"The Wand and the Shield" by ink_n_imp
Title: The Wand and the Shield
Author: ink_n_imp
Person the story was written for: wingsrookie
Rating: G. PG at MOST.
Summary: It was their solemn duty to protect the princess until she came of age.
Author's Notes: The prompt was this: I want a fic from the middle ages, sort of, but not necessarly based on earth. It's got to have magic, and I'm looking for a (clean) romance sort of story (pg 13 at the highest). I don't care how the characters meet, but there's got to be some actual plot, too! An idea for the plot: one girl is running away from home because her brother just became the heir (kingdom, dukedom, farm, theifdom)
I don't care what, and he's either kicking her out, sending her off to school, or trying to marry her off (pick one). Make up the guy's story as you go. That's half the fun, after all. I want him to be a fighter of some sort, though. No staying put, either. there's got to be lots of travelling in this fic! Other characters are both optional and welcome! NO kinky or perverted stuff, though. Like I said, keep it clean. Specific enough? ;)
I started one story right the moment I got the prompt…and at the 11th hour, I scrapped that in favor of a entirely different story! I apologies for it's lateness, and I hope you enjoy it all the same! ^_^ With Bonus Sketch at End.
In the Beginning…
It was not spoken a loud, but it was understood--more than Liege, more than King, more than God--the Godmothers were to be obeyed. Their word was forever law--it was their magic that made Kings and held the crown over their heads, that kept the kingdom fair and the people happy. It was they who granted wishes, bestowed blessings, cast curses. Less humble rulers had paid dearly for thinking otherwise, but
the King was wise indeed.
George of Thessal was a High Knight, a knight of noble lineage. As such, it was his duty to bear arms and to bear witness while the Queen rested in the lying-in room. Dressed in the colors of the Royal family and bearing their own coat-of-arms on their shields, he and his fellow brothers stood vigilant outside the lying-in room while groans from the Queen's Chambers heralded the beginning.
Upon the preordained signal--the flight of ghostly orbs from the lying-in room to all corners of the castle--the servants ran to open all doors, all cupboards, all drawers, all chests. Archers lined on the wall aimed their arrows towards the heavens and fired, and he and his brothers-in-arms unsheathed their swords and raised them high. All, they had been told, to ensure a quick delivery for the Queen.
"Blessed be!" the Godmothers declared from the chamber, and their voices seemed to cry from every stone. "It is a Girl!" And two young servant girls were ushered in, bearing milk and rose petals to bathe the princess in.
The forty days of Vigil had begun.
~*~
No harm befell the newborn Princess in those forty days. She had been born healthy, with fair limbs and strong lungs. She took to the wet nurse, and there was no stain of deformity or illness upon her. But still for those forty days and night, the Godmothers scryed for long hours in the Hall of Mirrors for hints of danger in the princess' future, and walked the halls of the castle, checking each charm, each witch orb, each catching web.
Regardless of the Vigil, from far and wide nobles and peasants alike came to celebrate the princess and partake in the carnival atmosphere outside the castle walls. Tents rose on the green fields nearby, and many nobles were in residence now.
He and his fellow knights participated in forty days of tournaments in the Princess' honor, and to the enjoyment of all. The King himself came to watch, he and the courtiers protected by the canopied royal dais.
There were rumors in those forty days, that the Godmothers had foreseen great things in the princess' future, but great dangers as well. The servants whispered to their families, who gossiped at the tournaments, that the Godmothers spoke of forces that had already begun to move against the young princess, dire evil that would not allow such goodness to endure and flourish in this world. There was talk of the need to protect her until she came of age. There was talk, they said, of choosing a Wand and a Shield.
Within the history of the realm, there had only been ten such Wands and Shields; a Godmother chosen to protect against magic, a Warrior chosen to protect against all else, and both to teach and nurture the young royal to wisdom and maturity.
Wands and Shields were the stuff of legends, but though his mind doubted the rumors, his heart burned with a strange new ferocity.
On the fortieth morning, the King addressed all as they stood astride their mounts before him. "Noble Ones! Today you fight for more than honor amongst yourselves. Today you shall be judged, and he who is found most suited shall be declared the Princess' Shield!"
The truth revealed, he knew he was amazed at what such an action signified for the princess. Within his own breast he knew his heart beat fiercer for the chance at such honor, young though he might be. And on the faces of his brothers he could see the same fierce desire.
That day he believed he would never fight so well ever again. Never was his lance truer, his arm steadier, his seat firmer--
The tournament was not yet over when the King brought it to a halt, and had the knights line before him once more. The crowds, frenzied throughout the fights, now were completely hushed, the air thick with their rapt silence. On top his mount, standing proud before his King and hoping he might be worthy, it was then he noticed the Godmother seated at the King's left hand.
It was true that Godmothers came in all ages and looks, but he had never seen one so young before. She looked no older than a maiden, but the King bent to hear her whispers all the same. And when she sat upright and smiled, he nodded, and stood.
"Sir George Of Thessal, step forward," the King proclaimed, and with heart in his throat he guided his horse before the Royal dais. "You have been chosen, Sir Knight. All Hail the Shield of the Princess!"
He had not known the intensity of the ceremonies that were required of a Shield before a christening. The christening would be at the dawn of the next day, and there was much to do before dawn's early light. A handful of Godmothers presided over his preparation, and it was as if he was earning his Knighthood all over again. In that long night before the dawn there was a ritual cleansing, intonations and meditation. He was dressed in the light blue tunic and robe of the Shield, symbol of the princess embroidered on the front. An unfamiliar sword was tied to him, an unfamiliar shield placed upon his arm. And as his duties to the princess were described to fullest, severe detail, did he begin to understand how quickly his life would change, how much he would be called to sacrifice, and wondered if he was indeed worthy.
But these doubts he quelled forever before the sun rose, for he was a Knight, and sacrifice was his only right. No--it was his duty to see that he was worthy. It was his duty to never fall, never falter, never fail. And with grim expression, he followed the Godmothers who prepared him to the Hall of Kings.
He had only witnessed the Hall of Kings used thrice in his lifetime, but never this full, or joyously hushed. When he entered, waves of whispers rose to the high vaulted ceiling, and later he would laugh that in that moment, he nearly lost his nerve.
Of that momentous day he later would remember little, despite his best attempts to recall the ceremony and the feast afterwards, so focused was he on his own role. Bits and pieces he would later recall, like the ermine robes the King and Queen wore as they sat unmoving on their thrones, the princess' cradle at their feet. That the Godmothers, one by one, gave their blessings to the child, though he could not recall what those blessings were. The wrinkles around the eyes of the old Godmother that motioned him to step forward and take his place at the cradle's side.
Three steps lined in thick red velvet led to the princess; he walked them as if in a dream, and when he turned to face the cradle, he was faced with the Godmother from the day before, who had whispered to the King before he was chosen. And as if he could think of nothing else, he marveled at how young in face she was. But their moment had come, and he forced himself back to the matter at hand.
"I shall be Her Wand," the Godmother intoned, and she raised her wand over the princess.
"And I Her Shield," he said, saying the words he had been told to say the night before as he raised his sword to cross with her wand.
"So Let It Be," was rumble of the Godmothers and the witnesses. He felt as if something was pulled tight within his chest, and settled. He blinked at the strangeness of the sensation; he'd felt it once before, when he gave his oath to King and country.
And if she winked at him, he hid his surprise well at her lack of solemnity at such a time.
Year One…
He was still young then, a man of twenty. Not experienced, no, but his arm was strong and his will was great. "And that is all that matters," the Godmother had teased as she gave him the magic bones, the small, highly polished metal disc and bade him on his way.
"And where am I going, Lady Wand?" he had grumbled, refusing to call her by her given name no matter how she fussed. They resided within the castle now, in separate chambers adjoined to the princess' nursery, and her presence was already beginning to grate on him. Back then he did not find her serious-minded enough for the long task at hand. A Godmother, he felt, should act with the dignity of their station and power, and yet she acted like more like a jester-girl, gossiping with the servants, humming to herself while performing her checks and duties, and playing with the princess while the nurse laughed at her jokes.
"To the mounds to the west. The bones will guide you. Something has taken up residence there, and I don't like the feel of it. Now, ride on, and good fortune ride with you!" she said, as she began to walk towards the castle gate.
"And where are you going?" he asked as he led his mount to follow her.
"I go east, Sir Knight, east to the mountains, to search the shadows my Sight has seen there," she said, but in the solemn voice she used when she was teasing him.
"Who will guard the princess if we are both away?" he reprimanded her sharply, losing his temper.
She paused to look at him. "No evil can penetrate the wards protecting the nursery. You know this, the nurse and Queen know this, and the princess is not to leave the nursery until I return," she explained slowly, with honest seriousness. "I'll better serve her by scouting out what dangers might be called against her."
"And you'll travel to the mountains with no gear or ride?" he scorned. "You'll be gone for days!"
"I need for nothing as long as I've my wand," she said, and from the tone in her voice, she was losing her good temper as well, "and I won't be gone long for much the same reason. Now good travels, Sir Knight," she said, with a finality that allowed for no further comment on his part.
"Good travels, Lady Wand," he replied, but when he looked, she was gone.
