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This is/was the intro to a knight-in-shining-armour-with-sardonic-twist story i am writing/was going to be writing. I might still do it.
I wrote it on my ipad so it might have some typoes still and stuff
Now that it's day, I can write some stuff on the general story itself. It would, beyond the (hopefully visible) surface satire be a novel with deeper meanings. In this case, they would be kinda, how thoughtless actions and words affect other people in sometimes rather unpleasant ways. Not exactly that original, but eh, I'd rather write something slightly deeper than just some random shit.
The main character, the knight who is probably called Stephen the Mighty, would be, I guess, regarded as a bit of a weirdo in the knighting and general communities because of his strange ways of not having a wife and being a bit of an alcoholic and so on. The thoughtless words and actions of his peers and, say, kings would drive him into this kind of melancholy or whatever you might call it. While he may look fine on the surface, he would not be under it, that kind of thing.
I'd also probably include a chapter or two from the view of his mirror or Elvish house servant or something, who is in turn again thoughtlessly affected by Stephen himself, to show the cycles and blahblah.
/deep
The title refers both to Stephen's imperfect self as well as the surface "white" or innocent and acceptable actions of people that actually do affect people. /deeper
oh just so i don't appear like a pruney old grouch, feedback and criticism and stuff is most appreciated : )))))
White(ish) Knight
Prologue
The Princess Ella paced her bare chamber. It had been almost three days and night since she had been kidnapped, right out of her father’s court, by a ferocious red dragon, with claws like ivory lances, ruby red scales harder than diamond, teeth that could skewer a half dozen men and a temper like a dozen hungry ogres trapped and confined in a small box.
Her accommodation was in a shockingly poor state. The mattress felt like it had a pea underneath it, the mirror only talked to her to tell her to leave him alone and the small window had a plant half covering it that looked like a bad attempt at a lengthy intricate braid. Her cutlery was unpolished bronze - not even silver! - and her plate couldn't even be used to check her reflection (though her mirror did show her lovely rosy complexion and dimpled cheeks when smiling.)
This dragon most absolutely was a poor host - however would she look pristine and beautiful when her white knight in shining armor slew it and rescued her (probably collapsing in his arms out of the relief of taut nerves from days of terrifying captivity being relaxed oh so suddenly)? These dragons should have a duty to be good hosts. Ella would definitely talk to her father’s court magician once home.
Contemplating old Mello's reaction to her best dimpled smile, Ella glided over to the overgrown window, white silk skirts lifted disdainfully from the soot blackened cold stone floor. The dragon would probably be napping again - it was quite a lazy dragon.
Just as Ella was a foot away from the window, the ground suddenly rumbled and shook, the earth twisting and tilting, taking her off her feet and sliding her down the room to her bed with a shrill, not very princess-like squeal.
How draw this lout of a dragon manhandle her so! It would hear the rough side of her cultivated tongue!
Before she could even get up, face fixed with an indignant stare, just like her mother always did when she was angry - no, indignant - a huge roar blasted through the window, the blue sky outside turned to flame (while the vine plant turned to ash) and a blistering wave of heat took breath, thought and feeling out of Ella's head.
Spluttering and gasping, head spinning and ears ringing, indignant stare wiped off her face and completely forgotten, Ella scrambled back to the welcomingly protective embrace of bed and floor. Just as she considered crawling right under the bed (maybe to bump into a princess-eating pea!), a clanking and clinking came to her ears. A clanking of shining white plate armour, a clinking of a pure chain mail made from the finest mithril steel. Her white knight had arrived, to the rescue, and by the sounds of it, was making fierce battle with the dragon.
Ella stumbled over to the now clear window, panting as she brushed sweaty, dusty stands of hair out of her eyes. Skidding to a halt before the antisocial mirror, she quickly looked up and down herself, straightened her skirts and brushed a few crumbs of dirt off her dress before gracefully and reservedly tumbling to the window, as dignified as a princess possibly could be. Beautiful and pure, that's how she had to look if she wanted the knight (probably - hopefully - a prince) to fall on love with her at first sight. That's what her mother had always said.
Finally she chanced a peer outside. And gaped at the scene, clapping well-manicured nails to her mouth.
Outside, pandemonium reigned. A clear, rectangular courtyard with a few scraggly plants had been scorched away. Instead, a stark landscape straight from the pits of hell had replaced it.
