Dragonslayer (The No-Violence Remix) . Original Fic . Fairy Tale . Crack .
Author: pprfaith
Title: Dragonslayer (The No-Violence Remix)
Summary: I was in a bad mood. So I wrote myself a fairytale.
A/N: Crack. And dragons. And crack.
Dislcaimer: This is mine. Do not touch, copy-paste, or snag in any other way. Thank you.
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Dragonslayer (The No-Violence Remix)
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I’m writing a fairy tale.
Why am I doing that, you ask?
I’m writing a fairytale because I feel small and stupid and pale grey and no-one else is going to do it for me. Not anymore. I’m past that age. It’s sad, really. You grow up and suddenly no-one makes you fairytales anymore.
So I’m doing it myself.
My fairytale starts the way all fairytales do: In a land far, far away, in a time that is not this time and thus any time, really. These things have global values and imagery and, you know, stuff.
It starts far, far away, in a kingdom ruled by a man. The king, then. King. Let’s capitalize him. I feel like capitalizing things today. It has to do with the degree of shittiness I’m feeling.
The King has a wife, who is Queen, a daughter, who is the Princess and a servant by the name of Puff, who is the Fool and, as fools are wont to be, probably the brightest bulb in the box, erh, kingdom.
No, hold on. I’m not telling it right. I’m starting the story with the King, but he’s not central. The central character is the Princess, who shall remain nameless for the purpose of keeping her character nice and flat, as a board.
Which the Princess is not. A board, I mean. She’s quite buxom, actually, blonde and pretty and curved and getting to be that age. You know the one. Boys and lipstick and parties.
That’s where the King comes in, who wasn’t always a man. Once upon a time, he was a boy. And boys will be boys, he tells his wife with a sigh and a shake of his head.
He knows the dangers his darling daughter is facing, out there in the world, surrounded by filthy, horny boys. Of course she’s a princess, and thus not in as much danger as, say, a bar wench - the King very well remembers bar wenches, oh yes, he does. There are one or two he could tell you stories about…
He was young, then, and wild and hungry for the taste of the world. And women. And it was okay for him to go around screwing anything that didn’t hit the trees on the count of three because he’s male. We call that a double standard, but the in the King’s realm, there is no word for it and it really doesn’t translate very well.
Anyway, he’s still silently paying alimony every damn month, so you can bet your bubble butt he’s learned his lesson. Five times over, in fact.
No, his daughter is not in as much danger from lecherous males as she would be if she were a bar wench. But she’s pretty and she’s flighty and she’s young. She doesn’t know much about the world, what with having been raised in a quaint corner of the castle, far from any actual, you know, life. She’s easy prey for every suitor willing to pay her the minimum amount of attention and then, oh, look at that, Milady, what a nice broom chamber, would you like to check it out with me? And aren’t you hot? Let me help you with your corset.
He knows how it goes.
And he also knows that there is only one solution to his problem. No helping it. He needs a tower and he needs a dragon. Possibly a drink, too, but that will have to wait. His wife, the Queen, tells him he’s overreacting as usually and he wouldn’t think this way if he actually spent some time with his only child instead of managing her life from afar, but he waves her off.
See that crown, woman? It means I’m King, not you.
The Queen snorts and asks, See that key? It means you’re sleeping in your own bed tonight.
Whatever.
The tower isn’t that hard to acquire. A little pillaging and plundering does the trick nicely, thank you very much. Getting rid of the ogres that used to inhabit the tower is a bonus. The whole thing gives his knights a nice workout, too. They’ve been getting fat and lazy, lately. The Fool writes a song about it. It’s very entertaining. Win-win for everyone.
The dragon is a bit trickier. While a whole platoon of servants is turning the tower into something fit for the Princess, the King turns numbers over in his head. Over and over and over. Dragons are expensive. There’s the catching and training fees, there’s the customs fees, there’s feeding. Virgins don’t grow on trees and the whole business of putting a virgin-eating dragon in front of the tower containing his virgin daughter - and she’d better be a virgin, damn it - seems a bit iffy to the King anyway. Anyway. Too expensive. Alimony for five children isn’t exactly cheap, you know?
Plus, those PETA people are getting to be more of a nuisance every day. He has half a mind to whip and quarter a few of them, but then he’d never see the inside of his wife’s chambers again, so he doesn’t.