The road to the mounds was easy. Guided by the bones she had given him, he traveled over the flat farmlands of the realm, to the wild plains just beyond. There, in kingdoms long forgotten, Kings of Old had been buried under mounds of stone and earth. Bewitchments kept the tombs safe from thieves, but those curses did not chase away the strange and magical.
He made camp for the evening at the foot of one such mound--protected by the brush and high mound to his back, he felt secure there, surrounded by flat plains as he was. The sky was already darkened, and he twisted dry grass into tight thick sticks that would burn slowly, to add to the meager firewood he had still.
He reached into his saddlebags for his supper, but when he hand brushed against the polished metal disc the Godmother had given him, he pulled it out instead. It was finely polished, nearly as reflective as a mirror, and for the life of him he could not imagine why she would give him such a thing.
"Do you think me vain, Lady Wand?" he mused aloud to the disc.
"Vain? Vain? Hardly vain. Far too serious is more like it." And his reflection in the disc was replaced by her grinning face. In his surprise he nearly dropped it. "Oh dear, did I forget to tell you?" she laughed. "Well, how else are we to keep in touch?" Even in the dim light of the fire, he could see the laughter in her eyes.
"Next time, I'll ask," he snapped, blushing from his shock. "But why metal? I thought mirrors worked best."
"Ah, but mirrors break, Sir Knight, though I have no doubts you would try to keep it in one piece. Now, have you reached the mounds?" she asked, getting to the matter at hand.
"Yes, but I'll explore them in morning's light."
"I thought knights of the realm feared nothing!" she declared, but there was no slight in her voice.
He frowned all the same. "They also try not commit acts of idiocy. In this darkness I may trip, or worse. No, I have no qualm with waiting. And what of your business?"
"I've returned, but--" and she hesitated. She looked…worried. And perhaps that was the moment he began to understand that she was just as young as he, and where he hide his inexperience and fear in a stoic front, she hide her own behind her laughter and jests.
"But?" he prompted, and gently.
"There was nothing," she sighed, "Nothing by rocks and ruins and a feeling of dread. Maybe it was just old ghosts that drew me there, but--"
But an unearthly screech has pierced the night, and from the mounds to his back, a monstrously large beast rose to the sky, wings beating as it flew higher and higher in a spiral. He dropped the disc as he made a desperate grab for his horse, who had pulled her tether and had turned to run; his horse, trained not to shy from fighting, who was screaming, mad with fear.
"George!" the Godmother yelled frantically, the disc forgotten where he had dropped it, "the fire, kill the fire!"
And he kicked dirt on the fire as he tried to hold his horse down. But even he couldn't hold her down, so terrified was she that she bolted, running towards the darkness of the plains. She was quickly swallowed up by the night, and George didn't dare yell for her.
The beast had flown off, the sound of it's wings and terrifying scream distant nightmares.
"Lauda," he called, saying her name in his terror, "What was that thing?"
"A dragon!" her could hear her say, in equal horror. "By Glory, a dragon, George! George, listen to me. Do you have a torch?"
"Yes."
"You must enter it's nest while it's hunting. Quickly George, shepherds herd in the plains, it may not take it long to find it's meal."
He fumbled blindly for his sword, securing it's familiar weight around his waist. Likewise he reached for the torch in his saddle bag, untying the oilskin that protected it's oiled pith from water. He fumbled with flint and stone to light it, and it's sudden blaze as the oil caught a spark struggled valiantly against the darkness. He left his shield behind--with one hand occupied in carrying the torch, he needed his sword arm free.
It did not take long to find the entrance to the dragon's den-- the entrance to one burial mound had been cleared of it's stone, widened to fit the dragon's girth. He paused only a moment, but pressed forward, entering the dark tomb.
They had been build to house the souls and remains of many kings and queens, as well as their treasures. The inside was simple stone, but grand in size--in the main chamber, the domed ceiling rose sixty feet above him, a single skylight letting in the night air. Around him the treasure of rulers of old were piled high, and among them, precious metals picked up the light of his torch, lighting the rest of the tomb through reflection.
"You idiot!" he heard her scorn him, and turning he could see her reflection in a particularly large golden wine cup. "You left the disc outside! You're lucky there are polished metals in here; I would have turned you into something very nasty when you returned if there hadn't been!"
Her face disappeared from the golden cup, but he could hear her voice moving throughout the tomb; he followed it, and realized she was moving from reflective surface to reflective surface as she searched throughout the tomb.
"There, I think it has emptied that stone sarcophagus to use as a trough, look for me?" she asked from the gold leaf on a chariot.
He did as he was told, as found there to be a golden bottom to the inside of the sarcophagus, while the outside of it appeared scorched. The remains of it's inhabitant laid on the ground, dumped unceremoniously from it's final resting place. He backed away hurriedly, having no desire to be undeservedly cursed for disturbing the dead.
"As I thought, it's using the stone to hold gold while it melts it. They hoard gold because they melt and drink it, did you know that?" she asked.
"I care not!" he snapped as he turned back towards the exit. "The king must be warned; with a company we should be able--"
But the sound of approaching wings drifted through the skylight, and he froze. He would not make it out of the entrance in time. And, as if in a nightmare, he could hear the dragon crawling through the entrance behind him.
"Get behind some gold, the gold will mask your scent!" she ordered him as he stomped on the torch's flame to snuff it. He dove inside the chariot, hoping it would hide him. Without the light, he could no see a thing in the sudden darkness, but he was certain she was peering through the gold leaf on the inside of the chariot, keeping silent watch with him.
The dragon lumbered into the tomb; without his light, he could not see until his eyes adjusted, but it was huge in length from the sounds of it walking across the tomb. There was the sound of something tossed aside carelessly, the crash and rattle of metal disturbed, and the hulking beast settling itself.
In what seemed an eternity, it's breathing became slower and slower, until George was certain it was asleep.
"George," she called, her voice the slightest of whispers in his ear.
"It's asleep, I'm leaving now--" he breathed back, but she shushed him.
"It brought back it's meal," she said; he could hear her dismay, though in the dim of the tomb he could only see her eyes in the gold leaf. "It's a shepherd. He's still breathing. His breath was fogging up the gold plate I was peering through."
And the terribleness of what that meant hit him full. He could flee with his own life intact, and she could get the king to send out a company to deal with the threat…but it would be far too late for the man the dragon had plucked for his meal.
"George," she whispered, and his hand clutched the hilt of his sword.
Year Five…
He was a man of twenty-five then, still young, but the envy and desire of many for the great deeds he had done. The princess was growing up, a being with a mind of her own and great stubbornness to boot--she was not pleased to be confined to her nursery while both her Wand and Shield were away, but a sharp command from her father stopped her tantrum.
Though she had refused to bid them farewell when they left the castle, hiding under her bed in spite.
"She is but a babe still," Lauda has sighed with a grin on her face. "She'll understand one day that we do these things for her own good."
They had had much to learn in those five years, and had been forced to learn them while keeping their vows to protect the princess. He did not realized then how much easier he felt with her than with others who did not understand the nature of his new life. One day he would marvel that he had once found her presence odious, that he had misjudged her so wrongly. But back in those days, he had only just realized she was a vital ally, though there were still times he found himself cross at her jokes and unsought advice.
"A penny for your thoughts," Lauda said along the road as they traveled incognito to the southwest. She still looked unnatural on a horse, any dignity and mystery she could summon while standing was gone to the winds as she struggled to ride sidesaddle.
"Five years and you still ride like a stick," he sighed.
"And feel like a sack of potatoes when I get off," she grumbled. "But that not what was on your mind."
Lauda missed little, and though he had pushed his grief aside as best he could, he had found that there was little he could hide from her. "Sir Thomas was of my year, and a friend."
"You said nothing when the word of their deaths came--I'm sorry for your loss," she offered, and he knew her sympathy ran deep.
"What right does this ogre have!" he began with barely controlled anger. "He killed my friend and his family, took their duchy, has enslaved their people, and threatens the Crown with his magic!"
"He'll be no match for us, friend," she told him, her tone a balm, her confidence total, "A company of the king's own he'd expect, and as the defender would be able to inflict great damage with his magic. But just you and I may be able to sneak around him--after all, anyone who would kill a duke and steal his lands and expect no one could challenge him is arrogant. We will use that against him."
But anything he wished to say in return was forgotten, for he was interrupted by a small but shrill voice coming from the small bridge further up the road.
"Help, good travelers, my master has been robbed!"
Sir George spurred his horse into a run, while Lauda nearly got thrown from hers for attempting the same.
"Who speaks?" he called out once he reached the bridge. He could see no one but a small orange tabby cat sitting on the bridge's stone wall.
"I, kind sir."
"Show yourself," he called out, growing confused.
"I'm right here!"
"Oh George, really. She's right in front of you," Lauda sighed as she finally brought her horse next to his. "What is the matter, Good Puss?"
And George was dumbfounded when the cat answered back. "Please, m'lady, robbers came upon my master while we walked down the road early this morning. They beat him and left him under the bridge," the cat blabbed, tail twitching in her worry.
"It could be a trap," he whispered to Lauda as she slid ungracefully from her horse.
"I wouldn't care if it was even a troll. And if it was, why, I may even shake it's hand in gratitude for getting me down from that horse!" she joked. Though he could see her slip her wand out from her sleeve as she walked down the bank and under the bridge.