Massive boulders, glowing with heat, made a few isolated stands of cover in the ten foot deep pit that had been the courtyard. Parts of the rocky ground had molten away to expose small pits of boiling lava in the ground. Fingers of heat flailed up at Ella's face, scorching miniscule hairs off her body. The small plants and their roots were now crackling and crisping merrily away, while a few dozen humanoid shapes in the barely recognisable uniforms of her father’s men-at-arms roasted away.
Half of one such shape rested at the enormous clawed feet of the blood-red dragon, its massive jaws working as it chewed happily away on the other half, rock-like sawed teeth ripping apart the torso to a bloody mess in a gaping cavern of a mouth.
Ella's heart sunk to her feet. Tears sprung up in her eyes. But then she spotted the figure of her wild hopes and dreams, standing in cover, tall and valiant, away from the dragon.
Plated boots, slightly apart and pointing out, legs bent just so at the knee, an imposing, white-plated torso rising and falling from heavy breath, one gauntleted hand held a massive, glinting sword while a tall tower shield hung from a strap, resting against his broad back. His barred visor was open, exposing a ruggedly handsome, sweating face with a light dusting of blond stubble almost fading into the sun-darkened skin of his face. Thin, white lines of scars made a spider web pattern across his face, giving him an air of dangerous exoticness. Beautiful, intelligent and aware eyes of the most brilliantly sharp blue surveyed the scene if havoc behind him through a silver-gilded hand mirror. Ella's own - proof this great knight was an admirer of her sent by her father! Her knight in shining armour had arrived!
Discarding the hand mirror (somewhat roughly really, it was a good piece), the knight’s free hand went to his belt and pulled free a thin, wide hip flask with minuscule brown bubbles popping and snapping in the air above the neck. Ella could barely believe her eyes - that absolutely had to be a potion of fire resistance! The man, her knight, had brought such a rare, valuable artifact just to save her, to protect himself from the dragons fiery breath. Muttering something under his breath - probably invoking the magic of the potion (though what the wind drifted to Ella's perked ears sounded a bit like, "what I don't do for these women" - she must be hearing things), he steeled himself and took a long swig from the flask. His eyes glazed over slightly and his lips went a bit slack, for a moment making him look a bit like Ella's father when he had drunken too much wine. Then he clenched his face in what looked like a mix of pain and concentration and took ahold of himself, shaking his head vigorously. The bits of spittle flying from his loosely hanging lips didn't look quite so breathtakingly knight- or prince-like, Ella had to admit (but he was still very handsome). The handsome knight stoppered his flask again, shut his visor with a snap and unslung the broad, tall shield from his back while sheathing his sword. Instead, he picked up a fallen lance hung with pennants painted with her father’s insignias. He took one deep breath, braced himself and stepped out of cover, squaring up against the dragon.
Plop. The few remaining bits of man-at-arms torso dropped into a pool of lava and caught on fire as the dragons have dropped open in surprise, bits of uniform waving in the wind from its teeth like tattered flags. It recovered as quickly as lightning. Snout suddenly thrust forward, it inhaled deeply. Leathery skin, scales that glittered brighter than priceless stones straining it, bulged like a blacksmiths billow full of air.
A deafening roar filled the air and brought another film of hot air (and, this time, steamy hot dragon spit) covered the princess's faced the dragon exhaled explosively.
The short moment of surprise was all the weakness the white knight had needed. Nimbly in his considerable amount of heavy plate and chain, he had leaped up and begun to sprint at the fierce dragon. He was a gazelle - no, a unicorn! - a unicorn in full fight, each heaving bound eating up a full five feet and letting out a short huff! of breath. The knights arms pumped, shield to one side flat against his forearm, lance slicing the air on the other side. In seconds, he was barely sixty feet from the massive shape of the dragon.
Heart bounding as fast as the knight, Ella watched, caught up in rapture. He had to succeed, he had to!
On and on he leaped and bounded. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. Twe - whooomph!
A massive fireball consumed the entire courtyard, heat lashed out to whip at Ella's face. The dragon had finally struck back, and struck back with all it's considerable might. On and on the inferno raged down in the courtyard. Nothing could possibly survive that.
