Knight Terrors

By Pixis

            The wedding of the elven prince Valaran of Arrovia to the fay princess Fionnula of the Aes Sidhe was proving to be a magnificent event. There were envoys and dignitaries from each of the ten kingdoms of Kyra-Nahtan. People had come from every corner of the continent to celebrate the union of these two great houses.

            Among those invited was Sir Melvinar of Keelah, Knight of the Fair Peoples. He and his entourage were there representing the Wee Folk, the smaller races of the fay kingdom. He cut a handsome figure with his silver armor, short-cropped brown hair, and filmy, insect-like wings that glistened in the torchlight. His appearance went completely unnoticed, however. At a mere two inches tall, Sir Melvinar was one of the smallest of the guests. The towering and bizarre creatures that now surrounded him were overwhelming to the little faerie. He craned back his head and gazed up at them in awe.

There were tall, beautiful elves of Arrovia, hosting the event from their royal palace. Regal human nobles of Lornak brushed elbows with frog-like vodyanoys from the marshlands of Zenndhi and snake-tailed nagas from the desert of Snaheek. Gnomes from the subterranean realm of Eequitiquia shielded their eyes from the light of the surface world with special glasses. Fierce barbarians of Thraka nervously eyed a company of orcs and goblins from Salamar, each faction observing an uneasy truce. A mermaid princess from the Solarian Sea was carried into the hall in an over-sized fishbowl by gill-men servants. There was even an Earthborn giantess from one of the clans of Gabroogna. Crouched outside the palace, she could merely observe through an upper-floor window, her huge blue eye filling it completely.

            “By the gods,” Melvinar muttered, watching the gigantic beings that filled the hall. “Have you ever seen such a spectacle?”

            “There are many strange folk beyond Keelah’s borders,” said Lord Kerrigan, Keelah’s royal ambassador. The robe-clad faerie adjusted his tiny spectacles. “I’ve rarely seen them all gathered in one place though.”

            “Look out!” cried Ewan, Melvinar’s young squire. A vast shadow had eclipsed the little faeries.

Sir Melvinar and his retinue quickly scurried to the side as an elf-maiden strode past. A huge, booted foot crashed down upon the spot where they had previously stood, and the ground shook ominously with her passing. Little Ewan (the smallest of the group at an inch and a half tall) cowered closer to his master. Sir Melvinar put a reassuring hand on the boy’s shoulder.

“Follow me, lads!” the fay knight ordered. The faeries spread their wings and took to the air, away from the tromping feet of the arriving guests. They hovered now at eye level to be more noticeable.

“Bloody hell,” Ewan cursed under his breath. “She almost stepped on us! Don’t these people ever look where they’re going?”

“The world is a dangerous place, youngster,” Lord Kerrigan admonished him. “Especially for us. Come, my friends, let us find others closer to our stature.”

“Egad,” exclaimed Melvinar, getting a better look at the woman who’d nearly squashed them. “I know that elf!”

The lady elf had long, black hair with a streak of striking green. Sharply pointed ears poked out from behind her tresses. She was dressed in a puffy-sleeved white shirt covered by a burgundy jerkin decorated with filigreed leaf-like buttons. An ample figure strained to escape this garment and the collar of her shirt was scandalously low. Unlike many of the finely-dressed ladies in the hall, the elf knight wore dark trousers and hunting boots. She had a rough-and-tumble appearance and a boisterous laugh that could be heard over the din of the wedding guests.

“Lady Viridia!” Melvinar called excitedly. In truth, he had long harbored a crush on this statuesque elf. Her dazzling looks and lively personality had left quite an impression on him during past knightly campaigns. As he flew towards her, a trail of shimmery dust was left in his wake.

“Sir Melvinar, wait!” Lord Kerrigan said. “Don’t wander off! It’s not safe here!” The knight wasn’t listening, however.

The elf-maid turned as she heard a small, squeaky voice calling her name. Her beautiful face lit up at once.

“Mel!” she cried. Instantly, she broke into a run, arms open wide. In moments, she collided with the floating faerie and wrapped him in a bear hug. The tiny Melvinar was completely enveloped by the elf’s massive arms and found himself squeezed tightly against her prodigious bosom.

“Friend of yours?” asked Viridia’s companion, a vodyanitsa (or frog-woman) of Zenndhi. Unlike the ugly, amphibian-faced males of the vodyanoy species, the vodyanitsas had a more human-like appearance, save for their green skin and algae-like hair. Like Viridia, she seemed a bit underdressed, as her curvy green form was clad in only a two-piece loincloth of animal skins.

Viridia released her grip and let her arms fall to her sides. “He’s a comrade-in-arms!” she said. “Sir Melvinar and I fought together at—say, where’d he go?”

The elf looked about, but Melvinar had seemingly vanished. After a moment, a minuscule head popped up out of Viridia’s capacious cleavage. The little faerie got one arm and one leg free and tried awkwardly to pull himself out of his entrapment. His ticklish squirming attracted the elf knight’s attention, and she glanced down at her chest with a smirk

“Um…a little help, my lady?” Melvinar called up to her, his face blushing a deep crimson.

Viridia laughed heartily, sending an earthquake-like tremor through Melvinar’s surroundings. The huge hills of flesh that imprisoned him quivered violently. Melvinar lost his grip and tumbled backwards down into the depths. By now both the elf and her friend were cracking up at the little man’s predicament.

“Like I was saying,” Viridia continued, unfazed, “Mel and I fought side by side during an uprising of undead revenants on the borders of Salamar. This was back in the old days under the Necromancer, before the Blistering Lands came under new management and—”

“Are you just going to leave him in there?” the vodyanitsa asked with a smile.

“Oh, right,” Viridia realized. “I guess I should help the little fella.”

The elf lowered two fingers into her decolletage to retrieve the faerie. After searching for a moment, Viridia frowned. She lowered her hand deeper, feeling around for her miniature friend.

“Now, where has he got to? Don’t get lost in there, Mel!”