"Oh my--George, I'll need a hand," she called back, and he was quick off his own horse.
"M'name's Anders," the boy said once he had woken. They had draped his body over her horse, and had taken him to the nearest inn, tending to his wounds and laying him down on a bed to rest. His confusion at his surroundings was put to rest as soon as the cat jumped on the bed and nudged his hand. He smiled fondly, and scratched the cat behind her ears. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he told her. The cat purred her agreement.
"Ever since the duke was killed there've been robbers all over the roads. But I never thought I'd be in danger during daylight," Anders sighed as he let his hand drop. "Puss is all I have. They weren't too happy about that."
"Well, you are safe now. Rest," George ordered.
"Well! What a day this has been," Lauda began as the boy closed his eyes for sleep. George hrumphed his agreement as he prepared for bed. But Lauda's next words made him pause. "So--how were your bewitched, my young feline? Come, come, cats don't speak of their own accord, you are bewitched!" Lauda declared with good cheer.
"I--" and the cat croaked, and looked desperately cross.
"Oh my. One of those. No matter. I am very clever, I should be able to figure it out on my own," Lauda said, and sat as in thought.
"Do you know how to lift it? Are you a Godmother?" the cat asked eagerly.
"I--Oh. Oh my," she paused, for George had glared at her. She shrugged. "Well, cat's out of the bag for me, George. Pardon the expression. I am, but I may not be able to. Sometimes these things have to be lifted themselves."
"And where are you headed, good travelers?" the cat asked, sounding hopeful as she jumped off the bed and up onto the table Lauda sat at. "Please, let us follow, we could be of great service to you!"
"No," George said as Lauda replied, "Of course".
"We've…business to attend to," George offered, carefully., and trying to catch Lauda's eyes so she might see his displeasure.
"They could be of help," Lauda shrugged, matching his glare with a cool glance of her own.
"Absolutely not. We wish you and your master the best, but we travel alone," George said firmly.
"And they could be of help. It's not wise to reject help that is offered, George," Lauda said simply.
"In children's tales perhaps," George reprimanded.
Lauda's lips pursed as they were want to do when she was nearing the end of her good temper, and leaning her chin upon her hand, looked at him from under her lashes. "Perhaps such tales are told to children in the hopes that when they become petulant, know-it-all knights they don't forget," she said evenly. "They shall travel with us along the road, for their own safety if the robbers here are so brazen in the daylight," she commanded, and there was power to her words that warned that they were final.
"Tell me, good Puss, and be truthful or I shall know," Lauda said, smiling as she sat up in her chair, pointedly ignoring George as he grumbled and got into bed, "What business did you and your master have along the road?"
The cat's tail twitched in anger, and she glanced at the boy fast asleep. "He thinks we are just going to Brennan for work, but I have a plan to win him his fortune. He has nothing but me, I was his only inheritance from his father, and his brothers threw him out as if he were a wastrel! But he was always kind to me, and I will make him richer than they!"
"And how would you do that?" George asked, and perhaps unkindly.
"I don't know yet!" the cat hissed at him, "But I am uncommonly clever, I will think of something along the way!"
"I am uncommonly clever too. I shall help you think of something," Lauda confided to the cat as George turned his back to them and closed his eyes. "Good night, George," she said sweetly.
He made a noncommittal sound, and resolved himself to sleep.
Lauda did not need sleep as he did, the powers she possessed making sleep unnecessary, though once she had confided that she enjoyed sleep for the pleasures of dreaming. It had taken much stubbornness on her part to bend him to her will on the matter, but while on the road, she made him sleep throughout the night as she kept guard, even if they were indoors. Once or twice he had awoken to catch her dozing while sitting in a window sill, or leaning on her hand and napping while sitting upright at a table. But she would be awake before he could surprise her, fresh and chipper as if she had slept the whole night.
He woke slowly that morning to the Lauda's low voice, coming from near the cold hearth. "That is a fair trick, puss. I couldn't catch a fly so small."
"You are not me," he heard the cat say smugly, and Lauda's laugh. "And I never miss."
"Never?" and he could hear the interest in Lauda's voice.
"Never."
"Puss--I think I've a plan, but it will need all our cunning, and your keen ability. If it works, you and your master will be richly rewarded. Now, are you certain you never miss?"
"Positive."
Her footsteps were sudden, and he awoke completely when she jumped on his bed and rested her weight on his shoulder. "George, wake up," she said urgently in his ear as she shook his shoulder.
He turned his head to look at her, their noses nearly touching before she leaned back. "I was awake, you didn't need to jump on me," he said, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed.
"You have no soul for fun or fancy," she said as she swatted his arm, and begun to tell him her cunning plan.
And it was cunning too. Risky, indeed, dangerous, for certain, but cunning.
Preparing themselves in a small woods, the manor visible through the trees, it did not take Lauda long to apply the appropriate illusions. With a look of deepest concentration, she magicked the two old pull carts borrowed from the inn into a fine coach and wagon. Their horses were hitched to the wagon, seemingly laden high with goods and treasures, but the coach moved on its own accord. Their clothes she magicked into fine uniforms servants might wear, and the boy Anders was captivated by the finery he now wore. Lauda had George hide his sword within the coach, and he did not like its absence from his side.
The cat she gave a fine broad hat, dashing with a large white plume. A deep blue sash of silk held a cat sized rapier, and on her hind legs, two well made boots of leather appeared. But most amazing was when the cat was lifted onto her hind legs, and stood and walked as if it were natural for a cat to do so.
"There," Lauda said with satisfaction as she secured her wand in it's hiding place. "There is no danger now that a strange beast as yourself will not draw the ogre's attentions."
But when they arrived at the manor, and were ushered into the main hall, the cat at the lead as they followed bearing trunks as good servants might, George suspected the cat would have needed no such finery to catch and hold the ogre's attentions, though he towered eight feet over her and had taken to a life of luxury well. She had silver tongue enough to lay the trap.
"To the master of these lands," the cat grandly declared with a bow and a sweep of her hat. "I bring greetings and tribute from my lord and master, the Duke of Carabas!"
The ogre's greed was evident from the way he eyed the treasures George, Lauda and Anders carried. Anders trembled at such a gaze, Lauda's lip twitched upward, and George forced his face and mind blank of anger and revenge.
The ogre feigned disinterest. "And who is this Duke I've never heard of," he yawned.
"Ah, my lord, 'tis no surprise--the Duke lives on a magical isle, and though he knows much of the world through his scrying, the world knows little of him. But he knows of you, my lord, and sends you these gifts to honor one with such powers as you. In fact, he has instructed me to seek and alliance with you, my lord--if your powers are as great as tale has told," she added with a humble bow.
The ogre's face darkened. "Of course my powers are as great! None have greater!" he snapped in his temper.
"My lord, please, no offense was meant. My master only wishes to know if some things be true. Can you, for one, change form into any large beast?"
The ogre smiled nastily, and where he once stood a monstrous lion had taken his place, and roared.
The cat did not need to fake her fear--her tail bristled, but she kept a cool head. Anders only shook more, even Lauda raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, my lord, what marvelous power!" the cat cried.
The lion transformed once more into the ogre, who looked quite pleased with himself. "Has your master such power?" he asked with contempt.
"That he does--though, try as he might, he cannot summon the power to transform into something small," the cat sighed with a sigh worthy of the greatest of dramas. "Oh, a dog, or say, a large bird of prey he can. But smaller than that? No, if my master can not, then it must not be possible."
"Not possible! Bah!" the ogre spat.
"My lord can?" the cat said with the proper shock and wonder. "But with my lord's mighty form--"
"I can do any feat of magic!" the ogre yelled, "Come, challenge me, see if I lie, cat!"
And the moment had come, the trap was set. George and Lauda tensed, even the cat seemed to prepare herself as she said, "What of a fly? Could you become as small as a fly, my lord?"
The transformation took longer than the last one, as he squeezed himself into the tiny form.
"My lord," the cat called out, voice innocent of intent, "I can not see you, you must come closer so there can be no doubt."
And when the little black fly buzzed in front of the cat's face, she pounced, quickly ending the ogre's usurped reign.
"Well," Lauda said as she prod the black fly with the tip of her wand. "This is the end for all wicked things," she said grandly, and glared with good nature at George's groan.
Year Ten…
He was thirty then, older. That day, he nearly lost not only his life, but something far more precious to him.
The princess had been adamant on joining the King and Queen as they traveled their Review of the land. The princess was growing to be as wise as she was beautiful, and she begged to see what would one day become her kingdom.
If George had been uneasy about the princess leaving the safety of the castle, Lauda seemed all the more hesitant. George at least had faith in the two companies of knights that would ride with them, but Lauda seemed to grow more fearful the further east they traveled. She hid it well from the others in the Royal train, but her wariness put him on guard. Scouts, and her own scrying magic claimed there was nothing of danger ahead, but he trusted Lauda's instincts more than the supposed proof there was nothing to fear.
They had stopped the night in the woods, pitching the tents in a clearing. Ruins of a castle towered nearby, and a low fog gave the camp an eerie haze.
"No one is to go near the ruins," Lauda had ordered at the evening meal, pale as ice in the globes of fairy light she had summoned to light the tents. There was no protest, no questions why. Whatever strange energy lay nearby, it was affecting them all.