Ella let out a high pitched squeak and tears welled up in her eyes, this time coming out in earnest, twin waterfalls gushing from them. He had been so close, so close! Her knight had nearly had it, had nearly slain the dragon and rescued her. And now he was gone! Burned to a crisp, all because of her! She sobbed and began to wail. She had caused all those poor brave men to die, it was her fault! All of them had been consumed in such a raging firestorm. A raging inferno down in the courtyard, split in two by a blindingly bright object, rectangular in shape and maybe twenty feet from the dragon. No! It was impossible!
But there he was, her shining white knight, holding onto his magical mirror shield for his dear life. Ella watched in amazement, mouth hanging open (and mind working wildly as she imagined his straight white teeth gritted in effort and manly, bass pitched rumble sounds escaping his clenched lips as he grunted) as the flames split right past him.
The dragon saw him too, roaring in outrage - how dare such a puny human be so powerful! Its breath was running out and it knew itself bested. A worthy opponent at last. A sigh, mixed of relief and sadness at finding such a one, yet only having such a short time with it, escaped the dragons burning hot lips. The flames subsided as the last breath of air went out of the dragons lungs.
The white knight lowered his (still mirror pristine) shield immediately, raised his lance hand, took aim and cast away a godlike shot with a powerful grunt. His aim was deadly true and the lance took the dragon down the throat, straight into its evil, fiery heart.
With a titanic slap and a gigantic boom, the dragon collapsed down on its side, billowing up a mighty cloud of dust and ash. The great beast had been slain. Red eyes, filmed over, still glinted dangerously. Numerous scales sparkled like rubies in the sun. It was quite a majestic and magnificent creature, once you got over the fact it was a dragon (though evidently it was quite evil - it had had to go, in Ella's opinion).
At last, Ella let out a very long breath. He’d done it. Her white knight had slain the beast and was now coming to save her, to hopefully fall in love with her!
Quickly she went back to the mirror, checking her reflection. Just a bit red in the face but with all the excitement and heat, who could blame her? Certainly not the handsome young man who would, without a doubt, fall in love with her and her beautiful features. Golden brown ringlets of hair hanging down her back shook lightly as she patted them down and cleaned her delicate, finely chiseled face with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
She could hear the knight’s clanking footsteps as he climbed the hundred-and-one rough stone steps of the tower. She thought it must be quite an arduous journey following his intense battle.
Just as Ella was finishing her final touches of smoothing wrinkles from her white dress, the footsteps slowed, then stopped and the door handle began to move.
When the knight stepped in, gauntlets tucked behind his belt and helmet held in the crook of his arm, Ella’s breath caught again. He was not just handsome; he was truly beautiful for a man. Smooth angles and hard curves made his face into a landscape of refined beauty. His numerous scars, instead of marring the results, simply served to embellish this landscape, giving it uniquely hints and tones. His light brown hair hung in glossy waves down to his shoulders, framing his face with yet another addition of beauty. He was as perfect a man as Ella had ever set eyes upon. His sharp blue eyes seemed to sing the most sensual serenades in the entire world.
And then his mouth moved and he talked. No, angels from the heavens sung and filled Ella’s ears with a melodically deep voice woven through with volumes of self-belief, knowledge of her heart and promises of love and care. But something was wrong…the knight’s words seemed slightly odd. And then, slowly, the actual words reached her head and she registered what he had said.
But…did knights like this truly say, “Alright, the damn dragon’s dead, can we get the hell out of here now?” She was certain no decent knight talked even slightly like that!
Ella opened her mouth. To say…what? She truly had no idea how she could respond in any dignified way. So, quite simply, she said, in the haughty tones of nobility, “I am Princess Ella, graceful sir. How may I address you?”
The knight shifted his stance slightly and rolled his eyes. He had the gall to roll his eyes at her! And then, in a far more knightly manner, intoned, “My dear princess, I am Stephen, called Stephen the Mighty by some, if it pleases you,” then dropped his voice from the lofty heights of intonations and urged, “Now really, I’d appreciate it if we could go. I’m sure your father will be very happy to have you back, I can go home, and everyone will be happy.”
With that, he crossed the small room in two strides and took her by the arm, squeezing any thoughts of speaking from her as he ushered her (a bit roughly, Ella thought) to the door.