Viridia finally yanked the flustered faerie out of her bosom and released him into the air. Melvinar swooped about unsteadily as he regained his bearings. Beside them, the frog-woman watched the tiny, winged creature avidly. Suddenly, a long pink tongue burst forth and caught Melvinar in mid-air. The tongue retracted, pulling the faerie into the vodyanitsa’s mouth.

Viridia gasped. “Grenda, let him go!” she exclaimed. “He’s a guest, not an appetizer!”

The frog-woman’s cheeks were puffed out slightly from her new catch and a look of embarrassment crossed her face. Sheepishly, Grenda spat the faerie into the palm of her webbed, green hand.

“Sorry, force of habit!” she stammered. “My apologies, Sir Melvinar. Instincts and all that, it’s hard to control ‘em sometimes.” She handed the now slimy and wet faerie over to Viridia, who wiped him off with a corner of her shirt.

            The little knight lay there in the elf-maid’s palm, stunned. He shook himself, trying to recover from being nearly stepped on, smothered, and eaten in quick succession. He hadn’t expected a wedding reception to be quite so perilous.

            Just then, a royal elven herald stepped into the hall and announced that the ceremony was about to begin. The guests began making their way into the chapel located in an adjoining room. The ground rumbled as the Earthborn giantess outside shifted position to find another window.

            “C’mon, Mel,” Viridia said. “You can sit with me!”

            The faerie sat up nervously in her hand. “Er, I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he admitted. “I should probably join the other Wee Folk in the reserved section.”

            Through the chapel doors, he could see a special balcony that had been cordoned off for the Wee Folk. Numerous faeries, pixies, brownies, and leprechauns were sitting in doll-sized chairs a safe distance from the other guests. Though Princess Fionnula was of the human-sized fay known as the Aes Sidhe, her family was used to hosting events with guests of many sizes.

            “Nonsense!” Viridia insisted. She closed her fist suddenly around Melvinar’s body, eliciting a small squeak from the faerie. “You’ll be safe with me! It’s been ages and I want to spend time with my favorite little warrior.”

            Melvinar chose not to protest further. He greatly enjoyed Viridia’s company and would not object to spending time with her. In fact, his heart was beating faster, and his face flushed at the prospect. In the back of his mind, his fay instincts warned of potential danger, but he ignored them.

Viridia carried him into the chapel and took a seat on the groom’s side. Carefully, she placed the faerie on her shoulder. Melvinar sat on the silken material of her shirt, a dark curtain of elven locks at his back.

            An elf druid in a hooded robe stepped up to the altar and the wedding ceremony began. The druid was saying something about the power of love and the blessings of the Earth-Mother, but Melvinar was barely listening. His perch on Viridia’s shoulder gave him quite a view down the front of her shirt. The faerie couldn’t help but stare at the enormous hill-like breasts below. He imagined diving down between them again, like the earlier mishap in the hall. But such behavior was unbecoming of a knight. With effort, Melvinar pulled his eyes away from Viridia’s charms and watched the bride and groom walking down the aisle.

            They were a lovely couple, there could be no doubt. Prince Valaran was a handsome young man (well, young by elven standards so he was only about a hundred and fifty years old). His earnest nervousness was endearing. Princess Fionnula was tall and elf-like in appearance as well, save for her light blue skin and platinum white hair. Her wedding veil extended into a long train of gossamer fabric, the ends of which were carried by tiny sprites floating behind her.

            When the wedding was concluded, the guests were escorted to a vast banquet hall where a celebratory feast had been prepared (the Earthborn was of course unable to join them, but several carts of food were being rolled out for her by elven servants). Once again, a special section had been reserved for the Wee Folk in a corner of the hall, where they had their own miniature table on a raised platform. Melvinar was about to excuse himself when Viridia made a beeline for the larger table, forcing the faerie to grab hold of her shirt, lest he tumble off the back of her shoulder.

The elf sat down and set her faerie friend on the table beside her. Viridia scooped up a few miniature portions of each item on her plate and set them on a napkin nearby for him. She then began to dig into the meal with gusto.

            “So, tell me, Mel,” she mumbled, biting into a chicken leg, “how’s life been treatin’ ya? Been in any good battles recently?”

            Melvinar tried to answer but found himself staring at the elf-maiden’s mouth as she chewed. Watching the Big Folk eat was always an unnerving experience. He saw chunks of chicken meat as large as him vanishing through Viridia’s lips. He could see the movement of her enormous jaws and heard the magnified sounds of mastication within. When the elf swallowed, Melvinar watched a lump travel down her huge trunk-like throat. The faerie suppressed a shiver.

            “Eh? What was that? Battles?” he sputtered. “No, things have been quiet in Keelah these days.”

            Unaware of the effect she was having on her tiny friend, Viridia scooped up a dinner roll that (from Melvinar’s perspective) was the size of a wagon. This too was thrust into her ravenous mouth and promptly chewed to bits. Melvinar looked away nervously. He picked up a green pea with both hands and began to nibble on it.

            “Hey, you know what we need? Drinks!” Viridia said, flagging down an elven serving girl. “An ale for me and a wine for my little friend here. In one of those faerie-sized glasses please. You still like Arrovian red, don’t you, Mel?”

            The servant looked down at the tiny faerie by Viridia’s elbow. “Er, would your friend not be more comfortable at the Wee Folk table, madam?” she asked.

            Viridia scowled. “He’s fine where he is! We’re old friends!”

            The servant complied with the request and soon returned with a wooden tankard of ale for the elf and a tiny wine flute that looked like it came from a dollhouse set. She grasped this gingerly and handed it to the faerie, trying not to spill the droplet of red wine within.

            As the evening passed, the wedding guests continued to drink and carouse and celebrate. The libations flowed freely, and the guests became a little rowdy. Viridia had consumed quite a few ales by now, to the point that even her enhanced elven constitution was feeling the effects. Melvinar had found his way back up to her shoulder and was drinking from his faerie-sized glass (which had by now received several refills).

