Parnassus! How she went on about that flower. For the dragon—in his stomping, uncoordinated attack on her guards—had crushed the field.
"You turned it to mud!" she crowed. Tears muddied by makeup ran in rivulets down her face, and Fáfnir was reminded of a tribe of warriors he had once destroyed, whose masks were painted like devils, though they were not nearly so frightening to look upon as this damsel in distress.
Kidnapping a princess was not nearly as enjoyable as Fáfnir had imagined. His loneliness fled…but was replaced by something much worse.
To escape from his misery, Fáfnir left his cave most days and hunted. There was nothing like the smell of roasting human flesh and burning villages to wash away the ills of caring for an angry princess. He razed several towns, cooked flocks of sheep, and rained terror on the kingdoms of Flowerdumpling Peak, Peachpit Plains, Rustyrock Swamp, and, most notably, Copperkettle Vale.
So, then, we turn our story back to the Prince of Copperkettle Vale and his ultimate role in saving his kingdom, rescuing the Princess of Flowerdumpling Peak, and, finally, falling in love.
"I will slay the dragon!" said the Prince of Copperkettle Vale during breakfast, his head and heart full of grandeur. "I will save the princess and bring glory to our land!"
"And you shall find a wife at last, a woman to warm your bed and bear your children!" wept the Queen of Copperkettle Vale.
"Ahh, yes, a wife. Yes. Of course…" muttered the Prince. But soon, he was hefting axes and swords again. He must choose the best dragon-slaying weapon, of course.
He set off on the adventure of a lifetime—songs of dead dragons, valorous heroes, and peaceful kingdoms resounding in each step. It was an arduous odyssey, for he had no strong knights to carry his goods, nor a palanquin to sit in, but the Prince of Copperkettle Vale ignored such loneliness and focussed his dauntless energies on the task ahead.
"Glory awaits me at the end of this road! And my heart and hands shall be filled with the glimmer of gold!" he bellowed into the wind, hoping his words would spread through his kingdom, to the ears of each of his eager citizens.
But at night, he missed those knights with strong arms and easy smiles, the warm companionship of a manly man to share a story, to share a beer, or ribald laughter.
But no one ever said a hunt was easy, thought the Prince, before pulling his cloak tighter and shivering himself to sleep.
It is not easy to find the lair of a dragon. They are often found near the top of treacherous peaks, like the cherry atop a towering white-frosted cake. Should one find one’s way to the summit of such a mountain, one must overcome a labyrinthine lair full of booby traps. And one’s only reward at the finish line? A very angry dragon. But the Prince of Copperkettle Vale was not deterred. The Kingdom of Flowerdumpling Peak knew which mountain their princess had been stolen from. He would start from there and travel to each peak surrounding it (and worry about the mazes and booby traps later).
He spent seven days climbing those mountains, searching every nook and cranny for the dragon's lair, but frustration and failure were his only companions.
Until.
Deep in the depths of a winter that never left the mountain peak, he rounded a corner on a particularly perilous pathway, and lo and behold, he stumbled into a cave, aglow with the fiery radiance of a dragon's den.
There were no booby traps (indeed, that was just a myth spread by lazy dragons) nor a maze (for not even a dragon can carve a maze into a mountain), but there was a princess and a great sleeping dragon.
"I am here to save you, fair lady!" he yelled, loud as the blizzard outside. "And slay the evil dragon who terrorizes your kingdom and mine!"
"But he is not evil!" said the Princess. "Just lazy and fat!"
The Prince of Copperkettle Valley had heard stories of her beauty, but she was plain as could be. Limp hair the colour of charcoal,
"You turned it to mud!" she crowed. Tears muddied by makeup ran in rivulets down her face, and Fáfnir was reminded of a tribe of warriors he had once destroyed, whose masks were painted like devils, though they were not nearly so frightening to look upon as this damsel in distress.
Kidnapping a princess was not nearly as enjoyable as Fáfnir had imagined. His loneliness fled…but was replaced by something much worse.
To escape from his misery, Fáfnir left his cave most days and hunted. There was nothing like the smell of roasting human flesh and burning villages to wash away the ills of caring for an angry princess. He razed several towns, cooked flocks of sheep, and rained terror on the kingdoms of Flowerdumpling Peak, Peachpit Plains, Rustyrock Swamp, and, most notably, Copperkettle Vale.
So, then, we turn our story back to the Prince of Copperkettle Vale and his ultimate role in saving his kingdom, rescuing the Princess of Flowerdumpling Peak, and, finally, falling in love.
"I will slay the dragon!" said the Prince of Copperkettle Vale during breakfast, his head and heart full of grandeur. "I will save the princess and bring glory to our land!"
"And you shall find a wife at last, a woman to warm your bed and bear your children!" wept the Queen of Copperkettle Vale.
"Ahh, yes, a wife. Yes. Of course…" muttered the Prince. But soon, he was hefting axes and swords again. He must choose the best dragon-slaying weapon, of course.
He set off on the adventure of a lifetime—songs of dead dragons, valorous heroes, and peaceful kingdoms resounding in each step. It was an arduous odyssey, for he had no strong knights to carry his goods, nor a palanquin to sit in, but the Prince of Copperkettle Vale ignored such loneliness and focussed his dauntless energies on the task ahead.
"Glory awaits me at the end of this road! And my heart and hands shall be filled with the glimmer of gold!" he bellowed into the wind, hoping his words would spread through his kingdom, to the ears of each of his eager citizens.
But at night, he missed those knights with strong arms and easy smiles, the warm companionship of a manly man to share a story, to share a beer, or ribald laughter.
But no one ever said a hunt was easy, thought the Prince, before pulling his cloak tighter and shivering himself to sleep.
It is not easy to find the lair of a dragon. They are often found near the top of treacherous peaks, like the cherry atop a towering white-frosted cake. Should one find one’s way to the summit of such a mountain, one must overcome a labyrinthine lair full of booby traps. And one’s only reward at the finish line? A very angry dragon. But the Prince of Copperkettle Vale was not deterred. The Kingdom of Flowerdumpling Peak knew which mountain their princess had been stolen from. He would start from there and travel to each peak surrounding it (and worry about the mazes and booby traps later).
He spent seven days climbing those mountains, searching every nook and cranny for the dragon's lair, but frustration and failure were his only companions.
Until.
Deep in the depths of a winter that never left the mountain peak, he rounded a corner on a particularly perilous pathway, and lo and behold, he stumbled into a cave, aglow with the fiery radiance of a dragon's den.
There were no booby traps (indeed, that was just a myth spread by lazy dragons) nor a maze (for not even a dragon can carve a maze into a mountain), but there was a princess and a great sleeping dragon.
"I am here to save you, fair lady!" he yelled, loud as the blizzard outside. "And slay the evil dragon who terrorizes your kingdom and mine!"
"But he is not evil!" said the Princess. "Just lazy and fat!"
The Prince of Copperkettle Valley had heard stories of her beauty, but she was plain as could be. Limp hair the colour of charcoal,
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