All of this was simply not going to Ella’s liking. The knight seemed barely aware of her beauty and refinement, he was too perfect to be real and, up close near him, a sharp smell of alcoholic spirits hung in the air. Perhaps someone had slipped some drink into the poor man’s potion. She was probably just imagining it anyway, the man’s civility had no questions hanging over it and he seemed entirely sober. Knowing that, as a princess, she would win his heart over yet, Ella simply began to plan just exactly how to do that.
And so it was that Stephen the Mighty met Princess Ella. And, completely unbeknownst and unsuspected to her, he had not fallen in love with her and, upon seeing her, had decided that he most definitely never would.
Chapter 1
--> the square brackets in this chapter indicate footnotes so you don't have to actually read them. Or pretend you're going to the bottom of the page to do so.
Our dearly beloved knight’s story begins on a day of intense celebration throughout the idyllic kingdom of Fairingdos, where castles were still built with soaring spires of marble and farmers weren’t (yet) grumpy, rough men on a constant diet of potatoes. [Actually most farmers were large, boisterous men with generous bellies and a general habit of stroking their well-trimmed-and-washed, wavy soft blond beards. Lacking potato diets of today made them into your well known grouches]
The celebration was due to the kingdom-wide decree of the King that he’d issued the week before, sending scores of eager elf messengers to gallop out on prideful unicorns to tell everyone of the royal decree. It was a very important decree, for it proclaimed, “We, the royal grace King Roderic of Fairingdos, declare that on the 20th of Mocktober [The dates of the calendar were somewhat different different back then; days were Moonday of the full moon, Twosday of double quantities, Weddingday of well…weddings, No-Thirstday where fountains in every city ran with honeyed milk (or wine, depending on the alcoholism of the towns), Frolickingday of feasts and any declared days of celebration, Saturn’s Day where the great philosopher Saturn would come and say ridiculous things like the world being flat and Sunday, where the wizards of the land would summon up a mighty sun for unicorns and leprechauns to bask in. The months went Doormonth, Fabuloary Walkch, Oaster, Possibility Month, Summerstart, Summersmid, Summersend, Shiptimber, Mockotber, Mustachegrowingmonth and Snowbegins. Sometime between now and then, a prune of an old man must have sat down and changed all of these to their mundane modern counterparts] which is a Frolickingday, there shall be a most excellent feast of merriment, jolliness and debauchery. All of our most loyal subjects of our great realm will have our permission to laze about and drink themselves senseless for a whole day, as is right on such a day. For our beautiful daughter Ella has returned to my safety from the prongs of the now-slain mighty ruby dragon of the East. So overjoyed are we at her homecoming at the hands of the renowned knight Stephen the Mighty that this feast shall be. We have said it and so shall it be!”
Of course the king had omitted two important details from the face of the declaration. Firstly, he had no called his daughter “lovely” or “beautiful” or some such term. In these days, this could only mean one thing, as would any good farmer tell you sagely while fondling his proud beard and attempting to put on a voice and appearance of wisdom. It meant that the gracious king’s daughter was a snooty, spoiled young child that he’d probably given to the dragon himself as a punishment for likely ripping her dolls to shreds. Yes, any good farmer would say, the Princess Ella did appear very troublesome for the kingdom indeed.
The second crucial detail was the lack of a statement of the epic proportions of the dragon fight. This, as any gossiping elf bouncing on his toes would say, puffing out their chest to try to appear slightly tally than their pitiful few feet of height but only achieving a laughable resemblance to a bullfrog, meant that the king had very sourly accepted his daughter back from the good knight, who had probably not even broken a sweat in slaying the pitiful “dragon”, probably actually a magically enlarged lizard. This of course also helped the rumours of the Princess’s petulance and just punishment, since only a mighty dragon would kidnap a princess and provide a fight worthy of song to an equally superbly talented knight.
In actual fact, the king had “sent” (arranged for her to be kidnapped) his beautiful and grown up daughter away to the second mightiest dragon in the kingdom so that a suitably powerful and handsome prince or knight could free and marry her. However, and this is where our dear Stephen comes in, the most incredibly handsome and combat worthy knight Stephen the Mighty himself ventured out to save the (so-believed) poor princess. Stephen easily defeated the house-sized beast with the armour and flesh of dozens of men in its teeth and then freed Ella. But he’d failed to fulfil the whole purpose of the plan. Stephen the Mighty had not asked for Ella’s hand in marriage. Nor, actually, had he fallen in love with her or displayed the slightest bit of interest.