The camp settled early, wishing for a sleep that would bring some peace, and an early morning leave of the place. George was restless, and paced about the camp, keeping his own vigil as some of his fellow knights took the first watch.
"I was here ten years ago," he heard her whisper. She was standing in the open flap of her tent, hugging herself as she stared at the ruins. "I found nothing then. I see nothing now."
He stood next to her, and though he hesitated a moment, he reached and put is arm around her. "Old ghosts?" he asked, rubbing her arm as he look towards the castle as well.
"If so, with evil intentions. I'll be glad to leave this place in the morning," she said, and her face was pinched in the dim light. "You should sleep, George," she ordered him.
"I am not tired," he lied, and she smiled wanly at his lie.
"Walk with me then?" she asked, and he obliged.
It was why they were aware when the attack came, when the illusions protecting the ruins fell away, revealing the dark castle, and the attack against the camp came, fierce and sudden.
She ran to through wards up around the royal family's tent, and he and his brothers assembled to hold fast against the winged terrors that were circling above them, their screams rending the night, making the horses scream in their terror. From the highest tower, the witch lights of a magic user could be seen lighting up the sky.
"I am the Sorceress Sycorax!" a voice could be heard, cold and cruel and that made the ground shake, "Surrender to me or perish!"
And with a screech the winged beasts swooped.
He could not recall what happened, only that he awoke in a tent, a firm hand on his abdomen and another hand cradling his neck. "…for you see, we like to pretend it is our wisdom that gives us such power, but our abilities come only from sheer will and arrogance, I'm afraid. We bend the wand's will to our own, and make it move the heavens and earth for us. It's why we are generally so unpleasant a people."
He came slowly to his senses, and it was Lauda who had him, babbling on as he could feel her magic coursing through him. He reached with his hand to touch her cheek, and in his muddle state he could not understand the significance of the wetness he found there.
Her voice died, and she swallowed, her hand moving upwards to rest on the symbol of the Shield on his chest. She was trembling, and he covered her hand with his own.
"I'll stop her, but you must rescue the Royal family," she croaked, "the wards are strong, but against this assault even they will wear and break!"
And he realized he could still hear the sounds of the fight around the tent, the yells of his brothers, the screams of the monsters, and the sparks and explosions of magic being cast. He sat up, wincing at the dull ache in his side.
"Be safe," she ordered, and as if in benediction, kissed his forehead.
The power of a Godmother's kiss was legendary, a ward against all forms of evil, given to only the most blessed. He could feel that magic flare against his skin, and he closed his eyes to the sensation. When he opened them again, she was gone.
He picked up his sword and shield, which appeared to have been dragged into the tent with him, and paused when he felt the burned hole in his tunic and chain mail--looking, he found a new, pink scar, warm to the touch. There was a match set of holes and scar on his back.
He shuddered, and ran back into the fray.
The battle felt like an eternity, and he knew in his heart they would not last long; there were too many against them. But he and his brothers fought on, slaying many of the monsters through they themselves suffered losses.
From the North Tower the Sorceress' spell grew and crackled in the sky, making it glow a ghastly color. But a sudden burst of purest white light made all pause in the fight. The lights in the sky exploded, intensify thousand fold, blinding anyone who looked directly at it.
He continued to fight, but without comprehension, for his heart and mind were on that tower, caring only of the outcome there. And time seemed to hang still, as an earth shattering boom echoed throughout the land, making their ears bleed, as the tower crumbled, and fell in agonizing slowness to the ground below--
Year fifteen…
He was thirty-five then, and Lauda teased him by calling him a grumpy old man, for he was losing his temper. He had fought dragons, ogres, and a sorceress to keep the princess safe. With his sword and shield he had helped to keep forces of great evil at bay.
But for reasons of politics and etiquette, much as his hands twitched to do so, he was not allowed to whomp the princess' suitors, or physically throw them out of the castle by the scruffs of their obnoxious and dainty necks.
There were the fools that could not string a single intelligent sentence when they opened their vapid mouths. There were the lecherous old men who leered at the princess and the kingdom's wealth. There were the dandies who preened and ignored the princess while she tried to engage them in polite conversation. There were the brutes who called their drunken brawls duels. There were the ones with no personality at all. Princes, dukes' sons, old men and boys of nobility--and for the life of him he couldn't understand how most of them managed to be such revolting beings.
As the heir of the throne, she was not to be rushed into a marriage yet. The king had the power and influence to refuse But she had come of age, and the pests had come in swarms.
The princess had handled the onslaught with grace, but even she was beginning to show the strain. And when the suitors, who consumed the king's food while staying under the king's roof began to breath nasty threats of war if they were not soon favored by the princess--
It was the princess who though of the clever idea, and Lauda and George who came up with the challenges. Feats of skill and ability, to weed out the ill-tempered, the cruel, or the weak. The suitors had to swear to the rule of upon elimination, they were to forfeit their claim and leave the castle. Some chose to match swords or lances with her Shield and Champion. Others chose to match wits with her Wand and Godmother.
George took great pleasure in escorting the sore losers out. In a few weeks time, the castle was nearly empty of the invading forces, when a new suitor arrived.
He appeared to be a quiet man, dressed in simple but fine clothes, and accompanied by a younger woman with orange hair. George could not recall where he had seen his face before. Escorted into the dining hall, he bowed before them all, and introduced himself simply as Lord Calwell, and the woman as his sister, the Lady Calwell.
"Why it's the Duke of Carabas!" Lauda whispered happily in George's ear, and he choked on his drink. "And he managed to lift the spell on his sister after all!"
Ten years had aged the boy they had helped alongside the road, but when the ogre had been defeated, it was Lauda who concerned herself with their reward. He had not known the king had given him a title and lands.
"His sister?" he whispered back, and realization dawned on him. "That woman is…was the cat?" he asked.
"Oh really, George," she sighed. "Didn't I tell you? I discerned the nature of her bewitchment the night we stayed in the inn, but could not lift it myself. I however, advised her how it could be lifted, and so it has been!"
The King rose and welcomed the Lord and Lady Calwell to the castle, and bade them state their intentions.
"With your permission, My Liege, I wish to earn the princess' hand in marriage," Anders said and with another humble bow.
"He'll never succeed," George declared later in the evening. He and Lauda were walking in the castle's gardens, the moon bright in the night sky.
"I would not be so certain," Lauda said, smiling softly as she absently made the witch lights lighting their way dance and twirl. "He has a good heart, the one good heart I've seen yet among her attempted paramours."
"He'll need more than that to be a queen's consort!" George cried.
"Oh? You are certain of that?" she asked. "The princess will need a man who has no issues of pride at being a consort. Who can be his own man while being the husband she deserves. He should be kind and gentle, for his strength will have to be a compliment to power she will yield when she is crowned. She will be just and fair, and he will have to be good and merciful."
"But Anders?" he asked in his incredulity.
"Our princess will need a compliment, not an equal. She will need someone who will love her, not want to own her. Someone to stand tall next to her. And he will have his own wisdom and knowledge of the peasants. No, I hope he succeeds. I can think of no better match."
"Fifteen years I've not wanted to say it, least I hurt your feelings," George began, with mock seriousness. "But you are truly out of your mind."
Lauda laughed, and sat down on a stone bench. "We shall see, we shall see," she mused. "But where will you go, when our duty is done?" she asked, motioning for him to sit next to her.
He leaned against the tree instead. "My younger brother took up my duties to our fief--he has done so well, I have not the desire to demand it back from him. Besides, he is married with five children, he needs the manor more than I," George joked.
"You so rarely mentioned your brother," she said. "Or your family for that matter."
"What of you? Have Godmothers family?" he asked, filled with sudden curiosity.
She laughed with a strange bitterness, and looked to him.
His heart ached then for her beauty--not a physical beauty though she was still fair of face. It was the sudden ache of their fifteen years bound together in their vows to the princess. An ache for how long she had been his constant companion, and how little he still knew of her. Of how loyal they had been to each other without ever truly understanding why. Of the foolishly wasted years, and how quickly their time together would end. He ached for her the beauty of her presence--for the laughter he would miss, for quirk of her lips and the challenge of her eyes.
"Lauda," he began, but he could not find the words to tell her how much he missed her already.
Year sixteen…
"Goodness and Glory--the princess is sixteen, and engaged to a good man. This calls for celebration."
He looked towards the dark entrance, and there she was as he knew she would be. Even in the festive atmosphere below, the disappearance of one of the princess' constant companion would not go unnoticed by her other shadow. Like he, she had shed the light blue of the Guardian, and wore again the color of the Godmother.
"More like a sigh of thanks," George said as he turned back to look at the starry night sky. He rubbed his chest absently; bounds he had never felt had fallen away at dawn's light, and his heart felt unnaturally free, the oath they took those years before fulfilled.
They still had their original vows of duty, his to King and country, she to the Godmothers and her magic. But they no longer lived solely for another soul, he realized, and the thought made his mouth dry. And those vows would not stop them from living for themselves.
Or…
"The Princess needs you no longer, but there is still much good to do, Sir Knight," was her whisper to the wind.
Or for each other.
"Show me the way, Lady Wand."
