The Damsel and the Dragon

Chapter eleven: return to Limart

Carpets of lush grass stretched out as far as the eye could see, interrupted at times by small, wooden huts and their little gardens in the far distance. Surrounded by the green grasses, countless flowers in all colors captivated entire bee queendoms and all sorts of crawling creatures. Just above them birds soared high and far while birds of prey hovered vigilantly in wait for an opportune moment.

That was the poem of dreams of Bastien as he slept in a solid, round tower, Bastien stirred in his slumber. The dream dissipated, leaving behind a lingering sense of tranquility and wonder. He opened his eyes and blinked, his gaze falling on the solid, round tower that served as his dwelling. But even as he returned to the reality of his waking world, the vividness of the dream remained etched in his memory, a cherished tapestry of beauty and awe.

He took a deep breath, savoring the moment before he got out of bed. He knew that the memory would always be with him, a reminder of the strength and beauty of his dreams.

When he got up, he was wearing a long-sleeved shirt and his left arm was bandaged, his mind still groggy from the previous day's events. Groaning, he rolled over and sat up, blinking clearly at the unfamiliar surroundings. He was in the tower's room, its walls adorned with intricate tapestries and gleaming suits of armor. A faint scent of incense hung in the air, mingling with the musty smell of old books.

He sat up slowly, his head still throbbing from the previous day's events. A throbbing pain radiated from his left arm, where a thick bandage was wrapped around his forearm. He gingerly flexed his fingers, wincing at the sharp twinge that shot through his limb.

Memories of the previous day flooded back to him in a rush. The fierce battle, the clash of steel on dragon, the blood and the chaos—it all came rushing back to him in a vivid, nightmarish tableau. He had been injured in the fight, and his comrades had carried him to safety.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He was alive, and that was what mattered most. But where was he? And who had brought him here? But more importantly, where Enola was, did something happened to her, he did not know.

Just then, the heavy oak door creaked open, its hinges protesting against the disturbance. In the doorway stood Bastien's parents, their expressions a mixture of concern and relief. Beside them, Princess Elodie appeared, her elegant gown rustling softly as she stepped into the room.

"Bastien," his mother's voice trembled as she spoke his name, her eyes misty with tears. His father stood next to her, his hand resting on her shoulder in a gesture of support and comfort.

Bastien's heart skipped a beat as he took in the scene before him. He had been so focused on his own turmoil that he had not realized how much his family had been affected by his actions. The sight of their worry-filled faces filled him with a profound sense of guilt and regret.

"Mother, Father," Bastien began, his voice hoarse and trembling. He wanted to explain, to apologize for the pain he had caused them, but the words seemed to catch in his throat.

Princess Elodie, with her innate grace and sensitivity, stepped forward. "Dear Bastien," she said, her voice soft and soothing. "Your parents love you very much. They are here to support you, no matter what."

Bastien's eyes met Elodie's, and he found comfort in her compassionate gaze. He knew that she understood him, even when he struggled to understand himself.

"Thank you," he whispered, grateful for her unwavering support.

His parents approached him, their faces etched with a mix of love and concern. His mother enveloped him in a warm embrace, her tears falling freely. "Oh, Bastien," she said, her voice choking with emotion. "We were so worried about you."