And so, he decided to go on a quest – a quest not to be bored. He could go on a quest because it was in his job description – he could not have a job because it was NOT in his job description. This paradox could never be explained. How could it be a job description if it specified that no job could be held? Now… on with the quest…
He was bored with riding. He was even bored with his mother’s magic carpet...and so he decided to walk… (The court falls over in a dead faint at this horrendous turn of events...) Now, you might ask, “Which mom owned the carpet?” to which I must reply, “His mom – there has to be a mother, a queen, for there to be a prince. This is another law in that country.”
“No gay kings?” you ask. “Well, he could have two dads, for the regency and for raising him, but genetically speaking, there had to be a mother of royal blood… Why are we analyzing the laws of this country anyway? Do I look like an advocate? a lawyer?”
So, our handsome, virile, dark, and by now sweaty prince continued tramping on his quest. He trodged through his kingdom – well, his father’s kingdom… I guess it was his princedom. Until finally he came to the border of the Forbidden Forest, and stood at the edge of the cool woods, staring at the trees, wondering for the life of him why the forest was forbidden, when it looked perfectly fine to him. But he decided it was covered by the legal code anyway, so he might as well not get a royal headache over it when some advocate already had done that, and so he ventured in…
At first he was so grateful for the shade, the cool relief of filtered green light after the warm spring sun, that he found himself actually enjoying the walk, unaccustomed though he was to that sort of activity. On the edges of the forest he saw squirrels gamboling, occasionally pelting him with sticks or nuts from their arboreal perches. His laughter at their antics sounded oddly muffled by the trees, however, and he felt increasingly disinclined to disturb the silence.
Further in, he saw deer peeking around the trunks of trees, darting off as he approached. He heard them crash through the undergrowth briefly, before the silence of the forest closed in around him once more. Oddly, the silence did not make him nervous – it was not that kind of silence, but more one of things old and undisturbed, things which thought and considered before the haste of action. It suited his legally enforced leisure, and he felt strangely at home.
Despite the coolness the trees provided, he began to realize that he was thirsty and tired. Fortunately, he had remembered to bring provisions – that was covered in the Questing Manual for Princes – now he just had to find some place to rest and eat. Peering ahead in the gloom, he spotted a clearing.
The cabin was a surprise to him, and he began to stride towards it with the proper princely arrogance. But… but…
But the long walk through the sentient silence had worked a wonder in his heart, and he found that being a pompous prince was perhaps not what he wanted to portray as a first impression. And so, he paused. And he thought. His head ached with the effort (where were the lawyers when you needed them?) but he finally recalled how his tutors had behaved when they approached him, and he thought how he had always thought well of them (when he thought of them at all). Figuring he had nothing to lose, he approached the clearing.
“Halloo the cabin!” his voice, trained to carry across the battlefield, echoed in the stillness. Even the birds stopped their gossip. “Hallo! A traveler approaches requesting …” what did he request? Oh, yes! “A traveler approaches requesting a place to rest!” Nothing moved. Nothing stirred. The cabin appeared empty. The prince stepped forward, keeping his hand well away from the hilt of his sword so as not to make the bad impression he wanted to avoid.
When he reached the center of the clearing, he heard an odd rattling, like bones or dead leaves. Wheeling about, he came face to chest with… a dragon. His breath caught in his throat, not from fear, but from the sheer beauty of her, silhouetted against the sky. It was the furling of her wings that he had heard – her descent from flight had been soundless. Later, they would marvel that he had known her gender, but in the moment, it just seemed to him as if everything about her was apparent – she was the ultimate mystery without surprise.
“Hi”, he said lamely. “Hallo yourself!” her voice was low and well-modulated, except for the sibilant sss… hard to overcome when your tongue is forked… “I was hoping to shelter in your clearing…” His voice turned the statement into a question. “Why settle for the clearing when you can use the cabin?” her voice was amused. “Didn’t you notice that I am a bit … long… for the dwelling?” She shifted her weight, and her long tail swept into view. He noticed that the sun glinted off her scales in sparks of gold and green.