Instead of an actual dragon he finds this nice mercenary going by the codename Dragon. He’s a bit of a bad boy, all leather and chains and he’s switched his horse for a motorcycle because he claims petrol is cheaper than feed, but he seems alright. Always gets the job done, cost less than half as much as an actual dragon would. The King hires the man on a one year contract - for now - and lets his darling girl in on the whole plan on a sunny Saturday.
She doesn’t react well. This was to be expected. Okay, so the thrown vase and crystal ashtray weren’t expected, but overall it goes better than he thought it would. She stomps off in a snit, comes back an hour later with a stack of printouts and informs him that the whole dragon-and-princess thing is mostly a myth, totally overrated. There aren’t even any actual fairytales with dragons, it all goes back to St. George and the Dragon, so there. She wiki’d that shit.
He always knew getting her a computer was a bad move on his wife’s part.
She stomps some more, throws a few more priceless heirlooms and then he stomps and pulls the I-am-Your-Father-the-King-Card and wins.
Road trip, up in the tower, lock her in, put the Dragon out front, done.
He leaves a few last instructions with the mercenary, mostly along the lines of, If you even think of defiling my precious Princess-Poo I will have you gutted and strung up by your entrails, don’t think I won’t, I can be a vicious man.
The Dragon waves him off with a negligent gesture, chewing on a blade of grass, staring at the clouds. Huffing, the King returns to his castle, from whence he handpicks all his daughter’s potential suitors.
Months pass. The Princess slowly resigns herself to her fate and finds what positive there is in the whole situation. She takes long walks with Dragon, she writes, and he’s teaching her how to use a knife. Not what the King wants her to learn, but self defense is all the rage and if it keeps her happy, what can he do?
Her e-mails are full of happy ramblings and pictures of her and Dragon and whatever small animal she found in the woods that day. The King is somewhat surprised to find out that the Dragon is actually capable of smiling. It looks somewhat creepy and slightly unsettling, but the Princess, curled into his side, looks delirious with joy. For a while, the King wonders if the Dragon isn’t maybe…
But the man was warned and paid off very well. He wouldn’t? Would he?
Before he can make a decision either way, another suitor turns up, dragged in by his overbearing mother, a widowed Queen from another Kingdom. Queendom? These things are so confusing.
There have been suitors before, but none of them ever made it past Dragon. Most of them turned around and walked back out when they heard they’d have to fight at all, the rest got beaten to a pulp.
So far, the plan works.
But. Where were we? A new suitor. He’s a reedy kid with artfully curled black hair and a bit too much sway in his hips. The King figures at least he’ll never complain about his wife taking longer in the bathroom than he does. And anyway, the kid looks like his mother forced him to be here.
He wanders around the throne room while the adults talk and, at one point, discovers a picture of the Princess, framed in pride of place. The Prince steps closer, inspecting the details of the Princess’s face, an almost reverent look on his face. He raises one hand to it, measures… The width of her tiara?... and then spins on his heel, marches up to his mother and says, I’ll do it.
Alright then.
The King gives him the whole speech, puts a map in the kid’s hand and points him the right way. Off you go, laddie.
The Prince rides all day and night, reaches the tower around noon and finds it deserted. Weird, he thinks, but okay.
They’ve probably run out of milk or something. Back in a moment. He sits on a nice outcropping of rock, fixes his clothes, admires the Dragon’s bike parked by the side of the tower. It’s a sleek beast, all chrome and leather. Ni-ice.
Still no trace of Princess or Dragon.
The Prince picks up a rock, starts playing with it. Throw, catch, throw, catch.
Eventually, there is a squeal somewhere close by. Experimentally, the Prince calls for the Princess. The squeal is followed by a squeak, some hurried whispering and then the Princess comes tumbling out of the underbrush, followed by the Dragon.
His shirt is buttoned up wrong.
You here to fight me, boy? he asks.
The Prince drops his rock, raises his hands, No way, man, he tells the Dragon. I mean, I’m supposed to, but that’s just my mom. You know how parents are.
The Princess nods sagely. Totally, she agrees.
I’m only here, the Prince elaborates, Because I saw that portrait of you in your father’s throne room and I have to know where that tiara came from because, oh my god, that is so gorgrous, my boyfriend would love one for his birthday. He’s totally into that stuff.
The Dragon relaxes. The Princess giggles. Daddy got it for me on a raid. Hold on.
