The Valiant Princess

The Valiant Princess

Elijah Oates

No. No no no no no no no no. No.  This is not how it works. The valiant knight is supposed to save the princess. Nobody ever heard of a valiant princess saving a knight. It was just wrong. Against the code. Uncouth. Yet here I stand, a knight stolen of his valor. Sure, I had been taken by a dragon, that in and of itself is not exactly storybook. But I would have escaped. Eventually. I swear it. I mean, how hard can it be to free yourself from chains no thicker than a unicorn’s horn? And it certainly is not that difficult to break through a door, run down some stairs, and slaughter a massive dragon. Simple really.

But no, she did not even give me the chance. By my tally, via scratch marks on the wall, she had arrived exactly seven years after I had been taken. Not even King Arthur would be able to escape that quickly. I had been lying in full armor on my humble, three legged bed, in my humble, triangular room, that crowns the dragon’s not so humble, slightly lopsided tower. I was just about to give another mighty tug on my chains when I heard some ruckus. I stopped to listen for a moment, noting the panic in the dragon’s constant roar. A few bursts of fire streaked past the triangular window opposite me, and the corner of a flapping wing briefly came into view. I thought the thing was merely arguing with itself, a common occurrence among dragons I hear.

I ignored the commotion and refocused on removing my manacles. I was close to success, I really was. And then, all of a sudden, the hypotenuse of my triangle shaped room fell over. After coughing up copious amounts of dust and blinking away a few stray swirls of smoke, I beheld.

Now, I have beheld many things before, not the least of which a silhouetted horseman riding off into the sunset, his sword held aloft. That definitely was not me. I would never behold myself. Really.

I save the act of beholding for the right occasion. One does not simply behold a mule. One beholds a unicorn, or the like. I do not, then, say this lightly. The scene that unfolded before my eyes in that slightly lopsided tower was most certainly behold-worthy.

 It was the dragon. He had seemingly crashed into his own tower and died. I was quite confused, all chained up on my three legged bed. There was an awkward silence between me and the dead dragon. I did not exactly know what to say. Then the dragon’s head twitched. It twitched again. The dead dragon proceeded to open its mouth, wide, as though it were yawning. Lo and behold, a princess crawled out of the mouth. I say she was a princess, but in truth, it would be better to say she was a blood-soaked princess. Her once pink dress was drenched red. I guessing killing a dragon whilst inside said dragon’s mouth will do that to a girl. She stood, straightened her pointed pink hat atop her impressively long blonde hair, and gave a small wave.

“Uhm, hi,” she said through a blush, “I am here to rescue you.”

I stared at her. I had never been rescued before. It was a rather uncomfortable process so far.

“Oh, uhm, I found this. I think it’s yours,” she said as she reached back down into the dragon’s mouth and pulled out a gore-stained sword. “You can have it back; I’m quite finished with it.”

I stared some more.

“Ah, right, the chains.” She took a step or two forward, raised my sword-knocking her hat askew once again-and broke through the chains in one swift swipe. I did not flinch. Really.

Once I was free of my shackles, the princess handed me my sword. I took it gingerly, not wishing to touch any dragon flesh that was along for the ride. The princess pulled me to my feet and stepped back over to the dragon head.

“Uhm, this way to freedom,” she said, another blush rising, her hands swaying awkwardly at her sides.

I attempted to take a step. It did not work. Seven years on a three legged bed is not good for balance apparently. I proceeded to collapse, face-planting onto the stone floor, breaking my nose and denting my helmet. I puffed a sigh. I really was not good at being rescued.

“Would you like some help?” This time I could hear the blush in her words.

“No, no, just give me a moment,” I replied with a nasally, muffled voice.

After more than a few moments had passed, and I had made no visible progress toward standing, I amended my original statement.

“Yes.”

The princess was soon carrying me, baby style, down the back of a dragon. The dragon had been nice enough to die in the perfect position, so that it now functioned as a rather scaly staircase down to the ground. Moments more found me on the back of a horse. It was a four legged horse with a dazzling white coat and an equally bright mane. The princess had mounted in front of me, my arms around her waist. It was all terribly backwards and confusing.

Alas, here I sit, upon that same horse, behind that same princess. She is a pretty one at least, all blonde hair and blue eyes. The sun is setting now; the horizon is calling it back home. What an image we must be; a valiant princess and a freshly rescued knight, riding together off into the sunset. That is something I would not mind beholding. Really.