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Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Chapter Notes:

A fantasy based departure from my usual fare (inspired by dialogue shared through reviews of another of my stories)

Sir George and the Dragon (Daffyd and the Damsel)

The knight stood there, urinating, letting out a contented sigh as his piss splashed against the ground, steam rising in the cool morning air.

“I tell you boy, there is naught much more rewarding than emptying your bladder at the start of the day,” remarked Sir George boisterously.

Daffyd looked over and nodded, “Yes sir,” replied the sixteen year old boy while still dismantling the makeshift camp and preparing for the day of travel ahead.

Finished, the knight shook himself and pulled up his breeches. At one time, Sir George was one of the handful of men called the Knights of Renown, praised above most others for acts of gallantry and valor.

Tales of his courageous deeds included the defeat of the Mad Bull of Stover, a ferocious beast known to have killed at least five villagers during a rampage. Balladeers sang of his exploit against the hirsute giant of Loch Narin, said to have been over nine feet tall and covered from foot to head in hair. Others still, in reverence retell how Sir George, single handedly warded of an entire cadre of assassins intent on removing King Eadward from the throne.

But that had been more than twenty years ago, in the time between, the legend outgrew the man.

Now, in his middle forties, belly more prodigious than chest, Sir George barely fit the image cast by the tales of his glorious achievements.

Standing an even six feet tall, thinning hair more gray than not, once penetrating blue eyes, oft called bright enough to lift a maiden’s skirt with but a glance, were faded and washed, a nose touched by a lattice work of red veins due to his love of food, drink, and carousing.

“Get to it boy,” said the knight, sweeping a hand over the half deconstructed campsite, “We’ve need to be in Carrington afore nightfall.”

“Yes sir,” replied the squire, picking up his pace. Standing a few inches taller than the knight himself, though much leaner, he kept his light brown locks shorn and near his scalp.

He had been with Sir George for almost five full years, truly no more than a boy when the knight had accepted him into his service, whether by providence or just circumstance.

Daffyd had been orphaned as a child, least wise that’s how his adoptive mother told it. She said she had found the lad on her doorstep when he weren’t more than five, all dirty and covered in grime. Times were tough and food was scarce, but the boy was a good worker, strong back and proved worth the hassle of rearing. One day he caught the eye of old Thurston, village blacksmith. The venerable journeyman offered Daffyd an apprenticeship to work with metal, giving over a handful of coin to his adoptive mother to the right.

For three years the boy lived and worked with Thurston, but the aging man, body weakened by time succumbed to the particularly bitter winter when Daffyd was eleven. Thurston wife decided to sell the smithy, leaving the boy essentially homeless. Just so happened, Sir George was in the village, returning from his quest to free the village of Harrow from the thrall of an ice wolf. The knight’s squire had unfortunately been killed during the melee with the beast and thus fate brought the two together.

Walking over to where the two horses and donkey were tethered, “Have you watered the horses?” asked Sir George, patting the flank of his stallion and looking back toward the boy.

“Yes sir,” replied Daffyd, smiling back.

“Oats?”

“And a half apple for each,” replied the squire, bundling up his bedroll.

Sir George nodded approvingly, “Good,” he said. “They say it’s a dragon,” he commented.

“Sir?” asked Daffyd, bringing his roll over and securing it to the pack animal.

“Carrington boy, they say it’s plagued by a dragon,” he replied. “Big as a barn and nasty as they come,” he added.

Daffyd let out a low whistle, “I’ve never seen a dragon sir,” he said.

Sir George put his hand on the boy’s shoulder, “Fearsome creatures,” he said, patting Daffyd gently.

Big green eyes round, Daffyd nodded. “Have you ever killed one?” he asked.

“Nay, saw one once though, great serpentine beast, green and gray and covered in scales,” Sir George started, shaking his head, “Nested near Fallwood. Was a young one I’d say, judging the by the size of the thing.”

Daffyd nodded.

“The village sent out the word and knights from across the land arrived, all eager to claim the glory for dispatching the brute. The monstrosity killed Sir William of Trent, talons like honed razors cut through him,” he curled his fingers into scythes made a slashing motion at the young man. “Next Sir Dane, not much older than you are now, handsome devil, least till the dragon took his head,” he nodded. “Then it was turn at it, I was determined, steeling myself, I crept into its lair, sword in hand and shield on my arm. ‘Out you vile beast I hollered,’ trying to lure the loathsome thing from the darkness and out it came, bowling me over, fleeing before I could tame it with my steel,” he lamented, looking off to one side, reminiscing.

Daffyd shook his head in awe.

“Passed by me so close I looked in its cold yellow eye,” he said dramatically, closing one of his eyes and squinting at the boy. “Near shook my courage, I’ve no shame in saying,” he acknowledged.

“What happened then?” asked the boy.

“The beast must have been more afeared of me than I of it, because once it abandoned its lair, it never returned,” he said, laughing noisily.

“And you think this one is bigger?” Daffyd asked.

“Aye, they say big enough to carry off a horse in its claws,” he said in a low tone, demonstrating the motion with his hands.

The squire shook his head and shuddered.

Sir George noticed and clapped down on Daffyd’s shoulder, “Fret not lad, you’ve the greatest knight in all the land betwixt you and the creature,” he reassured confidently.

Daffyd nodded and secured the rest of the gear, together they set out on the road.

 

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