And only the moon and stars witnessed their kiss.
Author: ink_n_imp
Person the story was written for: wingsrookie
Rating: G. PG at MOST.
Summary: It was their solemn duty to protect the princess until she came of age.
Author's Notes: The prompt was this: I want a fic from the middle ages, sort of, but not necessarly based on earth. It's got to have magic, and I'm looking for a (clean) romance sort of story (pg 13 at the highest). I don't care how the characters meet, but there's got to be some actual plot, too! An idea for the plot: one girl is running away from home because her brother just became the heir (kingdom, dukedom, farm, theifdom)
I don't care what, and he's either kicking her out, sending her off to school, or trying to marry her off (pick one). Make up the guy's story as you go. That's half the fun, after all. I want him to be a fighter of some sort, though. No staying put, either. there's got to be lots of travelling in this fic! Other characters are both optional and welcome! NO kinky or perverted stuff, though. Like I said, keep it clean. Specific enough? ;)
I started one story right the moment I got the prompt…and at the 11th hour, I scrapped that in favor of a entirely different story! I apologies for it's lateness, and I hope you enjoy it all the same! ^_^ With Bonus Sketch at End.
In the Beginning…
It was not spoken a loud, but it was understood--more than Liege, more than King, more than God--the Godmothers were to be obeyed. Their word was forever law--it was their magic that made Kings and held the crown over their heads, that kept the kingdom fair and the people happy. It was they who granted wishes, bestowed blessings, cast curses. Less humble rulers had paid dearly for thinking otherwise, but
the King was wise indeed.
George of Thessal was a High Knight, a knight of noble lineage. As such, it was his duty to bear arms and to bear witness while the Queen rested in the lying-in room. Dressed in the colors of the Royal family and bearing their own coat-of-arms on their shields, he and his fellow brothers stood vigilant outside the lying-in room while groans from the Queen's Chambers heralded the beginning.
Upon the preordained signal--the flight of ghostly orbs from the lying-in room to all corners of the castle--the servants ran to open all doors, all cupboards, all drawers, all chests. Archers lined on the wall aimed their arrows towards the heavens and fired, and he and his brothers-in-arms unsheathed their swords and raised them high. All, they had been told, to ensure a quick delivery for the Queen.
"Blessed be!" the Godmothers declared from the chamber, and their voices seemed to cry from every stone. "It is a Girl!" And two young servant girls were ushered in, bearing milk and rose petals to bathe the princess in.
The forty days of Vigil had begun.
~*~
No harm befell the newborn Princess in those forty days. She had been born healthy, with fair limbs and strong lungs. She took to the wet nurse, and there was no stain of deformity or illness upon her. But still for those forty days and night, the Godmothers scryed for long hours in the Hall of Mirrors for hints of danger in the princess' future, and walked the halls of the castle, checking each charm, each witch orb, each catching web.
Regardless of the Vigil, from far and wide nobles and peasants alike came to celebrate the princess and partake in the carnival atmosphere outside the castle walls. Tents rose on the green fields nearby, and many nobles were in residence now.
He and his fellow knights participated in forty days of tournaments in the Princess' honor, and to the enjoyment of all. The King himself came to watch, he and the courtiers protected by the canopied royal dais.
There were rumors in those forty days, that the Godmothers had foreseen great things in the princess' future, but great dangers as well. The servants whispered to their families, who gossiped at the tournaments, that the Godmothers spoke of forces that had already begun to move against the young princess, dire evil that would not allow such goodness to endure and flourish in this world. There was talk of the need to protect her until she came of age. There was talk, they said, of choosing a Wand and a Shield.
Within the history of the realm, there had only been ten such Wands and Shields; a Godmother chosen to protect against magic, a Warrior chosen to protect against all else, and both to teach and nurture the young royal to wisdom and maturity.
Wands and Shields were the stuff of legends, but though his mind doubted the rumors, his heart burned with a strange new ferocity.
On the fortieth morning, the King addressed all as they stood astride their mounts before him. "Noble Ones! Today you fight for more than honor amongst yourselves. Today you shall be judged, and he who is found most suited shall be declared the Princess' Shield!"
The truth revealed, he knew he was amazed at what such an action signified for the princess. Within his own breast he knew his heart beat fiercer for the chance at such honor, young though he might be. And on the faces of his brothers he could see the same fierce desire.
That day he believed he would never fight so well ever again. Never was his lance truer, his arm steadier, his seat firmer--
The tournament was not yet over when the King brought it to a halt, and had the knights line before him once more. The crowds, frenzied throughout the fights, now were completely hushed, the air thick with their rapt silence. On top his mount, standing proud before his King and hoping he might be worthy, it was then he noticed the Godmother seated at the King's left hand.
It was true that Godmothers came in all ages and looks, but he had never seen one so young before. She looked no older than a maiden, but the King bent to hear her whispers all the same. And when she sat upright and smiled, he nodded, and stood.
"Sir George Of Thessal, step forward," the King proclaimed, and with heart in his throat he guided his horse before the Royal dais. "You have been chosen, Sir Knight. All Hail the Shield of the Princess!"
He had not known the intensity of the ceremonies that were required of a Shield before a christening. The christening would be at the dawn of the next day, and there was much to do before dawn's early light. A handful of Godmothers presided over his preparation, and it was as if he was earning his Knighthood all over again. In that long night before the dawn there was a ritual cleansing, intonations and meditation. He was dressed in the light blue tunic and robe of the Shield, symbol of the princess embroidered on the front. An unfamiliar sword was tied to him, an unfamiliar shield placed upon his arm. And as his duties to the princess were described to fullest, severe detail, did he begin to understand how quickly his life would change, how much he would be called to sacrifice, and wondered if he was indeed worthy.
But these doubts he quelled forever before the sun rose, for he was a Knight, and sacrifice was his only right. No--it was his duty to see that he was worthy. It was his duty to never fall, never falter, never fail. And with grim expression, he followed the Godmothers who prepared him to the Hall of Kings.
He had only witnessed the Hall of Kings used thrice in his lifetime, but never this full, or joyously hushed. When he entered, waves of whispers rose to the high vaulted ceiling, and later he would laugh that in that moment, he nearly lost his nerve.
Of that momentous day he later would remember little, despite his best attempts to recall the ceremony and the feast afterwards, so focused was he on his own role. Bits and pieces he would later recall, like the ermine robes the King and Queen wore as they sat unmoving on their thrones, the princess' cradle at their feet. That the Godmothers, one by one, gave their blessings to the child, though he could not recall what those blessings were. The wrinkles around the eyes of the old Godmother that motioned him to step forward and take his place at the cradle's side.
Three steps lined in thick red velvet led to the princess; he walked them as if in a dream, and when he turned to face the cradle, he was faced with the Godmother from the day before, who had whispered to the King before he was chosen. And as if he could think of nothing else, he marveled at how young in face she was. But their moment had come, and he forced himself back to the matter at hand.
"I shall be Her Wand," the Godmother intoned, and she raised her wand over the princess.
"And I Her Shield," he said, saying the words he had been told to say the night before as he raised his sword to cross with her wand.
"So Let It Be," was rumble of the Godmothers and the witnesses. He felt as if something was pulled tight within his chest, and settled. He blinked at the strangeness of the sensation; he'd felt it once before, when he gave his oath to King and country.
And if she winked at him, he hid his surprise well at her lack of solemnity at such a time.
Year One…
He was still young then, a man of twenty. Not experienced, no, but his arm was strong and his will was great. "And that is all that matters," the Godmother had teased as she gave him the magic bones, the small, highly polished metal disc and bade him on his way.
"And where am I going, Lady Wand?" he had grumbled, refusing to call her by her given name no matter how she fussed. They resided within the castle now, in separate chambers adjoined to the princess' nursery, and her presence was already beginning to grate on him. Back then he did not find her serious-minded enough for the long task at hand. A Godmother, he felt, should act with the dignity of their station and power, and yet she acted like more like a jester-girl, gossiping with the servants, humming to herself while performing her checks and duties, and playing with the princess while the nurse laughed at her jokes.
"To the mounds to the west. The bones will guide you. Something has taken up residence there, and I don't like the feel of it. Now, ride on, and good fortune ride with you!" she said, as she began to walk towards the castle gate.
"And where are you going?" he asked as he led his mount to follow her.
"I go east, Sir Knight, east to the mountains, to search the shadows my Sight has seen there," she said, but in the solemn voice she used when she was teasing him.
"Who will guard the princess if we are both away?" he reprimanded her sharply, losing his temper.
She paused to look at him. "No evil can penetrate the wards protecting the nursery. You know this, the nurse and Queen know this, and the princess is not to leave the nursery until I return," she explained slowly, with honest seriousness. "I'll better serve her by scouting out what dangers might be called against her."
"And you'll travel to the mountains with no gear or ride?" he scorned. "You'll be gone for days!"
"I need for nothing as long as I've my wand," she said, and from the tone in her voice, she was losing her good temper as well, "and I won't be gone long for much the same reason. Now good travels, Sir Knight," she said, with a finality that allowed for no further comment on his part.
"Good travels, Lady Wand," he replied, but when he looked, she was gone.