            Across the table from them, a dark-haired Thrakan barbarian in a cloak of animal hide had lifted a large drinking horn to his lips. He was attempting to down it all in one go. The other guests cheered him on enthusiastically, pounding the table and chanting “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Viridia had joined them and the vibrations of her fists slamming onto the tabletop were making Melvinar feel unsteady on his perch. The numerous glasses of wine he had drunk were not helping matters. He swayed back and forth uneasily, watching the room around him start to spin.

            The burly human finally emptied the drinking horn, prompting the guests to cheer and applaud. Viridia jumped to her feet excitedly, hollering loudly with hands over her head. Melvinar felt the muscles of her shoulder shift below him, and the inebriated faerie finally lost his balance. He pitched off Viridia’s shoulder headfirst and began to fall.

            Under normal circumstances, a faerie would simply spread their wings and take to the sky after such a tumble. But Melvinar was drunk as a skunk and his reflexes were not at their best. He careened wildly downward before landing with a plop in a tankard of ale. Viridia was too busy shouting and congratulating the Thrakan to take any notice.

            The barbarian set down the horn and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. He cocked an eyebrow and gave the elf-maid a look of playful challenge.

            “Your turn, lassie,” he said.

            “You’re on, Ragnar!” she answered, reaching for her drink.

            In the wooden mug below, Melvinar burst through the surface of the ale, coughing and sputtering. He looked around in confusion, trying to determine what had happened. Just then, he felt the tankard being lifted and the ale around him shift and splash. The faerie looked upward and saw the underside of Viridia’s lovely face through the round opening of the mug. Melvinar smiled drunkenly. No doubt she would tease him for his ridiculous mishap. He was mildly alarmed when the mug began to tilt and the view above became only a pair of huge pink lips. These parted suddenly with an audible smack and the pool of ale began to flow towards them.

            “Okay, Viridia, this isn’t funny,” the faerie knight said. “Let me out of here!” But his voice was drowned out by the repeated calls of “Chug!” from the wedding guests.

            The mug tilted further until it was practically vertical. Ale was flowing swiftly into the vast, gaping mouth below him. Through the gateway of those blushing lips, Melvinar could see only a terrifying darkness. His instincts finally kicked in and the faerie began to panic. He spun around and tried to swim against the downward current. His wings beat furiously but were too wet and bedraggled to be of any use.

            “Viridia, stop!” he called desperately.

            The flood of ale swept him ever onwards, past the elf-maid’s lips and over a row of huge, boulder-like teeth. Melvinar slid across Viridia’s tongue, a massive writhing muscle that was larger than he was. In his peripheral vision, he saw more of those intimidating white boulders fly past him. But his focus was on what lay ahead. A vast, dark cavern loomed before him with a river of ale tumbling into it like a waterfall. Overhead, a slick, pink uvula dangled like some horrible bat-like creature on the roof of a cave. More ale flowed into Viridia’s mouth, and a powerful wave carried Melvinar over the precipice and into the elf’s throat.

            In a single mighty gulp, Viridia swallowed the mouthful of ale and the tiny faerie within it. Unaware of her little friend’s plight, she sent him tumbling down her gullet, alive and screaming. The elf slammed the empty tankard back onto the table to the uproarious cheers of the crowd.

* * *

            Melvinar felt himself being pulled downward through a slippery, wet tunnel. The slick walls of muscle pressed inward around him, squeezing his body painfully. Waves of peristalsis sent him down the elf’s esophagus and forced him through a tight sphincter into a larger chamber. The little knight landed with a splash in a slurry of ale and partially digested foodstuffs. He sat up awkwardly in the muck. The air around him was foul-smelling and oppressively humid.

            The reality of Melvinar’s situation finally hit him. He had been swallowed alive. He was trapped inside Viridia’s belly like nothing more than an hors d'oeuvre. His pointed faerie ears were nearly overwhelmed by the thunderous groans and gurgles of the elf’s stomach and the steady rhythm of her heartbeat somewhere above.

Rather than being in darkness, he saw that the cavernous chamber was lit by a faint, eerie green light. Elves were creatures of magic and as such their bodies were infused with mana, a wellspring of supernatural energy. They called upon this power when casting spells or working their miraculous crafts. Melvinar had never realized the effect this energy had on their internal organs. Though he presumed that few individuals had ever seen an elf from the inside.

            It wasn’t a particularly pretty sight. The walls of the stomach were wrinkly and pink (with a sickly greenish tint from the mana glow) and occasionally pulsated with movement. All around him, he could feel the huge belly churn as it prepared to digest its meal.

            “Viridia, let me out!” Melvinar bellowed. He threw himself against a slimy wall of flesh and began to pound on it ineffectually.

“Gods damn it, woman, you bloody ate me!”

            He recalled Viridia’s words to her friend Grenda about faeries not being appetizers. How ironic that it was the elf and not the frog-woman who had consumed him. They’d surely laugh about that later once he got out of here. If he got out of here.

            He needed a plan. Melvinar ran through a mental checklist of the spells he knew. Nothing involving teleportation or portals through space unfortunately. A more violent spell used for offense would do damage to Viridia’s innards. And the chivalrous knight had no wish to cause her harm, even if his own life was imperiled.

At last, he recalled something useful from his training. The knight began to mutter an incantation while making signs and symbols in the air with his hands. His body began to faintly glow as he called upon his own reserve of mana. Melvinar could feel an aura of power surrounding him. This would shield him against Viridia’s digestive acids until he could find a way to escape.

As one of the smallest races of Kyra-Nahtan, faeries were prepared for eventualities like being eaten by a larger creature. Of course, he had never expected to use this spell against a woman that he harbored feelings for. What could one say? Love is strange.

Now that the immediate threat of digestion was handled, Melvinar slightly relaxed. He sat down in a corner of the chamber and contemplated his next move. The warm, bubbling liquid now reached his chest, and he could feel the stomach wall undulating behind him. In truth, it was almost soothing, like sitting in a hot tub and getting a back massage at the same time. For the moment, Viridia’s belly seemed quite welcoming. In a bizarre way, Melvinar felt closer to her than he ever had before. There was something strangely intimate about actually being inside the woman he loved.