She jogs inside, comes back with the tiara from the picture, holds it out. You can have it. But only if you forget what you just heard, back there.
The Prince grins. Heard? What did I hear?
Good man, the Dragon rumbles and the Princess laughs.
Stay for the night, she offers, it’s a long trip back.
So he does. He sleeps outside, though, thanks a lot, he has no interest in hearing those two go at it all night long. He needs his beauty sleep. In the morning he gives the Princess a peck on the cheek, and the Dragon, too, just because, and then takes off with the Princess’s e-mail address in his pocket and the tiara on his head.
Back home he tells his mother that he failed, so sorry, really. The King grins and mumbles something into his beard, apparently happy.
The Boyfriend really does love the tiara and insists on thanking the Princess for it himself. They stay in contact, all four of them, Prince, Princess, Dragon, Boyfriend, for a good while.
Eventually, though, the King realizes that his plan is working a bit too well. No-one ever gets past the Dragon and his funds are running out and honestly, the only thing worse than a defiled daughter is a spinster daughter, so he gives it all up as a failure and starts to actively try and marry her off.
The Prince, who’s been feeling the heat from his mother for years, shrugs when he hears that, and suggests, So marry me.
She does.
The Dragon stays her personal bodyguard, the Boyfriend becomes the Prince’s PA, they don’t bother with a joint bedroom and have family dinners every evening, all four of them. The kids call the Dragon Dad in private and the Prince Father in public. The Boyfriend is Uncle everywhere they go and the Princess is always Mom.
It’s cozy, really, and the King dies peacefully in his sleep, content in the knowledge that he saved his daughter from being defiled by savages.
The Queen sits by his bedside as he goes, patting his hand with an indulgent smile. There’s no use in robbing the old fool of his illusions now, she decides, kissing his brow.
Once he’s gone, she buries him, FedExes his crown to the oldest of his five illegitimate bar wench children and packs herself and the Fool off to her daughter’s kingdom after a brief, quiet wedding. She wants to be closer to her grandbabies, you understand.
And they lived happily ever after until the end of time.
And me? Well, I’m feeling better now, what with having written myself a fairytale. Even though I kind of missed the mark. Somehow, the King actually was the central figure. Funny that. Whatever.
You should try it some time. This fairytale writing. It’s good for the soul.
Really.
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Title: Dragonslayer (The No-Violence Remix)
Summary: I was in a bad mood. So I wrote myself a fairytale.
A/N: Crack. And dragons. And crack.
Dislcaimer: This is mine. Do not touch, copy-paste, or snag in any other way. Thank you.
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Dragonslayer (The No-Violence Remix)
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I’m writing a fairy tale.
Why am I doing that, you ask?
I’m writing a fairytale because I feel small and stupid and pale grey and no-one else is going to do it for me. Not anymore. I’m past that age. It’s sad, really. You grow up and suddenly no-one makes you fairytales anymore.
So I’m doing it myself.
My fairytale starts the way all fairytales do: In a land far, far away, in a time that is not this time and thus any time, really. These things have global values and imagery and, you know, stuff.
It starts far, far away, in a kingdom ruled by a man. The king, then. King. Let’s capitalize him. I feel like capitalizing things today. It has to do with the degree of shittiness I’m feeling.
The King has a wife, who is Queen, a daughter, who is the Princess and a servant by the name of Puff, who is the Fool and, as fools are wont to be, probably the brightest bulb in the box, erh, kingdom.
No, hold on. I’m not telling it right. I’m starting the story with the King, but he’s not central. The central character is the Princess, who shall remain nameless for the purpose of keeping her character nice and flat, as a board.
Which the Princess is not. A board, I mean. She’s quite buxom, actually, blonde and pretty and curved and getting to be that age. You know the one. Boys and lipstick and parties.
That’s where the King comes in, who wasn’t always a man. Once upon a time, he was a boy. And boys will be boys, he tells his wife with a sigh and a shake of his head.
He knows the dangers his darling daughter is facing, out there in the world, surrounded by filthy, horny boys. Of course she’s a princess, and thus not in as much danger as, say, a bar wench - the King very well remembers bar wenches, oh yes, he does. There are one or two he could tell you stories about…
He was young, then, and wild and hungry for the taste of the world. And women. And it was okay for him to go around screwing anything that didn’t hit the trees on the count of three because he’s male. We call that a double standard, but the in the King’s realm, there is no word for it and it really doesn’t translate very well.