The road to the mounds was easy. Guided by the bones she had given him, he traveled over the flat farmlands of the realm, to the wild plains just beyond. There, in kingdoms long forgotten, Kings of Old had been buried under mounds of stone and earth. Bewitchments kept the tombs safe from thieves, but those curses did not chase away the strange and magical.
He made camp for the evening at the foot of one such mound--protected by the brush and high mound to his back, he felt secure there, surrounded by flat plains as he was. The sky was already darkened, and he twisted dry grass into tight thick sticks that would burn slowly, to add to the meager firewood he had still.
He reached into his saddlebags for his supper, but when he hand brushed against the polished metal disc the Godmother had given him, he pulled it out instead. It was finely polished, nearly as reflective as a mirror, and for the life of him he could not imagine why she would give him such a thing.
"Do you think me vain, Lady Wand?" he mused aloud to the disc.
"Vain? Vain? Hardly vain. Far too serious is more like it." And his reflection in the disc was replaced by her grinning face. In his surprise he nearly dropped it. "Oh dear, did I forget to tell you?" she laughed. "Well, how else are we to keep in touch?" Even in the dim light of the fire, he could see the laughter in her eyes.
"Next time, I'll ask," he snapped, blushing from his shock. "But why metal? I thought mirrors worked best."
"Ah, but mirrors break, Sir Knight, though I have no doubts you would try to keep it in one piece. Now, have you reached the mounds?" she asked, getting to the matter at hand.
"Yes, but I'll explore them in morning's light."
"I thought knights of the realm feared nothing!" she declared, but there was no slight in her voice.
He frowned all the same. "They also try not commit acts of idiocy. In this darkness I may trip, or worse. No, I have no qualm with waiting. And what of your business?"
"I've returned, but--" and she hesitated. She looked…worried. And perhaps that was the moment he began to understand that she was just as young as he, and where he hide his inexperience and fear in a stoic front, she hide her own behind her laughter and jests.
"But?" he prompted, and gently.
"There was nothing," she sighed, "Nothing by rocks and ruins and a feeling of dread. Maybe it was just old ghosts that drew me there, but--"
But an unearthly screech has pierced the night, and from the mounds to his back, a monstrously large beast rose to the sky, wings beating as it flew higher and higher in a spiral. He dropped the disc as he made a desperate grab for his horse, who had pulled her tether and had turned to run; his horse, trained not to shy from fighting, who was screaming, mad with fear.
"George!" the Godmother yelled frantically, the disc forgotten where he had dropped it, "the fire, kill the fire!"
And he kicked dirt on the fire as he tried to hold his horse down. But even he couldn't hold her down, so terrified was she that she bolted, running towards the darkness of the plains. She was quickly swallowed up by the night, and George didn't dare yell for her.
The beast had flown off, the sound of it's wings and terrifying scream distant nightmares.
"Lauda," he called, saying her name in his terror, "What was that thing?"
"A dragon!" her could hear her say, in equal horror. "By Glory, a dragon, George! George, listen to me. Do you have a torch?"
"Yes."
"You must enter it's nest while it's hunting. Quickly George, shepherds herd in the plains, it may not take it long to find it's meal."
He fumbled blindly for his sword, securing it's familiar weight around his waist. Likewise he reached for the torch in his saddle bag, untying the oilskin that protected it's oiled pith from water. He fumbled with flint and stone to light it, and it's sudden blaze as the oil caught a spark struggled valiantly against the darkness. He left his shield behind--with one hand occupied in carrying the torch, he needed his sword arm free.
It did not take long to find the entrance to the dragon's den-- the entrance to one burial mound had been cleared of it's stone, widened to fit the dragon's girth. He paused only a moment, but pressed forward, entering the dark tomb.
They had been build to house the souls and remains of many kings and queens, as well as their treasures. The inside was simple stone, but grand in size--in the main chamber, the domed ceiling rose sixty feet above him, a single skylight letting in the night air. Around him the treasure of rulers of old were piled high, and among them, precious metals picked up the light of his torch, lighting the rest of the tomb through reflection.
"You idiot!" he heard her scorn him, and turning he could see her reflection in a particularly large golden wine cup. "You left the disc outside! You're lucky there are polished metals in here; I would have turned you into something very nasty when you returned if there hadn't been!"
Her face disappeared from the golden cup, but he could hear her voice moving throughout the tomb; he followed it, and realized she was moving from reflective surface to reflective surface as she searched throughout the tomb.
"There, I think it has emptied that stone sarcophagus to use as a trough, look for me?" she asked from the gold leaf on a chariot.
He did as he was told, as found there to be a golden bottom to the inside of the sarcophagus, while the outside of it appeared scorched. The remains of it's inhabitant laid on the ground, dumped unceremoniously from it's final resting place. He backed away hurriedly, having no desire to be undeservedly cursed for disturbing the dead.
"As I thought, it's using the stone to hold gold while it melts it. They hoard gold because they melt and drink it, did you know that?" she asked.
"I care not!" he snapped as he turned back towards the exit. "The king must be warned; with a company we should be able--"
But the sound of approaching wings drifted through the skylight, and he froze. He would not make it out of the entrance in time. And, as if in a nightmare, he could hear the dragon crawling through the entrance behind him.
"Get behind some gold, the gold will mask your scent!" she ordered him as he stomped on the torch's flame to snuff it. He dove inside the chariot, hoping it would hide him. Without the light, he could no see a thing in the sudden darkness, but he was certain she was peering through the gold leaf on the inside of the chariot, keeping silent watch with him.
The dragon lumbered into the tomb; without his light, he could not see until his eyes adjusted, but it was huge in length from the sounds of it walking across the tomb. There was the sound of something tossed aside carelessly, the crash and rattle of metal disturbed, and the hulking beast settling itself.
In what seemed an eternity, it's breathing became slower and slower, until George was certain it was asleep.
"George," she called, her voice the slightest of whispers in his ear.
"It's asleep, I'm leaving now--" he breathed back, but she shushed him.
"It brought back it's meal," she said; he could hear her dismay, though in the dim of the tomb he could only see her eyes in the gold leaf. "It's a shepherd. He's still breathing. His breath was fogging up the gold plate I was peering through."
And the terribleness of what that meant hit him full. He could flee with his own life intact, and she could get the king to send out a company to deal with the threat…but it would be far too late for the man the dragon had plucked for his meal.
"George," she whispered, and his hand clutched the hilt of his sword.
Year Five…
He was a man of twenty-five then, still young, but the envy and desire of many for the great deeds he had done. The princess was growing up, a being with a mind of her own and great stubbornness to boot--she was not pleased to be confined to her nursery while both her Wand and Shield were away, but a sharp command from her father stopped her tantrum.
Though she had refused to bid them farewell when they left the castle, hiding under her bed in spite.
"She is but a babe still," Lauda has sighed with a grin on her face. "She'll understand one day that we do these things for her own good."
They had had much to learn in those five years, and had been forced to learn them while keeping their vows to protect the princess. He did not realized then how much easier he felt with her than with others who did not understand the nature of his new life. One day he would marvel that he had once found her presence odious, that he had misjudged her so wrongly. But back in those days, he had only just realized she was a vital ally, though there were still times he found himself cross at her jokes and unsought advice.
"A penny for your thoughts," Lauda said along the road as they traveled incognito to the southwest. She still looked unnatural on a horse, any dignity and mystery she could summon while standing was gone to the winds as she struggled to ride sidesaddle.
"Five years and you still ride like a stick," he sighed.
"And feel like a sack of potatoes when I get off," she grumbled. "But that not what was on your mind."
Lauda missed little, and though he had pushed his grief aside as best he could, he had found that there was little he could hide from her. "Sir Thomas was of my year, and a friend."
"You said nothing when the word of their deaths came--I'm sorry for your loss," she offered, and he knew her sympathy ran deep.
"What right does this ogre have!" he began with barely controlled anger. "He killed my friend and his family, took their duchy, has enslaved their people, and threatens the Crown with his magic!"
"He'll be no match for us, friend," she told him, her tone a balm, her confidence total, "A company of the king's own he'd expect, and as the defender would be able to inflict great damage with his magic. But just you and I may be able to sneak around him--after all, anyone who would kill a duke and steal his lands and expect no one could challenge him is arrogant. We will use that against him."
But anything he wished to say in return was forgotten, for he was interrupted by a small but shrill voice coming from the small bridge further up the road.
"Help, good travelers, my master has been robbed!"
Sir George spurred his horse into a run, while Lauda nearly got thrown from hers for attempting the same.
"Who speaks?" he called out once he reached the bridge. He could see no one but a small orange tabby cat sitting on the bridge's stone wall.
"I, kind sir."
"Show yourself," he called out, growing confused.
"I'm right here!"
"Oh George, really. She's right in front of you," Lauda sighed as she finally brought her horse next to his. "What is the matter, Good Puss?"
And George was dumbfounded when the cat answered back. "Please, m'lady, robbers came upon my master while we walked down the road early this morning. They beat him and left him under the bridge," the cat blabbed, tail twitching in her worry.
"It could be a trap," he whispered to Lauda as she slid ungracefully from her horse.
"I wouldn't care if it was even a troll. And if it was, why, I may even shake it's hand in gratitude for getting me down from that horse!" she joked. Though he could see her slip her wand out from her sleeve as she walked down the bank and under the bridge.