            This romantic fantasy was not to last, however, for the enormous belly suddenly began to spasm. The walls contracted and the chamber seemed to heave upwards violently. The faerie was bounced about, along with spurts of liquid and food particles. The knight ricocheted off the ceiling and careened from one stomach wall to the next like a small, armored pinball.

            “Oof! Ahh! What the deuce is going on?” he shouted.

* * *

            What seemed like a massive upheaval for the faerie was a mere nuisance for the elf. Back in the outside world, Viridia had caught the hiccups. She had gulped down her ale too quickly, swallowing several mouthfuls of air (as well as a small, bewildered knight) in the process. Her torso shook with each involuntary spasm. This had a rather interesting effect on her ample chest, which was bouncing along with her. The men at the table couldn’t help but stare.

            Viridia scowled at them. “*HIC* Paint a picture, boys, it’ll last longer,” she said in annoyance. “Can one of you be useful and *HIC* pass me some water?”

            “I gotcha, girl,” said Grenda. Her long, sticky tongue shot across the table and latched onto a water pitcher. It retracted just as quickly, pulling the pitcher towards her—and knocking over various cups, mugs, saltshakers, and candle arrangements in the process. She caught the pitcher in her webbed hand, but the sudden stop caused the water to splash all over the naga prince from Snaheek seated just to her right.

            “Oh, I say!” the prince exclaimed. From the waist up he resembled an ordinary (if now rather damp) man with chestnut brown skin, a fancy tunic, and an elaborate turban. But in place of legs, he had the tail of a cobra. The naga reared up on his snake tail, bared his fangs, and hissed.

“How dare you, you uncultured amphibian?!” The prince’s naga servants were soon slithering up to him hastily to dry his garments with their napkins.

            “Whoops,” Grenda said, blushing a deeper green. “Sorry, pal.”

            “Is that what passes for manners in that backwater swamp you call a country?” the naga demanded.

            Now it was the frog-woman’s turn to be angry. “That’s my home you’re talking about, you overgrown snake in the grass!”

            Viridia put a hand to her forehead and shook her head. “Oh, lords above…*HIC* Can someone pass me some water *HIC* without causing an international incident?”

            A human noblewoman finally poured a glass of water and passed it down the line to the elf. Viridia lifted it quickly to her lips.

            “*HIC* Much obliged,” she said and began to drink it down.

* * *

            Throughout this conversation, the violent hiccups had bounced Melvinar about in the elf’s belly. Her vast abdomen heaved around him each time, rattling his entire world. His body was bruised from being repeatedly tossed around inside that glowing organic prison. At last, things came to a stop and the faerie splashed facedown into the pool of ale. He was just picking himself back up when he heard the sound of rushing water overhead.

The sphincter above expanded, and a torrential downpour plummeted into the chamber. Melvinar was swept off his feet and swirled around in the resulting whirlpool. The belly churned and roiled as the level of the liquid slurry rose higher. The faerie was pulled under and flailed about wildly, uncertain which way was up. Finally, the monsoon ceased, and the water calmed. Melvinar broke through the surface and gasped for air.

The level of water, ale, and liquefied dinner had risen dramatically and Melvinar realized he could no longer feel the floor of the chamber with his feet. The fay knight was now treading water, trying to keep his head above the surface. Guided by the faint green glow, he swam over to a chunk of undigested bread and clung to it like a life raft. He was uncertain how long his spell of protection would last and feared what might happen if the elf ate or drank anything else.

“Damn it, Viridia,” he screamed. “I don’t want to die in here!”

* * *

            Unbeknownst to Sir Melvinar, his hostess was attempting to keep the peace in the banquet hall. Viridia was standing between Grenda and the naga prince, who were still arguing rather loudly.

            “I won’t stand for this insult,” the snake-man spat.

            “You won’t stand in general. You don’t have any legs!” Grenda shot back.

            “The audacity! I could have you clapped in irons!”

            “Look, can we all just calm down?” Viridia asked.

            “No, I won’t calm down!” said Grenda. “He insulted my homeland! He called Zenndhi a backwater swamp!”

            “I will not be calm either!” the naga insisted. “This contemptible toad just assaulted me!”

            “With all due respect, your highness,” said Viridia, “she spilled some water on you. You’re not going to melt.”

            “The insolence!” thundered the naga, “Don’t you know who I am? I am Phangenotep II, Crown Prince of Snaheek! Lord of the Boundless Desert! No one speaks to me like that!”

            “Right! That’s quite enough of that!”

Everyone turned to see that Princess Fionnula had descended from the raised dais where the bride and groom had been seated. She was now standing beside the table and looking positively furious. The fay-woman had a fearsome scowl on her lovely face and her slender blue arms were crossed in front of her chest.

            “All of you will sit down and behave this instant! This is my wedding day, gods blast it, and you will not ruin this for me! Do you hear me? You will not ruin my special day!”

            A cold wind swept through the hall as she spoke, dousing the candles and torches. The room was darkened, save for the purple glow of mystic energy that began to encircle the princess in swirling tendrils. Her eyes were lit by eldritch fire, and she seemed to grow twice, then three times as tall, towering above the guests.

“Everything is going to be perfect and wonderful and we’re all going to have a bloody good time! IS THAT CLEAR?!!”

Shocked back to their senses, Grenda, Viridia, and Prince Phanganotep quickly took their seats. The chatter in the hall ceased as all the guests cowered obediently in their chairs. The Aes Sidhe were one of the most powerful races in Kyra-Nahtan, a demi-god-like race of pure magic. Getting on their bad side was not advisable.

Satisfied, Fionnula shrank back to her normal proportions and the maelstrom of energy dissipated. The eerie darkness abated as torches sprang to life and candles on the tabletop lit by themselves. Once again, the fay princess took on the demeanor of the sweet and blushing bride.