I wrote it on my ipad so it might have some typoes still and stuff
Now that it's day, I can write some stuff on the general story itself. It would, beyond the (hopefully visible) surface satire be a novel with deeper meanings. In this case, they would be kinda, how thoughtless actions and words affect other people in sometimes rather unpleasant ways. Not exactly that original, but eh, I'd rather write something slightly deeper than just some random shit.
The main character, the knight who is probably called Stephen the Mighty, would be, I guess, regarded as a bit of a weirdo in the knighting and general communities because of his strange ways of not having a wife and being a bit of an alcoholic and so on. The thoughtless words and actions of his peers and, say, kings would drive him into this kind of melancholy or whatever you might call it. While he may look fine on the surface, he would not be under it, that kind of thing.
I'd also probably include a chapter or two from the view of his mirror or Elvish house servant or something, who is in turn again thoughtlessly affected by Stephen himself, to show the cycles and blahblah.
/deep
The title refers both to Stephen's imperfect self as well as the surface "white" or innocent and acceptable actions of people that actually do affect people. /deeper
oh just so i don't appear like a pruney old grouch, feedback and criticism and stuff is most appreciated : )))))
White(ish) Knight
Prologue
The Princess Ella paced her bare chamber. It had been almost three days and night since she had been kidnapped, right out of her father’s court, by a ferocious red dragon, with claws like ivory lances, ruby red scales harder than diamond, teeth that could skewer a half dozen men and a temper like a dozen hungry ogres trapped and confined in a small box.
Her accommodation was in a shockingly poor state. The mattress felt like it had a pea underneath it, the mirror only talked to her to tell her to leave him alone and the small window had a plant half covering it that looked like a bad attempt at a lengthy intricate braid. Her cutlery was unpolished bronze - not even silver! - and her plate couldn't even be used to check her reflection (though her mirror did show her lovely rosy complexion and dimpled cheeks when smiling.)
This dragon most absolutely was a poor host - however would she look pristine and beautiful when her white knight in shining armor slew it and rescued her (probably collapsing in his arms out of the relief of taut nerves from days of terrifying captivity being relaxed oh so suddenly)? These dragons should have a duty to be good hosts. Ella would definitely talk to her father’s court magician once home.
Contemplating old Mello's reaction to her best dimpled smile, Ella glided over to the overgrown window, white silk skirts lifted disdainfully from the soot blackened cold stone floor. The dragon would probably be napping again - it was quite a lazy dragon.
Just as Ella was a foot away from the window, the ground suddenly rumbled and shook, the earth twisting and tilting, taking her off her feet and sliding her down the room to her bed with a shrill, not very princess-like squeal.
How draw this lout of a dragon manhandle her so! It would hear the rough side of her cultivated tongue!
Before she could even get up, face fixed with an indignant stare, just like her mother always did when she was angry - no, indignant - a huge roar blasted through the window, the blue sky outside turned to flame (while the vine plant turned to ash) and a blistering wave of heat took breath, thought and feeling out of Ella's head.
Spluttering and gasping, head spinning and ears ringing, indignant stare wiped off her face and completely forgotten, Ella scrambled back to the welcomingly protective embrace of bed and floor. Just as she considered crawling right under the bed (maybe to bump into a princess-eating pea!), a clanking and clinking came to her ears. A clanking of shining white plate armour, a clinking of a pure chain mail made from the finest mithril steel. Her white knight had arrived, to the rescue, and by the sounds of it, was making fierce battle with the dragon.
Ella stumbled over to the now clear window, panting as she brushed sweaty, dusty stands of hair out of her eyes. Skidding to a halt before the antisocial mirror, she quickly looked up and down herself, straightened her skirts and brushed a few crumbs of dirt off her dress before gracefully and reservedly tumbling to the window, as dignified as a princess possibly could be. Beautiful and pure, that's how she had to look if she wanted the knight (probably - hopefully - a prince) to fall on love with her at first sight. That's what her mother had always said.
Finally she chanced a peer outside. And gaped at the scene, clapping well-manicured nails to her mouth.
Outside, pandemonium reigned. A clear, rectangular courtyard with a few scraggly plants had been scorched away. Instead, a stark landscape straight from the pits of hell had replaced it.