Anyway, he’s still silently paying alimony every damn month, so you can bet your bubble butt he’s learned his lesson. Five times over, in fact.
No, his daughter is not in as much danger from lecherous males as she would be if she were a bar wench. But she’s pretty and she’s flighty and she’s young. She doesn’t know much about the world, what with having been raised in a quaint corner of the castle, far from any actual, you know, life. She’s easy prey for every suitor willing to pay her the minimum amount of attention and then, oh, look at that, Milady, what a nice broom chamber, would you like to check it out with me? And aren’t you hot? Let me help you with your corset.
He knows how it goes.
And he also knows that there is only one solution to his problem. No helping it. He needs a tower and he needs a dragon. Possibly a drink, too, but that will have to wait. His wife, the Queen, tells him he’s overreacting as usually and he wouldn’t think this way if he actually spent some time with his only child instead of managing her life from afar, but he waves her off.
See that crown, woman? It means I’m King, not you.
The Queen snorts and asks, See that key? It means you’re sleeping in your own bed tonight.
Whatever.
The tower isn’t that hard to acquire. A little pillaging and plundering does the trick nicely, thank you very much. Getting rid of the ogres that used to inhabit the tower is a bonus. The whole thing gives his knights a nice workout, too. They’ve been getting fat and lazy, lately. The Fool writes a song about it. It’s very entertaining. Win-win for everyone.
The dragon is a bit trickier. While a whole platoon of servants is turning the tower into something fit for the Princess, the King turns numbers over in his head. Over and over and over. Dragons are expensive. There’s the catching and training fees, there’s the customs fees, there’s feeding. Virgins don’t grow on trees and the whole business of putting a virgin-eating dragon in front of the tower containing his virgin daughter - and she’d better be a virgin, damn it - seems a bit iffy to the King anyway. Anyway. Too expensive. Alimony for five children isn’t exactly cheap, you know?
Plus, those PETA people are getting to be more of a nuisance every day. He has half a mind to whip and quarter a few of them, but then he’d never see the inside of his wife’s chambers again, so he doesn’t.
Instead of an actual dragon he finds this nice mercenary going by the codename Dragon. He’s a bit of a bad boy, all leather and chains and he’s switched his horse for a motorcycle because he claims petrol is cheaper than feed, but he seems alright. Always gets the job done, cost less than half as much as an actual dragon would. The King hires the man on a one year contract - for now - and lets his darling girl in on the whole plan on a sunny Saturday.
She doesn’t react well. This was to be expected. Okay, so the thrown vase and crystal ashtray weren’t expected, but overall it goes better than he thought it would. She stomps off in a snit, comes back an hour later with a stack of printouts and informs him that the whole dragon-and-princess thing is mostly a myth, totally overrated. There aren’t even any actual fairytales with dragons, it all goes back to St. George and the Dragon, so there. She wiki’d that shit.
He always knew getting her a computer was a bad move on his wife’s part.
She stomps some more, throws a few more priceless heirlooms and then he stomps and pulls the I-am-Your-Father-the-King-Card and wins.
Road trip, up in the tower, lock her in, put the Dragon out front, done.
He leaves a few last instructions with the mercenary, mostly along the lines of, If you even think of defiling my precious Princess-Poo I will have you gutted and strung up by your entrails, don’t think I won’t, I can be a vicious man.
The Dragon waves him off with a negligent gesture, chewing on a blade of grass, staring at the clouds. Huffing, the King returns to his castle, from whence he handpicks all his daughter’s potential suitors.
Months pass. The Princess slowly resigns herself to her fate and finds what positive there is in the whole situation. She takes long walks with Dragon, she writes, and he’s teaching her how to use a knife. Not what the King wants her to learn, but self defense is all the rage and if it keeps her happy, what can he do?
Her e-mails are full of happy ramblings and pictures of her and Dragon and whatever small animal she found in the woods that day. The King is somewhat surprised to find out that the Dragon is actually capable of smiling. It looks somewhat creepy and slightly unsettling, but the Princess, curled into his side, looks delirious with joy. For a while, the King wonders if the Dragon isn’t maybe…
But the man was warned and paid off very well. He wouldn’t? Would he?
Before he can make a decision either way, another suitor turns up, dragged in by his overbearing mother, a widowed Queen from another Kingdom. Queendom? These things are so confusing.