“Much better,” she said with a winsome smile. “Now let’s all have a grand time, yes? Oh goody, here comes the dessert cart!”

“Whew,” said Viridia. “That’s more than enough excitement for me. What about you, Mel?”

The elf glanced at her shoulder and finally noticed that her miniature friend was missing.

“Mel? Now where’s he got to this time?”

Viridia looked around the tabletop but saw no sign of the faerie. She tugged at the collar of her shirt and peered inside suspiciously.

“Oi, Mel! You in there? C’mon, ya little perv, quit hiding!”

Grenda looked at her friend in confusion. “Problem?”

“Have you seen Sir Mel?” Viridia asked.

The vodyanitsa went wide-eyed and held up her webbed hands. “I haven’t touched him, I swear!”

Viridia chuckled. “Relax, I’m not accusing you. Besides you were too busy arguing with his royal nibs over there.”

She shot a glare at Prince Phangenotep, who was unhinging and extending his snake-like jaw to swallow a whole cake.

“I guess Mel must have been frightened by the princess’s outburst,” Viridia reasoned. “Probably hightailed it to the Wee Folk section. I’ll catch up with him later.”

As the dessert cart approached, the elf’s eyes shot open excitedly.

“Ooh, creampuffs!” she said. “I love these!” Viridia grabbed a handful of the small pastries and began to stuff them into her mouth one by one. She wolfed them down hungrily, barely pausing to chew.

* * *

            Still floating on his makeshift dinner roll raft, Melvinar looked up to see the sphincter open once more. Large chunks of pastry bread and custard began to rain down into Viridia’s belly. They splashed into the water violently like fallen meteors, causing ripples and waves. The sea on which he floated became unsteady and his “boat” bobbed up and down roughly. The faerie clung more tightly to his raft, trying not to be thrown off.

The water level rose once more and Melvinar’s head was now dangerously close to the ceiling of the stomach. He wondered if he could pry open the gate above him and fly back up Viridia’s esophagus to freedom. Desperately, he paddled his way towards the sphincter. As it opened to admit another glob of custard, Melvinar grasped the edges and forced his way upward into the tunnel above. He had managed to shove his upper torso into the lower esophagus, but he could feel the valve attempting to close around his waist. Melvinar began to flap his wings with all his might. Unfortunately, they were still too wet to be of use.

High above him, he heard an ominous, echoing gulp. Within moments, a huge creampuff came tumbling down the tunnel. It was nearly intact with only a few small bites taken from its edges, and it was barreling directly towards him. The pastry projectile was forced swiftly downward and slammed into Melvinar’s head. The faerie was carried with it back into the stomach chamber where he splashed once more into the roiling waters. Melvinar kicked and sputtered and fought his way back to the surface.

“No! I was so close!” he wailed in frustration.

As he grabbed hold of his dinner roll raft once more, he realized that he was wearing half of the creampuff on his head like a helmet. In anger, he yanked it off and tossed it into the murky sea below. Custard ran down Melvinar’s face, obscuring his vision, and he did his best to wipe it off. By now, the bread beneath him had begun to absorb more of the water and ale and he realized his raft was sinking.

Several loud thuds could be heard outside the chamber’s walls and the world seemed to vibrate with them violently. After a moment of confusion, Melvinar realized this was Viridia patting her belly. Another round of vibrations shook the faerie loose and he slipped off the rapidly dissolving chunk of bread and tumbled into the water.

* * *

            Viridia sat back in her chair and patted her tummy with satisfaction. “Ahhh,” she sighed contentedly. “That hit the spot.”

            A long, low belch issued from the elf-maiden’s mouth.

            “Excuse me,” she said. “Felt like something was trying to come back up for a moment.”

            “Gross,” said Grenda, wrinkling her nose.

            “Says the girl who swims all day in algae and pond scum,” Viridia teased.

            “Hey, it does wonders for the skin!”

            “I suppose I should figure out where Mel disappeared to,” said the elf, after downing the last of her ale. “I’ll go check at the Wee Folk table.”

            Viridia pushed her chair back and stood up. She stumbled slightly and grasped the edge of the table for support. Apparently, she was a little tipsy from the ale.

“Whoa, you okay?” asked Grenda. “You’re looking a bit worse for wear. Want me to come with you?”

            “Better not,” Viridia said. “Wouldn’t want your instincts being tempted by a table-full of little bug-winged people.”

            “Good call,” Grenda agreed. “Wow, can you imagine if one of the wedding guests got eaten? Princess Fionnula would have a fit!”

            Viridia made her way towards the corner of the banquet hall reserved for the Wee Folk. She stumbled drunkenly a few times on the way, still feeling the after-effects of the many ales she had consumed. The elf was also beginning to feel a sense of discomfort in her guts, almost like her dinner was fighting back. She gently rubbed her belly. Maybe she should have gone easy on those creampuffs.

            When she arrived at the Wee Folk section, she found it was cordoned off by a velvet rope supported by metal stanchions. This was of course for the Little People’s protection at a gathering with guests of different sizes. Normally, there would have been an elven guard posted nearby as a bouncer as well, but it looked as though he was on break. In her inebriated state, Viridia scoffed at the barrier and hoisted a leg over the rope.

            As the elf approached the Wee Folk table on its platform, her footsteps sent vibrations through the surrounding area. Tiny plates and silverware rattled, and several drinks were spilled. The nervous Wee Folk bounced slightly in their chairs as the colossal elf drew closer. Finally, she stood directly beside the platform, towering over the diminutive guests and casting a dark shadow across the table.

            The platform was about level with Viridia’s waist, which now seemed like a vast wall to the Little People below. Unknown to any in attendance, they were mere inches from Sir Melvinar’s prison inside the elf’s body. Only a few layers of fabric and flesh separated them from their hapless comrade inside that gargantuan belly.