Massive boulders, glowing with heat, made a few isolated stands of cover in the ten foot deep pit that had been the courtyard. Parts of the rocky ground had molten away to expose small pits of boiling lava in the ground. Fingers of heat flailed up at Ella's face, scorching miniscule hairs off her body. The small plants and their roots were now crackling and crisping merrily away, while a few dozen humanoid shapes in the barely recognisable uniforms of her father’s men-at-arms roasted away.
Half of one such shape rested at the enormous clawed feet of the blood-red dragon, its massive jaws working as it chewed happily away on the other half, rock-like sawed teeth ripping apart the torso to a bloody mess in a gaping cavern of a mouth.
Ella's heart sunk to her feet. Tears sprung up in her eyes. But then she spotted the figure of her wild hopes and dreams, standing in cover, tall and valiant, away from the dragon.
Plated boots, slightly apart and pointing out, legs bent just so at the knee, an imposing, white-plated torso rising and falling from heavy breath, one gauntleted hand held a massive, glinting sword while a tall tower shield hung from a strap, resting against his broad back. His barred visor was open, exposing a ruggedly handsome, sweating face with a light dusting of blond stubble almost fading into the sun-darkened skin of his face. Thin, white lines of scars made a spider web pattern across his face, giving him an air of dangerous exoticness. Beautiful, intelligent and aware eyes of the most brilliantly sharp blue surveyed the scene if havoc behind him through a silver-gilded hand mirror. Ella's own - proof this great knight was an admirer of her sent by her father! Her knight in shining armour had arrived!
Discarding the hand mirror (somewhat roughly really, it was a good piece), the knight’s free hand went to his belt and pulled free a thin, wide hip flask with minuscule brown bubbles popping and snapping in the air above the neck. Ella could barely believe her eyes - that absolutely had to be a potion of fire resistance! The man, her knight, had brought such a rare, valuable artifact just to save her, to protect himself from the dragons fiery breath. Muttering something under his breath - probably invoking the magic of the potion (though what the wind drifted to Ella's perked ears sounded a bit like, "what I don't do for these women" - she must be hearing things), he steeled himself and took a long swig from the flask. His eyes glazed over slightly and his lips went a bit slack, for a moment making him look a bit like Ella's father when he had drunken too much wine. Then he clenched his face in what looked like a mix of pain and concentration and took ahold of himself, shaking his head vigorously. The bits of spittle flying from his loosely hanging lips didn't look quite so breathtakingly knight- or prince-like, Ella had to admit (but he was still very handsome). The handsome knight stoppered his flask again, shut his visor with a snap and unslung the broad, tall shield from his back while sheathing his sword. Instead, he picked up a fallen lance hung with pennants painted with her father’s insignias. He took one deep breath, braced himself and stepped out of cover, squaring up against the dragon.
Plop. The few remaining bits of man-at-arms torso dropped into a pool of lava and caught on fire as the dragons have dropped open in surprise, bits of uniform waving in the wind from its teeth like tattered flags. It recovered as quickly as lightning. Snout suddenly thrust forward, it inhaled deeply. Leathery skin, scales that glittered brighter than priceless stones straining it, bulged like a blacksmiths billow full of air.
A deafening roar filled the air and brought another film of hot air (and, this time, steamy hot dragon spit) covered the princess's faced the dragon exhaled explosively.
The short moment of surprise was all the weakness the white knight had needed. Nimbly in his considerable amount of heavy plate and chain, he had leaped up and begun to sprint at the fierce dragon. He was a gazelle - no, a unicorn! - a unicorn in full fight, each heaving bound eating up a full five feet and letting out a short huff! of breath. The knights arms pumped, shield to one side flat against his forearm, lance slicing the air on the other side. In seconds, he was barely sixty feet from the massive shape of the dragon.
Heart bounding as fast as the knight, Ella watched, caught up in rapture. He had to succeed, he had to!
On and on he leaped and bounded. Fifty feet. Forty feet. Thirty feet. Twe - whooomph!
A massive fireball consumed the entire courtyard, heat lashed out to whip at Ella's face. The dragon had finally struck back, and struck back with all it's considerable might. On and on the inferno raged down in the courtyard. Nothing could possibly survive that.