There have been suitors before, but none of them ever made it past Dragon. Most of them turned around and walked back out when they heard they’d have to fight at all, the rest got beaten to a pulp.
So far, the plan works.
But. Where were we? A new suitor. He’s a reedy kid with artfully curled black hair and a bit too much sway in his hips. The King figures at least he’ll never complain about his wife taking longer in the bathroom than he does. And anyway, the kid looks like his mother forced him to be here.
He wanders around the throne room while the adults talk and, at one point, discovers a picture of the Princess, framed in pride of place. The Prince steps closer, inspecting the details of the Princess’s face, an almost reverent look on his face. He raises one hand to it, measures… The width of her tiara?... and then spins on his heel, marches up to his mother and says, I’ll do it.
Alright then.
The King gives him the whole speech, puts a map in the kid’s hand and points him the right way. Off you go, laddie.
The Prince rides all day and night, reaches the tower around noon and finds it deserted. Weird, he thinks, but okay.
They’ve probably run out of milk or something. Back in a moment. He sits on a nice outcropping of rock, fixes his clothes, admires the Dragon’s bike parked by the side of the tower. It’s a sleek beast, all chrome and leather. Ni-ice.
Still no trace of Princess or Dragon.
The Prince picks up a rock, starts playing with it. Throw, catch, throw, catch.
Eventually, there is a squeal somewhere close by. Experimentally, the Prince calls for the Princess. The squeal is followed by a squeak, some hurried whispering and then the Princess comes tumbling out of the underbrush, followed by the Dragon.
His shirt is buttoned up wrong.
You here to fight me, boy? he asks.
The Prince drops his rock, raises his hands, No way, man, he tells the Dragon. I mean, I’m supposed to, but that’s just my mom. You know how parents are.
The Princess nods sagely. Totally, she agrees.
I’m only here, the Prince elaborates, Because I saw that portrait of you in your father’s throne room and I have to know where that tiara came from because, oh my god, that is so gorgrous, my boyfriend would love one for his birthday. He’s totally into that stuff.
The Dragon relaxes. The Princess giggles. Daddy got it for me on a raid. Hold on.
She jogs inside, comes back with the tiara from the picture, holds it out. You can have it. But only if you forget what you just heard, back there.
The Prince grins. Heard? What did I hear?
Good man, the Dragon rumbles and the Princess laughs.
Stay for the night, she offers, it’s a long trip back.
So he does. He sleeps outside, though, thanks a lot, he has no interest in hearing those two go at it all night long. He needs his beauty sleep. In the morning he gives the Princess a peck on the cheek, and the Dragon, too, just because, and then takes off with the Princess’s e-mail address in his pocket and the tiara on his head.
Back home he tells his mother that he failed, so sorry, really. The King grins and mumbles something into his beard, apparently happy.
The Boyfriend really does love the tiara and insists on thanking the Princess for it himself. They stay in contact, all four of them, Prince, Princess, Dragon, Boyfriend, for a good while.
Eventually, though, the King realizes that his plan is working a bit too well. No-one ever gets past the Dragon and his funds are running out and honestly, the only thing worse than a defiled daughter is a spinster daughter, so he gives it all up as a failure and starts to actively try and marry her off.
The Prince, who’s been feeling the heat from his mother for years, shrugs when he hears that, and suggests, So marry me.
She does.
The Dragon stays her personal bodyguard, the Boyfriend becomes the Prince’s PA, they don’t bother with a joint bedroom and have family dinners every evening, all four of them. The kids call the Dragon Dad in private and the Prince Father in public. The Boyfriend is Uncle everywhere they go and the Princess is always Mom.
It’s cozy, really, and the King dies peacefully in his sleep, content in the knowledge that he saved his daughter from being defiled by savages.
The Queen sits by his bedside as he goes, patting his hand with an indulgent smile. There’s no use in robbing the old fool of his illusions now, she decides, kissing his brow.
Once he’s gone, she buries him, FedExes his crown to the oldest of his five illegitimate bar wench children and packs herself and the Fool off to her daughter’s kingdom after a brief, quiet wedding. She wants to be closer to her grandbabies, you understand.
And they lived happily ever after until the end of time.
And me? Well, I’m feeling better now, what with having written myself a fairytale. Even though I kind of missed the mark. Somehow, the King actually was the central figure. Funny that. Whatever.
You should try it some time. This fairytale writing. It’s good for the soul.
Really.
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