            Viridia smiled as she looked down at the sea of tiny faces. There were winged sprites and faeries similar to her friend Mel, as well as wingless pixies that looked like miniature versions of her own elvish race. There were dusky-skinned brownies wearing tunics made of mouse fur and leprechauns clad all in green with fancy surcoats and tall hats.

            She knew that the smaller races of Kyra-Nahtan found it condescending when people cooed over them or referred to them as “cute.” But Viridia was just drunk enough that she didn’t care.

            “Awww,” the elf-maid sighed. “Aren’t you all just precious?” She placed her hands on her knees and bent down to get a better look at them. Numerous tiny eyes widened at the view this afforded them down her low-cut top. Still, the elf’s presence was concerning, and her intentions were unclear.

            Lord Kerrigan, the faerie ambassador, stood up from his place at the table and cleared his throat pointedly. “*Ahem* Can we help you with something, my lady? This section is reserved for Wee Folk only.”

            Kerrigan was standing directly below Viridia and the elf discovered that her ample bust was obscuring her view of whoever was speaking. She looked about in confusion then decided to kneel beside the platform for a better view. The Wee Folk gasped as her body suddenly descended like a collapsing mountain. When she dropped to her knees, another powerful tremor shook the table, spilling several guests from their chairs.

            Viridia’s massive face was now directly in front of Lord Kerrigan, filling his line of vision like a billboard. The ambassador could feel the elf’s warm breath (smelling strongly of ale) wash over him and ruffle his hair and garments. He gulped slightly, trying to summon his courage and meet the giant woman’s gaze.

            “There, that’s better,” said Viridia. “Sorry to bother you folks. I’m just looking for a friend of mine. Goes by Mel. Sir Melvinar of Keelah.”

            The drunken elf suddenly burped involuntarily right in Lord Kerrigan’s face. The little faerie coughed a few times and tried to fan the air around him as he was caught in the miasma of her breath.

            “Oops. Pardon me,” Viridia said with embarrassment.

            “We’ve not seen Sir Melvinar all evening,” Lord Kerrigan finally answered when he had recovered. “The last that we saw of him, he was with you in fact.”

            The young squire Ewan jumped up from the table and flew to Kerrigan’s side. He pointed accusingly at the elven giantess.

            “That’s right!” he yelled in a high squeaky voice. “You had him! What have you done with him, you towering temptress?!”

            Viridia squinted her eyes, trying to focus on the tiny faerie lad. From her perspective, he was barely more than an inch tall. Still, there was something familiar about him.

            “Hey, I know you!” Viridia exclaimed. She reached out suddenly and snatched Ewan off the platform. The faerie shrieked and his wings flapped rapidly but he was held firmly between the elf-maiden’s thumb and forefinger. She lifted him closer to her face to get a better look at the boy. So close in fact that Ewan could see his reflection in the vitreous fluid of the elf’s eye.

            “I remember now!” said Viridia. “You’re Mel’s squire! How’s it going, little man?”

            “Let go of me!” Ewan bellowed. He fought and squirmed and twisted in the elf’s grip but her huge fingers were simply too strong. “Let go, you giant brute!”

            Several of the Wee Folk were now standing beside the table, taking offensive positions. Weapons were forbidden in the banquet hall, but the little warriors were preparing magical attacks. Their arms were outstretched, and orbs of mystic energy began to form around their hands. Lord Kerrigan stepped forward hurriedly. He knew he had to act fast before this turned into a battle—one where the enormous elf knight would have a decided advantage.

            “My lady!” he called out to her. “Please release the boy at once!”

            “Hmm?” Viridia was confused at first but then looked at the furiously squirming little creature between her fingers. He did not look happy.

            “Aw, sorry, little guy,” she said. “I sometimes forget how scary we ‘Big Folk’ can be. I promise I’m nice. Honest!”

The elf-maid leaned forward, puckered her lips, and gave Ewan a quick peck on the cheek—or more accurately on his entire face due to their size disparity. The lad was almost enveloped completely by Viridia’s lips, and he feared that she meant to slurp him up. But it lasted only a moment before she pulled away. She then opened her fingers and allowed Ewan to fly back to the platform fearfully. The youth hid himself behind Lord Kerrigan, peeking out timidly with a face stained red by elvish lipstick.

Viridia placed a hand palm-down on the platform and pushed against it as she stood back up. This forced a nearby leprechaun to stagger backwards, lest he be flattened by her descending fingers. The Wee Folk gasped as the elf rose back to her full height, once again looming above them immensely.

“Look, if you see Mel, let me know,” Viridia said. “I’m worried about him. That little fella always seems to end up in places he doesn’t belong.”

The elf’s stomach suddenly gurgled, a noise that sounded like a cacophony to the Wee Folk who were once again level with her waist. She clutched her belly in surprise and lightly massaged it.

“Oh my,” said Viridia in embarrassment. “Pardon me again. It seems like I ate something that doesn’t agree with me.”

(This was true, in a technical sense. Viridia and Melvinar had often disagreed on matters such as proper conduct for a knight of the realm.)

Viridia turned and stepped once more over the velvet rope. Several of the Wee Folk could not help but stare at the elf-maiden’s titanic backside as she sashayed her way back to the banquet table.

Lord Kerrigan breathed a sigh of relief as she left, then turned to the issue at hand. “It would appear that Sir Melvinar is missing,” he said to Ewan. “This bodes ill.”

* * *

Melvinar treaded in place within the churning waters, coughing and gasping. The voices in the outside world were muffled and distant but he thought perhaps he heard his name mentioned a few times.

“I’m here!” he shouted desperately. “Someone, anyone, I’m here!”

He might have been delirious, but he thought he could even hear Lord Kerrigan’s stuffy baritone just beyond the walls of Viridia’s stomach. The voice of the Keelan ambassador seemed maddeningly close.

“Kerrigan, can you hear me?” the knight began. “I’m—”

Melvinar was thrown off balance as Viridia’s body descended suddenly. He plunged once more under the surface of the swirling liquids. He fought his way upward and tried to swim towards the stomach wall to signal his friends. The knight could feel an updraft of rising gases as Viridia burped. A good portion of his oxygen supply went with that unmaidenly belch and Melvinar now found it a bit difficult to breathe. He did his best to stay conscious, but his vision was fading, and he could feel himself sinking into churning muck.

