“Feed the dragons. Who are they kidding?” Lugby groaned as he walked the sheep up the mountain path. “Who ever heard of feeding dragons? You
don't feed dragons, they just eat. And look at you, dumb little sheep. You just keep following me right up this path, straight to the dragons lair
like you're on a pleasant afternoon stroll. You dont e...”
The half of Lugby's body that normally does the talking disappeared in the dragon's maw while the half that would normally be running like hell sat
motionless waiting for a signal that never came. The sheep wandered back to its pen where it would wait patiently until next months offering was made.
It had made this trip many times and each time was surprised that the humans never noticed the dragon. But then, sheep are surprised by pretty much
Lazar lumbered back to his lair hidden in the side of the mountain. It was so well disguised that you could stand in front of it looking directly at
it and not see it. Lazar liked it that way. It had served him well for the last 400 years. Lazar sat in his den thinking that the quality of the
offerings was starting to get very disappointing. It wasn't just the thrill of the hunt that he missed. The taste was somehow not as pleasing as it
once was. In short, he was one bored dragon.
The one true joy Lazar had left was taking wing on clear starry nights. The feel of the mist on his scales, the dizzying array of stars that seemed
almost within reach, it was freedom from the prison his life had become. His escape. His passion. It made his life tolerable.
Princess Ivana, the last of the Ternerova royal bloodline, silently walked the parapets looking out over her kingdom. She was beautiful by any
measure, with a wisdom that belied her tender age of twenty and two. Beyond being of royal blood, there was something very special about her. She was
like no other. She was truly one of a kind. With just a mere glance immediately came the thought, “Ivana Ternerova”.
Ivana turned to the west and saw the haze around the moon, a shimmering halo that beckoned to her. Perpetually out of reach, she could only offer it
worship even as she longed to feel it wrapped around her. Slowly, she arched her lithe body back until her hands came round to grasp her heels. In
this position, her body honoring the halo of the moon, she would meditate and offer thanks for the prosperity of her kingdom. She could feel the cool
breeze pushing the silk of her garment against her skin revealing the shape that God had given her and imagined it to be the halo gently caressing
Lazar spun through the air, his enormous wings taking huge gulps of air and tossing them aside with each beat. He soared onward, nearly hypnotized by
the halo around the moon. Movement caught his eye on the castle below. He swung to the east and saw Princess Ivana walking the parapets. He glided
silently overhead as she contorted her body into the image he held so dear to his heart. Impetuous, as dragons often are, he swooped down and gently
snatched Princess Ivana from her meditation and carried her away with little more than a brief squeel.
Word was sent forth that Princess Ivana had been taken by Lazar. Knights from every corner of the land came to see if they were worthy of the task of
rescue. It would be only the most exceptional Knight that could save the Princess. Many would seek the task, but only one would be chosen.
At the behest of the Viceroy, the Knights formed a skirmish line and on signal began bashing and hacking away at each other. Amidst the swirling dust
and banging and clanging it soon became apparent that one Knight was not like the others. His armor unscathed, his sword glistened, he seemed a giant
among men. It was obvious – he would be the one.
The Viceroy summoned the Knight to his side. “You fight well Sir Knight. How are thee known?” “I am called Mansin”, replied the knight
removing his helmet revealing flowing blonde locks and piercing blue eyes. “What make ye of this Sir Mansin?” the Viceroy asked as his aide held
high a drawing of Princess Ivana. “She is indeed beautiful Viceroy. Your words are true.” “And again I ask, what think you of this?” The aide
held high a drawing of Lazar. Sir Mansin's pulse quickened. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his temples. His breath drew quicker. He glared at
the drawing of Lazar as if his gaze could emblazen it upon his very eyes. “Make ready my steed – I ride tonight. If I do not return by the fourth
night send word to my family on the fifth mourn.”
Lazar landed at the entrance to his lair and gently set the Princess to ground. She lay motionless, the ordeal overwhelmed her into unconsciousness.
Slowly her wits approached her and after a moments hesitation settled down in their accustomed positions. Before her stood Lazar, watching her,
waiting for her to bend into the form he worshipped from afar. Silently they sat, staring at each other, motionless. Lazar turned to the side and
looked at his back, then at Princess Ivana. The Princess did nothing. Again, Lazar looked at his back, then at Princess Ivana, this time adding a
“Humph” and a small puff of smoke. Princess Ivana stood slowly, not believing what she was doing, and walked towards Lazar. Lazar turned his back
to the Princess who climbed his scales and sat comfortably where he had twice looked. She held tight as Lazar stepped to the entrance of his lair and
with one monstrous lunge of his wings they were flying.
Princess Ivana giggled. Every nerve in her body bristled with excitement. She was closer to the moon's halo than she ever dreamed she would be.
Thrilled with the excitement of flight, being so close to the object of her worship, feeling the power of the dragon's body flexing between her legs,
she closed her eyes and finally touched the halo she had only dreamed of before.
For three nights Lazar and Ivana repeated their ritual of flying ever higher, sharing a common goal, feeling as one. Lazar swept his wings back then
thrust them forward to slow his decent as he neared the entrance to his lair. Even before landing he sensed something was amiss. Princess Ivana had
barely dismounted when he turned suddenly and roared letting loose the flames within his belly. In their light Ivana could see Sir Mansin, standing at
the entrance to the lair, sword in hand.
“No!” screamed Ivana and put herself between the two. But her efforts were for naught. There would be blood spilled that night.
The fourth night came and went and on the fifth mourn the Viceroy joined a league of men to seek out Sir Mansin and discover the results of his
endeavour. Slowly, cautiously, the men approached Lazar's lair. As they rounded the last turn of rocks to reach the entrance to the lair their eyes
met with a sight none had anticipated. Seasoned warriors of the Royal Guard were so taken aback they nearly choked on their own vomit.
Tied to a tree was the Princess, lifeless, a jousting lance shoved through her body. On the other side of the entrance lay the dragon, arms and legs
bound, tail propped up by Sir Mansins shield, with a silly look of satisfaction on its face.
The Viceroy, realizing what events had transpired could say only this: “We are dealing with one very sick Knight here....”
21-1-2015 by Vroomfondel because: (no reason given)