"Oh my--George, I'll need a hand," she called back, and he was quick off his own horse.
"M'name's Anders," the boy said once he had woken. They had draped his body over her horse, and had taken him to the nearest inn, tending to his wounds and laying him down on a bed to rest. His confusion at his surroundings was put to rest as soon as the cat jumped on the bed and nudged his hand. He smiled fondly, and scratched the cat behind her ears. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he told her. The cat purred her agreement.
"Ever since the duke was killed there've been robbers all over the roads. But I never thought I'd be in danger during daylight," Anders sighed as he let his hand drop. "Puss is all I have. They weren't too happy about that."
"Well, you are safe now. Rest," George ordered.
"Well! What a day this has been," Lauda began as the boy closed his eyes for sleep. George hrumphed his agreement as he prepared for bed. But Lauda's next words made him pause. "So--how were your bewitched, my young feline? Come, come, cats don't speak of their own accord, you are bewitched!" Lauda declared with good cheer.
"I--" and the cat croaked, and looked desperately cross.
"Oh my. One of those. No matter. I am very clever, I should be able to figure it out on my own," Lauda said, and sat as in thought.
"Do you know how to lift it? Are you a Godmother?" the cat asked eagerly.
"I--Oh. Oh my," she paused, for George had glared at her. She shrugged. "Well, cat's out of the bag for me, George. Pardon the expression. I am, but I may not be able to. Sometimes these things have to be lifted themselves."
"And where are you headed, good travelers?" the cat asked, sounding hopeful as she jumped off the bed and up onto the table Lauda sat at. "Please, let us follow, we could be of great service to you!"
"No," George said as Lauda replied, "Of course".
"We've…business to attend to," George offered, carefully., and trying to catch Lauda's eyes so she might see his displeasure.
"They could be of help," Lauda shrugged, matching his glare with a cool glance of her own.
"Absolutely not. We wish you and your master the best, but we travel alone," George said firmly.
"And they could be of help. It's not wise to reject help that is offered, George," Lauda said simply.
"In children's tales perhaps," George reprimanded.
Lauda's lips pursed as they were want to do when she was nearing the end of her good temper, and leaning her chin upon her hand, looked at him from under her lashes. "Perhaps such tales are told to children in the hopes that when they become petulant, know-it-all knights they don't forget," she said evenly. "They shall travel with us along the road, for their own safety if the robbers here are so brazen in the daylight," she commanded, and there was power to her words that warned that they were final.
"Tell me, good Puss, and be truthful or I shall know," Lauda said, smiling as she sat up in her chair, pointedly ignoring George as he grumbled and got into bed, "What business did you and your master have along the road?"
The cat's tail twitched in anger, and she glanced at the boy fast asleep. "He thinks we are just going to Brennan for work, but I have a plan to win him his fortune. He has nothing but me, I was his only inheritance from his father, and his brothers threw him out as if he were a wastrel! But he was always kind to me, and I will make him richer than they!"
"And how would you do that?" George asked, and perhaps unkindly.
"I don't know yet!" the cat hissed at him, "But I am uncommonly clever, I will think of something along the way!"
"I am uncommonly clever too. I shall help you think of something," Lauda confided to the cat as George turned his back to them and closed his eyes. "Good night, George," she said sweetly.
He made a noncommittal sound, and resolved himself to sleep.
Lauda did not need sleep as he did, the powers she possessed making sleep unnecessary, though once she had confided that she enjoyed sleep for the pleasures of dreaming. It had taken much stubbornness on her part to bend him to her will on the matter, but while on the road, she made him sleep throughout the night as she kept guard, even if they were indoors. Once or twice he had awoken to catch her dozing while sitting in a window sill, or leaning on her hand and napping while sitting upright at a table. But she would be awake before he could surprise her, fresh and chipper as if she had slept the whole night.
He woke slowly that morning to the Lauda's low voice, coming from near the cold hearth. "That is a fair trick, puss. I couldn't catch a fly so small."
"You are not me," he heard the cat say smugly, and Lauda's laugh. "And I never miss."
"Never?" and he could hear the interest in Lauda's voice.
"Never."
"Puss--I think I've a plan, but it will need all our cunning, and your keen ability. If it works, you and your master will be richly rewarded. Now, are you certain you never miss?"
"Positive."
Her footsteps were sudden, and he awoke completely when she jumped on his bed and rested her weight on his shoulder. "George, wake up," she said urgently in his ear as she shook his shoulder.
He turned his head to look at her, their noses nearly touching before she leaned back. "I was awake, you didn't need to jump on me," he said, rubbing his face as he sat up in bed.
"You have no soul for fun or fancy," she said as she swatted his arm, and begun to tell him her cunning plan.
And it was cunning too. Risky, indeed, dangerous, for certain, but cunning.
Preparing themselves in a small woods, the manor visible through the trees, it did not take Lauda long to apply the appropriate illusions. With a look of deepest concentration, she magicked the two old pull carts borrowed from the inn into a fine coach and wagon. Their horses were hitched to the wagon, seemingly laden high with goods and treasures, but the coach moved on its own accord. Their clothes she magicked into fine uniforms servants might wear, and the boy Anders was captivated by the finery he now wore. Lauda had George hide his sword within the coach, and he did not like its absence from his side.
The cat she gave a fine broad hat, dashing with a large white plume. A deep blue sash of silk held a cat sized rapier, and on her hind legs, two well made boots of leather appeared. But most amazing was when the cat was lifted onto her hind legs, and stood and walked as if it were natural for a cat to do so.
"There," Lauda said with satisfaction as she secured her wand in it's hiding place. "There is no danger now that a strange beast as yourself will not draw the ogre's attentions."
But when they arrived at the manor, and were ushered into the main hall, the cat at the lead as they followed bearing trunks as good servants might, George suspected the cat would have needed no such finery to catch and hold the ogre's attentions, though he towered eight feet over her and had taken to a life of luxury well. She had silver tongue enough to lay the trap.
"To the master of these lands," the cat grandly declared with a bow and a sweep of her hat. "I bring greetings and tribute from my lord and master, the Duke of Carabas!"
The ogre's greed was evident from the way he eyed the treasures George, Lauda and Anders carried. Anders trembled at such a gaze, Lauda's lip twitched upward, and George forced his face and mind blank of anger and revenge.
The ogre feigned disinterest. "And who is this Duke I've never heard of," he yawned.
"Ah, my lord, 'tis no surprise--the Duke lives on a magical isle, and though he knows much of the world through his scrying, the world knows little of him. But he knows of you, my lord, and sends you these gifts to honor one with such powers as you. In fact, he has instructed me to seek and alliance with you, my lord--if your powers are as great as tale has told," she added with a humble bow.
The ogre's face darkened. "Of course my powers are as great! None have greater!" he snapped in his temper.
"My lord, please, no offense was meant. My master only wishes to know if some things be true. Can you, for one, change form into any large beast?"
The ogre smiled nastily, and where he once stood a monstrous lion had taken his place, and roared.
The cat did not need to fake her fear--her tail bristled, but she kept a cool head. Anders only shook more, even Lauda raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Oh, my lord, what marvelous power!" the cat cried.
The lion transformed once more into the ogre, who looked quite pleased with himself. "Has your master such power?" he asked with contempt.
"That he does--though, try as he might, he cannot summon the power to transform into something small," the cat sighed with a sigh worthy of the greatest of dramas. "Oh, a dog, or say, a large bird of prey he can. But smaller than that? No, if my master can not, then it must not be possible."
"Not possible! Bah!" the ogre spat.
"My lord can?" the cat said with the proper shock and wonder. "But with my lord's mighty form--"
"I can do any feat of magic!" the ogre yelled, "Come, challenge me, see if I lie, cat!"
And the moment had come, the trap was set. George and Lauda tensed, even the cat seemed to prepare herself as she said, "What of a fly? Could you become as small as a fly, my lord?"
The transformation took longer than the last one, as he squeezed himself into the tiny form.
"My lord," the cat called out, voice innocent of intent, "I can not see you, you must come closer so there can be no doubt."
And when the little black fly buzzed in front of the cat's face, she pounced, quickly ending the ogre's usurped reign.
"Well," Lauda said as she prod the black fly with the tip of her wand. "This is the end for all wicked things," she said grandly, and glared with good nature at George's groan.
Year Ten…
He was thirty then, older. That day, he nearly lost not only his life, but something far more precious to him.
The princess had been adamant on joining the King and Queen as they traveled their Review of the land. The princess was growing to be as wise as she was beautiful, and she begged to see what would one day become her kingdom.
If George had been uneasy about the princess leaving the safety of the castle, Lauda seemed all the more hesitant. George at least had faith in the two companies of knights that would ride with them, but Lauda seemed to grow more fearful the further east they traveled. She hid it well from the others in the Royal train, but her wariness put him on guard. Scouts, and her own scrying magic claimed there was nothing of danger ahead, but he trusted Lauda's instincts more than the supposed proof there was nothing to fear.
They had stopped the night in the woods, pitching the tents in a clearing. Ruins of a castle towered nearby, and a low fog gave the camp an eerie haze.
"No one is to go near the ruins," Lauda had ordered at the evening meal, pale as ice in the globes of fairy light she had summoned to light the tents. There was no protest, no questions why. Whatever strange energy lay nearby, it was affecting them all.