* * *

It was now the following morning and Lady Viridia stood before the thrones of the prince of Arrovia and his newlywed princess. The little faeries Lord Kerrigan and Ewan were perched upon Viridia’s shoulder. They had reported the disappearance of Sir Melvinar and initiated a search the previous evening but to no avail.

“We regret that there has been no sign of the missing faerie knight,” Prince Valaran informed them. “The guards scoured every corner of the banquet hall, chapel, and surrounding environs but they have turned up nary a clue.”

“It is often thus when one of the Wee Folk goes missing, I’m afraid,” said Princess Fionnula sadly. “They are quite small and vulnerable and subject to any number of calamities. Sir Melvinar could have been crushed beneath a falling object. A wayward wind could have swept him away to parts unknown. Some unsuspecting soul could have trodden or sat upon him. He might even have been lost amid the feast and consumed by one of the guests.”

Ewan gasped at this horrifying image and hid his face in Lord Kerrigan’s robe.

“It was because of these very dangers that we kept the Wee Folk separated in their own section,” the princess continued. “In my homeland of Keelah, we are keenly aware of the perils faced by our smaller citizens, and we have strict rules in place to defend them. Rules which you chose to ignore.”

“You’re right, your highness,” Viridia said, hanging her head. “This is my fault. And I will accept whatever punishment you think fitting.”

Fionnula frowned and looked at the elf with sympathy. “There is no cause to dole out punishment when Sir Melvinar’s fate remains unknown. Consider this a hard-earned lesson in caution. Have more care with the smallest and most defenseless among us, lest disaster befall.”

“That’s it?” asked Ewan incredulously. “You’re not going to punish her? Sir Melvinar’s probably dead because of this elvish oaf! How can that be your decision?!”

Prince Valaran focused on the tiny, inch-and-a-half-tall figure on Viridia’s shoulder. Though Ewan’s voice was barely a squeak, the prince’s keen elvish ears had heard every word.

“Young man, we cannot sentence someone based on presumed crimes alone,” he said. “At present, Sir Melvinar is a missing person. If more evidence can be obtained and Lady Viridia’s negligence is proven to be the cause of his misfortune—”

“It’s your fault!” Ewan shrieked, turning towards Viridia’s massive face. “You killed him, I know it!” The minuscule faerie began to kick impotently at the side of her neck, a vast trunk of a structure which he had no hope of damaging. Though the boy’s kicks were like the lightest of taps, Viridia’s heart sank with each blow.

Lord Kerrigan took hold of Ewan’s arms and tried to pull him back. “Steady on, lad! There’s no need for that. Sir Melvinar is a man grown and capable of his own decisions. He knew the risks of fraternizing with the Big Folk.”

“You don’t care! None of you care!” Ewan insisted. He wriggled out of Kerrigan’s grip and spread his wings. The tiny squire took off from Viridia’s shoulder and swooped around in front of her face. Ewan lighted upon the tip of the elf-maiden’s nose, forcing her to go cross-eyed to see him properly. He pointed angrily at Viridia’s huge eye.

“I will find a way to avenge my master!” the boy declared. “Until then, sleep lightly, elf!”

Ewan took to the air once more and flew from the throne room at great speed. A trail of glowing dust marked his passage and lingered for a few moments before dissipating.

Lord Kerrigan gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll talk to him,” he said, taking to the air. He followed Ewan out of the chamber, albeit flying at a more reasonable pace.

Viridia could feel tears welling up in her eyes. The lad had a point. If something had happened to Mel, the fault was indeed hers. She felt a sickly feeling in her guts as the prince and princess dismissed her from their presence. Viridia lightly massaged her abdomen, feeling as though she would be sick.

* * *

When Melvinar came back to his senses, he noticed that he was no longer in the vast stomach chamber. He seemed to be in a narrower tunnel, one which was squeezing tightly around his body on all sides. The mana glow continued here, illuminating hundreds of long, finger-like tendrils protruding from the walls. With horror, Melvinar realized he had been drawn into Viridia’s intestines. His protective spell had prevented her stomach from breaking him down into smaller components, so her body had simply moved him on to the next part of the digestive system.

            Sir Melvinar had never been a particularly good student, but he tried to recall what the clerics had taught him in anatomy lessons. How long was the intestinal tract? If he remembered correctly, most of the Big Folk races like elves and humans had small intestines of—what was it? Nine to sixteen feet in length? And the large intestine was an additional five to six feet. Yes, that sounded right.

The fay knight began to panic. How long would his protective spell last? What would happen if it wore off while he was making that lengthy journey?

Melvinar could feel the glowing, hair-like villi brushing along the sides of his body. It was an odd, ticklish sensation that was not entirely unpleasant. In fact, as they brushed against his nether regions, the touch was actually quite…stimulating. He shook his head vigorously, trying to cast off this feeling.

“Priorities, Mel!” he thought to himself. “You’re being digested alive. Now is not the time to be turned on!”

The long, glowing villi massaged him as they absorbed nutrients from the food matter accompanying him. The walls continued to squeeze inward tightly as powerful muscle contractions carried him along headfirst. Melvinar had no desire to proceed further through Viridia’s digestive system, nor was he certain if he would survive the experience. And even if he did, he didn’t relish the prospect of escaping through Viridia’s, er…back door. Disgusting imagery flashed through his brain, and he kicked and squirmed with growing terror.

* * *

            Viridia was on the open road, making the return journey to her village now that the wedding was concluded. She had been advised not to leave the kingdom of Arrovia while the investigation into Melvinar’s disappearance was ongoing. Still, the prince and princess had found no cause to detain her in the capital city. The elf had ridden her horse across the countryside for hours, her stomach feeling increasingly sour the whole time. She wasn’t sure if it was something she ate or her overwhelming feeling of guilt that was the culprit. Her carelessness had likely brought Mel to harm, and it was eating her up inside.