Ella let out a high pitched squeak and tears welled up in her eyes, this time coming out in earnest, twin waterfalls gushing from them. He had been so close, so close! Her knight had nearly had it, had nearly slain the dragon and rescued her. And now he was gone! Burned to a crisp, all because of her! She sobbed and began to wail. She had caused all those poor brave men to die, it was her fault! All of them had been consumed in such a raging firestorm. A raging inferno down in the courtyard, split in two by a blindingly bright object, rectangular in shape and maybe twenty feet from the dragon. No! It was impossible!
But there he was, her shining white knight, holding onto his magical mirror shield for his dear life. Ella watched in amazement, mouth hanging open (and mind working wildly as she imagined his straight white teeth gritted in effort and manly, bass pitched rumble sounds escaping his clenched lips as he grunted) as the flames split right past him.
The dragon saw him too, roaring in outrage - how dare such a puny human be so powerful! Its breath was running out and it knew itself bested. A worthy opponent at last. A sigh, mixed of relief and sadness at finding such a one, yet only having such a short time with it, escaped the dragons burning hot lips. The flames subsided as the last breath of air went out of the dragons lungs.
The white knight lowered his (still mirror pristine) shield immediately, raised his lance hand, took aim and cast away a godlike shot with a powerful grunt. His aim was deadly true and the lance took the dragon down the throat, straight into its evil, fiery heart.
With a titanic slap and a gigantic boom, the dragon collapsed down on its side, billowing up a mighty cloud of dust and ash. The great beast had been slain. Red eyes, filmed over, still glinted dangerously. Numerous scales sparkled like rubies in the sun. It was quite a majestic and magnificent creature, once you got over the fact it was a dragon (though evidently it was quite evil - it had had to go, in Ella's opinion).
At last, Ella let out a very long breath. He’d done it. Her white knight had slain the beast and was now coming to save her, to hopefully fall in love with her!
Quickly she went back to the mirror, checking her reflection. Just a bit red in the face but with all the excitement and heat, who could blame her? Certainly not the handsome young man who would, without a doubt, fall in love with her and her beautiful features. Golden brown ringlets of hair hanging down her back shook lightly as she patted them down and cleaned her delicate, finely chiseled face with a lace-trimmed handkerchief.
She could hear the knight’s clanking footsteps as he climbed the hundred-and-one rough stone steps of the tower. She thought it must be quite an arduous journey following his intense battle.
Just as Ella was finishing her final touches of smoothing wrinkles from her white dress, the footsteps slowed, then stopped and the door handle began to move.
When the knight stepped in, gauntlets tucked behind his belt and helmet held in the crook of his arm, Ella’s breath caught again. He was not just handsome; he was truly beautiful for a man. Smooth angles and hard curves made his face into a landscape of refined beauty. His numerous scars, instead of marring the results, simply served to embellish this landscape, giving it uniquely hints and tones. His light brown hair hung in glossy waves down to his shoulders, framing his face with yet another addition of beauty. He was as perfect a man as Ella had ever set eyes upon. His sharp blue eyes seemed to sing the most sensual serenades in the entire world.
And then his mouth moved and he talked. No, angels from the heavens sung and filled Ella’s ears with a melodically deep voice woven through with volumes of self-belief, knowledge of her heart and promises of love and care. But something was wrong…the knight’s words seemed slightly odd. And then, slowly, the actual words reached her head and she registered what he had said.
But…did knights like this truly say, “Alright, the damn dragon’s dead, can we get the hell out of here now?” She was certain no decent knight talked even slightly like that!
Ella opened her mouth. To say…what? She truly had no idea how she could respond in any dignified way. So, quite simply, she said, in the haughty tones of nobility, “I am Princess Ella, graceful sir. How may I address you?”
The knight shifted his stance slightly and rolled his eyes. He had the gall to roll his eyes at her! And then, in a far more knightly manner, intoned, “My dear princess, I am Stephen, called Stephen the Mighty by some, if it pleases you,” then dropped his voice from the lofty heights of intonations and urged, “Now really, I’d appreciate it if we could go. I’m sure your father will be very happy to have you back, I can go home, and everyone will be happy.”
With that, he crossed the small room in two strides and took her by the arm, squeezing any thoughts of speaking from her as he ushered her (a bit roughly, Ella thought) to the door.