“Cool!” His grin lit up his face, and she could see the young man shine through the princely façade. She led him across the glade, and opened the door to her cabin. “Once you get settled, why don’t you come back outside, and we can break our fasts and talk?” She glanced over her shoulder at the prince, noticing how his dark hair gleamed like polished ebony in the sun.
The interior of her cabin was suffused with green light from the trees that surrounded it. He found it well stocked with hundreds of years of books – philosophy and theology mostly. But there, on the shelf next to the bed, he saw his favorite book, a novel rich with the many layers of his nation’s mythology, and he scooped it up and ran outside with it. “Have you read this too?” he asked, excitedly. “Of course,” she smiled good-naturedly. He was sure of her good nature, even though her smiling lips unveiled teeth as large and pointed as his sword. “You must remember that I have lived much longer than you, you are young even for a human, and I have need to occupy my time. Reading is the most pleasant way to do that, I have found.”
“You don’t seem old at all to me,” the prince responded gallantly. “Your scales are still gleaming gold and green and have not faded at all!” “Flatterer!” She preened under his praise. “And you are quite sensible for a young human – I can see you are on a quest, since you have the requisite provisions according to the Questing Manual for Princes. That is still the standard text, I presume?” And thus began a most congenial conversation, interspersed with draughts of water (the dragon promised wine for dinner) and bread and cheese and sausages.
It wasn’t until the shadows lengthened and the air grew chilly that the prince noticed how much time had passed. He and the dragon went into the forest and gathered up much of the dry, fallen tree limbs that lay about. She was quite good at disguising how much she could carry so that she didn’t threaten his ego, for she did not want to lose his company. He noticed her efforts, and was extraordinarily grateful, for it meant that he did not have to stomp off in a huff to preserve his princely dignity, and he did not want to lose her company. For the first time in his young life, he realized he was not bored, and had not been for… could it be eight hours?
Once the wood for a proper fire had been laid, she breathed on it, and the dry logs crackled into flame. “What is your name?” she asked him, somewhat shyly in the intimate circle of light created by the fire. “Ashton of the line of Bogus,” he replied, “And you would be…” Her head dipped coyly, “Genevieve… just Genevieve.” “Did you say something about dinner?” he asked. “Yes, and wine!” she replied, with laughter in her voice. Soon a haunch of meat was spitted and roasting, and a bottle of excellent merlot was opened, and they began toasting.
“Here’s to being bored and craving adventure”
“Here’s to believing in hospitality and being prepared for guests”
“Here’s to liking the same sorts of literature”
“Here’s to not being afraid to have an intellectual discussion with a female”
“Here’s to not being afraid to have an intellectual discussion with a dragon…”
When that last toast left his lips, he realized with an instantly sinking heart that he might have crossed a line. Craning forward, he thought he saw a crystal tear slide its way down her snout. Reaching out, he touched her shoulder, surprised to find her scales not at all hard, but firmly pliant, and surprisingly warm. He ran his hand along her side, and murmured, “I’m so sorry. I spoke before I thought. I would rather die than have hurt you. Please forgive me.” With a shock, he realized that he truly had hurt her, and threw his arms around her neck. “Please don’t cry! I am so so sorry. You are too beautiful and wise and wonderful and exotic to ever be hurt, especially by me!” He buried his face in her warm hide.
On his cheek he thought he felt a feather-light touch, and realized it was her tongue, flicking out to caress his skin. “You feel quite rough!” she was surprised. “I haven’t shaved,” his muffled voice tickled against her neck. “It is quite nice,” she responded. “So is this,” he said, burrowing further against her. She curled her body and tail around him, as he snuggled into her side. Their eyelids became heavy, as they watched the fire go out together. They slept, entwined together in an unlikely embrace, each aware that their lives had changed completely and nothing would be the same again.
In the morning, nothing was said, but it was understood that Ashton of the line of Bogus was going to stay, and the clearing seemed brighter for it. And laughter became a frequent sound in that clearing, although thought still prevailed over action.
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