Along with her guilt, she now had to worry about little Ewan attempting some ill-fated revenge plot against her. Not that an opponent the size of a housefly was much of a threat, but she could imagine all sorts of ways his attack could go wrong. If he swooped at her suddenly, Viridia might swat the poor lad like a bug before she realized what was happening. If he tried to kill her as she slept, she could easily roll over and crush the boy without knowing it. And then the deaths of two innocent faeries would be on her conscience.

At last, Viridia paused for the night and set up a campfire beside the road. She tried to eat a light dinner of travel rations but hadn’t the appetite for it. The feeling of discomfort in her guts had remained. Instead, she pulled a bottle of whiskey from her satchel and popped it open.

“Here’s to you, Mel. Wherever you are,” she said, raising the bottle in a toast. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I just wanted to spend some time with you, I didn’t think that…no, that’s just it, isn’t it? I didn't think.”

Viridia drank deeply from the bottle. This would probably just make her feel even more sick, but she didn’t care.

* * *

Somewhere in Viridia’s innards, Melvinar was beginning to feel a slight tingling sensation in his skin. His protective spell was definitely wearing off. Unless he did something fast, Viridia’s body was going to break him down and digest him, a process that would no doubt be quite painful. Not to mention fatal.

He tried to recite the incantation once again and make the required hand signals, but he found that his current confines were too constrictive to move his arms. This was bad. Very bad. His only chance was to somehow make his way backwards through the tight organic tunnel and return to the stomach chamber where there was more freedom of movement. Was that even possible? Melvinar was uncertain if that would work but he wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

His first challenge was figuring out how to turn around. He was being carried through the intestines headfirst and it was no easy feat to reverse course. The tunnel was barely wider than his body and his arms were pressed tightly against his sides. The knight did his best to curl into a fetal position. He kicked against the slimy, slippery walls of the intestine, trying to launch himself into a somersault. It took a few attempts and his feet slipped on the squirming surface more than once. But slowly he managed to roll into a ball, turning his whole body around in an awkward circle. Melvinar was now lying on his back, his head facing the direction he had come from. He grabbed handfuls of villi on the ceiling above and began to drag himself backward.

The progress he made was slow for Viridia’s body fought against him every step of the way. The walls of the intestines were still squeezing around him in a vice-like grip and muscular contractions tried to carry him in the intended direction. Every time he made it a few inches, another contraction would grasp him suddenly and undo all his hard work. With effort, Melvinar twisted his body to the side, turning over so that he was lying flat on his stomach. This allowed him to get a better grip on the villi and essentially army-crawl his way back through the tunnel.

It took some time and the path twisted and turned more than he expected. But at last, he was faced by the tight sphincter that separated the intestines from the stomach. Desperately, the faerie clawed at this, trying to pry it open. It wouldn’t budge.

Melvinar laid there in frustration, reflecting on the reality of his situation. Could he even do this? The gate would only open to allow broken-down food into the tunnel and this would likely sweep him away with it. Even if he somehow managed to make it back into the stomach chamber, what then? He could recast the spell but would be faced with the same predicament – how to escape Viridia’s body alive. He could try to signal her to his presence but that hadn’t worked before. He could launch a magical attack on her belly from within but that might just kill them both. Once the protective spell was back in place, he could try to navigate her intestines once more. But the spell would wear off, as it had before, leaving him vulnerable to the digestive acids.

Perhaps he was fighting the inevitable. Perhaps he had no true hope of escape. It might be better to just accept his fate. Allow the spell to fade and let himself be absorbed by Viridia’s body. At least then, a part of him would always be with her. He would become one with the woman he loved, remaining with her forever and always…

“Bollocks to that!” Melvinar said after a moment of thought. “I wanna live, damn it!”

The knight muttered a word of power and let loose a blast of mystic energy from his fingertip. It struck the puckered sphincter, which seemed to quiver slightly. Again and again, Melvinar blasted energy at the gateway, using both hands now, until at last it retracted slightly. With desperation, he squirmed and wriggled his way forward, forcing his way through the opening.

Food is, of course, not meant to proceed backwards from the intestines to the stomach (nor are wayward faeries for that matter). Melvinar’s movement through that gateway triggered the process of reverse peristalsis, a process more commonly known as vomiting. The walls of Viridia’s stomach writhed and churned and squeezed their contents upward violently, sending them up the esophagus.

Melvinar shrieked in surprise as he was blasted upward.

* * *

The sickly feeling in Viridia’s guts had intensified and she grasped her belly in pain. What was happening? Granted, she had drunk most of the bottle of whiskey, but Viridia was no lightweight. Hell, it wasn’t even elvish liquor, it was the cheap watery stuff that humans drank. Surely her tolerance hadn’t decreased that much, had it?

As she contemplated that question, Viridia dropped to her hands and knees and began to retch. Within moments, she was spewing the contents of her stomach all over the forest floor.

When she was finished, the elf fell backwards onto her rump and coughed pathetically a few times. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and tried to recover. It was then that a small glint of silver in the puddle of vomit caught her eye. More to the point, the tiny object appeared to be moving. Perplexed, Viridia leaned forward to inspect it and her heart leapt to her throat.

“Mel?” she whispered in disbelief. “Holy shit, Mel, is that you?!”

The bedraggled faerie laid there, stunned. He echoed her earlier cough and spat out a mouthful of things he would rather not think about.

“Hullo, Viridia,” he said with some effort. “You know…you’re a lot prettier…on the outside.”

“Bloody hell, Mel,” the elf swore. “Were you in my—? You mean this whole time you were—? So, I must have—? Oh my gods!!!!”

Not caring about the spit-up covering his little form, Viridia scooped the faerie up in her hands and held him tenderly against the side of her face.

“Good to see you too,” said Sir Melvinar. “Well, I suppose I’ve been seeing nothing but you for a while now. But you know what I mean. Have I got a story to tell…”