All of this was simply not going to Ella’s liking. The knight seemed barely aware of her beauty and refinement, he was too perfect to be real and, up close near him, a sharp smell of alcoholic spirits hung in the air. Perhaps someone had slipped some drink into the poor man’s potion. She was probably just imagining it anyway, the man’s civility had no questions hanging over it and he seemed entirely sober. Knowing that, as a princess, she would win his heart over yet, Ella simply began to plan just exactly how to do that.
And so it was that Stephen the Mighty met Princess Ella. And, completely unbeknownst and unsuspected to her, he had not fallen in love with her and, upon seeing her, had decided that he most definitely never would.
Chapter 1
--> the square brackets in this chapter indicate footnotes so you don't have to actually read them. Or pretend you're going to the bottom of the page to do so.
Our dearly beloved knight’s story begins on a day of intense celebration throughout the idyllic kingdom of Fairingdos, where castles were still built with soaring spires of marble and farmers weren’t (yet) grumpy, rough men on a constant diet of potatoes. [Actually most farmers were large, boisterous men with generous bellies and a general habit of stroking their well-trimmed-and-washed, wavy soft blond beards. Lacking potato diets of today made them into your well known grouches]
The celebration was due to the kingdom-wide decree of the King that he’d issued the week before, sending scores of eager elf messengers to gallop out on prideful unicorns to tell everyone of the royal decree. It was a very important decree, for it proclaimed, “We, the royal grace King Roderic of Fairingdos, declare that on the 20th of Mocktober [The dates of the calendar were somewhat different different back then; days were Moonday of the full moon, Twosday of double quantities, Weddingday of well…weddings, No-Thirstday where fountains in every city ran with honeyed milk (or wine, depending on the alcoholism of the towns), Frolickingday of feasts and any declared days of celebration, Saturn’s Day where the great philosopher Saturn would come and say ridiculous things like the world being flat and Sunday, where the wizards of the land would summon up a mighty sun for unicorns and leprechauns to bask in. The months went Doormonth, Fabuloary Walkch, Oaster, Possibility Month, Summerstart, Summersmid, Summersend, Shiptimber, Mockotber, Mustachegrowingmonth and Snowbegins. Sometime between now and then, a prune of an old man must have sat down and changed all of these to their mundane modern counterparts] which is a Frolickingday, there shall be a most excellent feast of merriment, jolliness and debauchery. All of our most loyal subjects of our great realm will have our permission to laze about and drink themselves senseless for a whole day, as is right on such a day. For our beautiful daughter Ella has returned to my safety from the prongs of the now-slain mighty ruby dragon of the East. So overjoyed are we at her homecoming at the hands of the renowned knight Stephen the Mighty that this feast shall be. We have said it and so shall it be!”
Of course the king had omitted two important details from the face of the declaration. Firstly, he had no called his daughter “lovely” or “beautiful” or some such term. In these days, this could only mean one thing, as would any good farmer tell you sagely while fondling his proud beard and attempting to put on a voice and appearance of wisdom. It meant that the gracious king’s daughter was a snooty, spoiled young child that he’d probably given to the dragon himself as a punishment for likely ripping her dolls to shreds. Yes, any good farmer would say, the Princess Ella did appear very troublesome for the kingdom indeed.
The second crucial detail was the lack of a statement of the epic proportions of the dragon fight. This, as any gossiping elf bouncing on his toes would say, puffing out their chest to try to appear slightly tally than their pitiful few feet of height but only achieving a laughable resemblance to a bullfrog, meant that the king had very sourly accepted his daughter back from the good knight, who had probably not even broken a sweat in slaying the pitiful “dragon”, probably actually a magically enlarged lizard. This of course also helped the rumours of the Princess’s petulance and just punishment, since only a mighty dragon would kidnap a princess and provide a fight worthy of song to an equally superbly talented knight.
In actual fact, the king had “sent” (arranged for her to be kidnapped) his beautiful and grown up daughter away to the second mightiest dragon in the kingdom so that a suitably powerful and handsome prince or knight could free and marry her. However, and this is where our dear Stephen comes in, the most incredibly handsome and combat worthy knight Stephen the Mighty himself ventured out to save the (so-believed) poor princess. Stephen easily defeated the house-sized beast with the armour and flesh of dozens of men in its teeth and then freed Ella. But he’d failed to fulfil the whole purpose of the plan. Stephen the Mighty had not asked for Ella’s hand in marriage. Nor, actually, had he fallen in love with her or displayed the slightest bit of interest.
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