Princess Rosie and the Dragon

Chapter 1

Once upon a time, in a faraway land...

...there lived a princess named Rosie. For the first decade or so of her life, nothing truly remarkable happened - she was a quiet, thoughtful child who spent most of her time in the library, or exercising in the castle's private grounds. The Queen was proud of her daughter's intellect and compassionate nature, and the King, who wasn't unkind but tended to regard offspring as a requirement of rank, something like having a large castle and being proficient at jousting, was quite content to bestow on the young Princess whatever she asked for, and was overall satisfied that she was getting on with being a Princess, whatever that entailed, and not getting in the way of the smooth operation of the kingdom.

However, when Princess Rosie reached her teenage years, it began to dawn on those around her that the shy young girl was going to turn into a stunning young woman. Suddenly the nobility of every nearby kingdom, and some from quite far away, were making state visits, to discuss treaties that didn't need discussion, arrange matters that didn't need arranging, and keep up diplomatic relations which had been quite diplomatic enough already. And of course, the various nobles brought their teenage sons with them, and while they alternately bored and annoyed the King, their sons would spend time with Princess Rosie...

That they had their eyes on the day when Rosie became of marriageable age, and were hoping to get their bids for her hand in early, wasn't lost on the King, who hadn't remained King simply because his father was likewise. As far as he could see, no good could come of the young noble sons' attempts to court Rosie - whomever she seemed to favour, the others would feel rejected, and the last thing the King wanted was for several of his peers to have resentful sons complaining about his daughter. The Queen, who was rather less mystified by the ways of young girls, and rather more cynical about the quality of the noble sons, suspected Rosie would favour none of them, which would end with all of them being resentful.

So the King, being something of a traditionalist, declared that Princess Rosie would leave the royal castle, and take up residence in a far-off tower, beyond a vast desert, a treacherous swamp, a haunted forest, rugged mountains, and as a final measure to discourage unwelcome visitors, a fire-breathing dragon. Dragon-guarded towers having some precedent in these long-ago times, it was fairly certain that Rosie would reach marriageable age by the time anyone managed to reach her, and that anyone who could overcome the various obstacles would at least have proved himself to value her hand in marriage more than, say, not having to cross deserts, swamps, haunted forests, et cetera, which ruled out most of the noble (and pampered) sons the Queen was most cynical about.

So, having bid his daughter goodbye and seen her sent off, escorted by a contingent of royal knights, and having issued instructions to the royal wizard to find a likely-looking dragon that could be counted on to protect Rosie rather than eat her, the King considered the matter of Rosie's marriage well settled, and returned to running his kingdom.

And so, several years later, we come to a hero. Not a hero in the usual sense of being the character the story is about, and who will embody the virtues it espouses - as will be seen shortly, he's an idiot and won't be around for more than another page or so. More a hero in what may be called the fairy tale layman's sense of the word - a man in armour with a weapon of some kind, and a habit of attacking rare magical animals.

The desert proved to be of little difficulty, for this hero has crossed deserts before, and knows all about oases and using a reliable compass, and especially about keeping his shining armour in a sack and wearing light, breezy robes instead. The swamp was somewhat more difficult, owing to its tendency to swallow carts, which cost him among other provisions his large silver mirror, explaining the somewhat dubious job he's done of shaving lately. The haunted forest was not so bad, owing to his lack of imagination, which put the ghosts and spectres (who, beyond making odd noises and causing weird chills, were fairly well-meaning departed souls) at something of a disadvantage. The mountains, he had to admit, were a pain in the backside, often literally as winding paths proved to be less stable than they appeared, and he had to re-climb several sections after making a rather uncomfortable descent, while his horse waited above and, he suspected, sniggered. And now, the hero has reached the hidden tower of Princess Rosie, resplendent in his shining armour, shield in hand, sword in scabbard, the plumes on his helmet bright in the morning light, and with his silken standard ready to unfurl at the first suspicion that someone was looking at him and needed to be reminded of how heroic he was.