I endeavored to give you every opportunity possible to escape. The clever witch queen steals great magical knowledge from a dragon! This too would please. And yet,” the dragon sighed, “you remain.”
“I’m hardly worthy of any such story,” the princess muttered.
“A princess, who sacrificed herself so that her people might live, who showed kindness and warmth to her captor and conducted herself with impeccable decorum and restraint despite every reason for frustration and greed; I can think of none worthier. So why, do you remain?”
The princess blushed, “Perhaps, I did not want to lose my only friend," he admitted in a rare moment of self honesty.
The dragon froze, then allowed its head to rest on the princess’ knee.
“Regardless,” it said at last, “It seems like you have never enjoyed the role of prince.”
“I did not,” admitted the princess, “but it was the only one I’ve been given. My father was cruel and the responsibilities a heavy burden, but they were my family and my burdens and thus adequate for self-definition, even when covered by a pretense such as my capture. Without them, I fear that I am no one at all.”
“It seems to me,” the dragon responded, “that if you are not a prince and not a princess, then I have no cause to force you to stay.”
The former princess nodded sadly.
“This is only fair,” he admitted, “I have deceived you after all. I shall leave anon to avoid troubling you any further.”
“If that is your choice,” the dragon agreed, “then that is what you should do.”
The former princess wiped away his tears, surprised at the implication in the dragon’s words, “you aren’t banishing me?”
“Perhaps,” the dragon admitted in a rare moment of self honesty, “I do not want my only friend to leave.”
The former princess blushed as he lightly pushed the dragon away to stand, “I would like that, if it is not an imposition."
The dragon stretched until it towered over the princess, “If,” it roared, anger manifest in its voice, “as if being welcome is not a given.”
“I shall stay,” the former princess was cowed.
“You shall,” the dragon agreed.
“But,” the former princess sighed, “in what capacity?”
“Obviously, in whatever capacity you wish,” the dragon fixed an eye on the former princess, as if daring him to disagree.
“Oh,” the former princess admitted, “I suppose I must stop taking my potions then.”
“If that is your choice” the dragon agreed, “then that is what you should do.”
The person who had once been a princess sighed, then stared at the dragon as he processed the words, “Surely, you cannot mean that I could continue! We have established that I was only a princess for purposes of deception. Deprived of my motivation, I have no excuse to continue to partake.”
“It seems to me that, freed of obligations, you need no reason at all to choose to be a princess, a prince or anything at all on any day you wish.”
The former princess stared at the dragon in shock and wonder, “I do not know what it is that I wish to be,” he admitted, sounding like one who has just seen the sky for the first time, “but I strongly doubt I would wish to be a prince."
He considered the dragon's words in silence for several moments, “No, I am not certain who or what I would like to be at all; but,” she offered her dragon a shy smile, “Perhaps this absence is just the opportunity for fearless experimentation. Witchcraft has been uniquely stimulating, and recent experiences have revealed it to be a decidedly pragmatic skill set for the modern damsel. I think that could be a worthy start.”
The dragon leapt, landing no larger than a sparrow on its witch’s shoulder to rub affectionately against her cheek, "Then you are both damsel and witch until you change your mind."
The witch, for her part, laughed and lightly tapped the dragon’s snout to register her disapproval. Then, doing her best to ignore the lingering doubt and loss and guilt, she marched off in search of a shovel.