The camp settled early, wishing for a sleep that would bring some peace, and an early morning leave of the place. George was restless, and paced about the camp, keeping his own vigil as some of his fellow knights took the first watch.
"I was here ten years ago," he heard her whisper. She was standing in the open flap of her tent, hugging herself as she stared at the ruins. "I found nothing then. I see nothing now."
He stood next to her, and though he hesitated a moment, he reached and put is arm around her. "Old ghosts?" he asked, rubbing her arm as he look towards the castle as well.
"If so, with evil intentions. I'll be glad to leave this place in the morning," she said, and her face was pinched in the dim light. "You should sleep, George," she ordered him.
"I am not tired," he lied, and she smiled wanly at his lie.
"Walk with me then?" she asked, and he obliged.
It was why they were aware when the attack came, when the illusions protecting the ruins fell away, revealing the dark castle, and the attack against the camp came, fierce and sudden.
She ran to through wards up around the royal family's tent, and he and his brothers assembled to hold fast against the winged terrors that were circling above them, their screams rending the night, making the horses scream in their terror. From the highest tower, the witch lights of a magic user could be seen lighting up the sky.
"I am the Sorceress Sycorax!" a voice could be heard, cold and cruel and that made the ground shake, "Surrender to me or perish!"
And with a screech the winged beasts swooped.
He could not recall what happened, only that he awoke in a tent, a firm hand on his abdomen and another hand cradling his neck. "…for you see, we like to pretend it is our wisdom that gives us such power, but our abilities come only from sheer will and arrogance, I'm afraid. We bend the wand's will to our own, and make it move the heavens and earth for us. It's why we are generally so unpleasant a people."
He came slowly to his senses, and it was Lauda who had him, babbling on as he could feel her magic coursing through him. He reached with his hand to touch her cheek, and in his muddle state he could not understand the significance of the wetness he found there.
Her voice died, and she swallowed, her hand moving upwards to rest on the symbol of the Shield on his chest. She was trembling, and he covered her hand with his own.
"I'll stop her, but you must rescue the Royal family," she croaked, "the wards are strong, but against this assault even they will wear and break!"
And he realized he could still hear the sounds of the fight around the tent, the yells of his brothers, the screams of the monsters, and the sparks and explosions of magic being cast. He sat up, wincing at the dull ache in his side.
"Be safe," she ordered, and as if in benediction, kissed his forehead.
The power of a Godmother's kiss was legendary, a ward against all forms of evil, given to only the most blessed. He could feel that magic flare against his skin, and he closed his eyes to the sensation. When he opened them again, she was gone.
He picked up his sword and shield, which appeared to have been dragged into the tent with him, and paused when he felt the burned hole in his tunic and chain mail--looking, he found a new, pink scar, warm to the touch. There was a match set of holes and scar on his back.
He shuddered, and ran back into the fray.
The battle felt like an eternity, and he knew in his heart they would not last long; there were too many against them. But he and his brothers fought on, slaying many of the monsters through they themselves suffered losses.
From the North Tower the Sorceress' spell grew and crackled in the sky, making it glow a ghastly color. But a sudden burst of purest white light made all pause in the fight. The lights in the sky exploded, intensify thousand fold, blinding anyone who looked directly at it.
He continued to fight, but without comprehension, for his heart and mind were on that tower, caring only of the outcome there. And time seemed to hang still, as an earth shattering boom echoed throughout the land, making their ears bleed, as the tower crumbled, and fell in agonizing slowness to the ground below--
Year fifteen…
He was thirty-five then, and Lauda teased him by calling him a grumpy old man, for he was losing his temper. He had fought dragons, ogres, and a sorceress to keep the princess safe. With his sword and shield he had helped to keep forces of great evil at bay.
But for reasons of politics and etiquette, much as his hands twitched to do so, he was not allowed to whomp the princess' suitors, or physically throw them out of the castle by the scruffs of their obnoxious and dainty necks.
There were the fools that could not string a single intelligent sentence when they opened their vapid mouths. There were the lecherous old men who leered at the princess and the kingdom's wealth. There were the dandies who preened and ignored the princess while she tried to engage them in polite conversation. There were the brutes who called their drunken brawls duels. There were the ones with no personality at all. Princes, dukes' sons, old men and boys of nobility--and for the life of him he couldn't understand how most of them managed to be such revolting beings.
As the heir of the throne, she was not to be rushed into a marriage yet. The king had the power and influence to refuse But she had come of age, and the pests had come in swarms.
The princess had handled the onslaught with grace, but even she was beginning to show the strain. And when the suitors, who consumed the king's food while staying under the king's roof began to breath nasty threats of war if they were not soon favored by the princess--
It was the princess who though of the clever idea, and Lauda and George who came up with the challenges. Feats of skill and ability, to weed out the ill-tempered, the cruel, or the weak. The suitors had to swear to the rule of upon elimination, they were to forfeit their claim and leave the castle. Some chose to match swords or lances with her Shield and Champion. Others chose to match wits with her Wand and Godmother.
George took great pleasure in escorting the sore losers out. In a few weeks time, the castle was nearly empty of the invading forces, when a new suitor arrived.
He appeared to be a quiet man, dressed in simple but fine clothes, and accompanied by a younger woman with orange hair. George could not recall where he had seen his face before. Escorted into the dining hall, he bowed before them all, and introduced himself simply as Lord Calwell, and the woman as his sister, the Lady Calwell.
"Why it's the Duke of Carabas!" Lauda whispered happily in George's ear, and he choked on his drink. "And he managed to lift the spell on his sister after all!"
Ten years had aged the boy they had helped alongside the road, but when the ogre had been defeated, it was Lauda who concerned herself with their reward. He had not known the king had given him a title and lands.
"His sister?" he whispered back, and realization dawned on him. "That woman is…was the cat?" he asked.
"Oh really, George," she sighed. "Didn't I tell you? I discerned the nature of her bewitchment the night we stayed in the inn, but could not lift it myself. I however, advised her how it could be lifted, and so it has been!"
The King rose and welcomed the Lord and Lady Calwell to the castle, and bade them state their intentions.
"With your permission, My Liege, I wish to earn the princess' hand in marriage," Anders said and with another humble bow.
"He'll never succeed," George declared later in the evening. He and Lauda were walking in the castle's gardens, the moon bright in the night sky.
"I would not be so certain," Lauda said, smiling softly as she absently made the witch lights lighting their way dance and twirl. "He has a good heart, the one good heart I've seen yet among her attempted paramours."
"He'll need more than that to be a queen's consort!" George cried.
"Oh? You are certain of that?" she asked. "The princess will need a man who has no issues of pride at being a consort. Who can be his own man while being the husband she deserves. He should be kind and gentle, for his strength will have to be a compliment to power she will yield when she is crowned. She will be just and fair, and he will have to be good and merciful."
"But Anders?" he asked in his incredulity.
"Our princess will need a compliment, not an equal. She will need someone who will love her, not want to own her. Someone to stand tall next to her. And he will have his own wisdom and knowledge of the peasants. No, I hope he succeeds. I can think of no better match."
"Fifteen years I've not wanted to say it, least I hurt your feelings," George began, with mock seriousness. "But you are truly out of your mind."
Lauda laughed, and sat down on a stone bench. "We shall see, we shall see," she mused. "But where will you go, when our duty is done?" she asked, motioning for him to sit next to her.
He leaned against the tree instead. "My younger brother took up my duties to our fief--he has done so well, I have not the desire to demand it back from him. Besides, he is married with five children, he needs the manor more than I," George joked.
"You so rarely mentioned your brother," she said. "Or your family for that matter."
"What of you? Have Godmothers family?" he asked, filled with sudden curiosity.
She laughed with a strange bitterness, and looked to him.
His heart ached then for her beauty--not a physical beauty though she was still fair of face. It was the sudden ache of their fifteen years bound together in their vows to the princess. An ache for how long she had been his constant companion, and how little he still knew of her. Of how loyal they had been to each other without ever truly understanding why. Of the foolishly wasted years, and how quickly their time together would end. He ached for her the beauty of her presence--for the laughter he would miss, for quirk of her lips and the challenge of her eyes.
"Lauda," he began, but he could not find the words to tell her how much he missed her already.
Year sixteen…
"Goodness and Glory--the princess is sixteen, and engaged to a good man. This calls for celebration."
He looked towards the dark entrance, and there she was as he knew she would be. Even in the festive atmosphere below, the disappearance of one of the princess' constant companion would not go unnoticed by her other shadow. Like he, she had shed the light blue of the Guardian, and wore again the color of the Godmother.
"More like a sigh of thanks," George said as he turned back to look at the starry night sky. He rubbed his chest absently; bounds he had never felt had fallen away at dawn's light, and his heart felt unnaturally free, the oath they took those years before fulfilled.
They still had their original vows of duty, his to King and country, she to the Godmothers and her magic. But they no longer lived solely for another soul, he realized, and the thought made his mouth dry. And those vows would not stop them from living for themselves.
Or…
"The Princess needs you no longer, but there is still much good to do, Sir Knight," was her whisper to the wind.
Or for each other.
"Show me the way, Lady Wand."
And only the moon and stars witnessed their kiss.