Spoiler
Every year during the Winter they came for her, when the great river had been kissed so tenderly by the icy breeze that even his hellish breath could not move it. The body of water led them right up to the castle gate, a path, tempting them to the treasure within. His treasure, his belle, the reason he endured living. She had already been taken from him in body, her figure transformed by an evil witch, but she was his in spirit. Their hearts, their souls; they were still one. And he would never rest, not while the cold months continued kissing the earth, not while his belle was persued by selfish men. Even is the curse lasted another thousand years. He would keep fighting for her.
Several weeks ago, when Prince Padston had leaned out of his bed-chamber window to watch the sunrise, a single orange leaf had floated into his palm. To him, it wasn't just a sign that the fires would need to be lit more frequently, or that evenings would come sooner; it was his call to arms. It was the cry for help from his damsel in distress.
He had begun preparations immediately. Winter would soon be upon them, and with the chilly air came the certainty of a frozen river and access to the ancient castle at the end of it.
Padston had been facinated by the stories of the ageless princess ever since he was a boy. He'd heard tales of the angel-like girl whose youth had endured for centuries. Of the beauty who waited in the castle for a brave man to rescue her from her jailer; a winged demon with fiery breath. No one had succeeded before, but no one else was Padston.
He was of age now, the future king. It was time for him to marry, and he was determined to have the angel, the most gorgeous woman in the world whose skin was never creased by the signs of aging. Padston would slay the dragon and claim her as his bride.
Now, with Winter at its peak, he was ready to begin travelling along the frozen river. He had his army of five thousand knights, enough food and wine to last them for months, and a convoy of servants. And not even a demon from the fiery depths of hell could defeat his ultimate weapon; an old hag he'd found in the dark alleys of the town.
They came in the evening, the sun's rays making their armour seem like a shield of gold stretched across the entire river. The humans were becomming stronger, more determined to steal away his poor belle. Their green and black flags waved in the breeze, a mocking welcome to the dragon whose scales were of the same shade; though it did not waver his spirits. The men were but a yearly chore, a tedious thorn in his side. He would have them burned to a crisp soon enough, and then she would be safe until the next time the river froze.
The first arrow ricocheted off his thigh, and what followed was a cacophony of metal against metal; arrow head against scale. The sound was enough to make the men cover their ears; raise their shields as a breath of fire fell upon them. To him, though, the sound matched the drizzle of the sky; it was peaceful, nothing he wasn't used to.
A glance to the right revealed the single window of the castle, where she slept in the comforting darkness. But now the belle was there, her arm reached out to him. His flaming, red eyes met her delicate emeralds, their enduring love strengthening the two spirits. He sweeped his tail along the ground, sending armour and bodies flying towards the setting sun. Ice catapulted into the air as they landed, spearing both the dragon and the men. But to him it didn't cause pain, and the sound was only rain.
From behind the battle line Padston watched the hellish demon fight. The creature swept his knights aside like a servant sweeping the floor; but he kept sending them. For even diamonds could be broken, if you struck them often and hard enough. And his five thousand men were surely enough.
The princess, the unaging angel; she was there. He could see her in the window, her arms outstretched to him, begging for her freedom. Centuries she had waited, no longer would the beauty need endure the dragon's cruelty.
Padston waved a hand over his shoulder, summoning his ultimate weapon. The hag stepped forward, her withered features framed in shadow. Padston knew she could defeat the demon, his childhood bedtimes had made him certain. The tales went that centuries ago, before even the angel had been imprisoned, a hag had killed a dragon. Now history would repeat itself, and the princess would finally be freed.
The pain came to him suddenly, like a flash of lightning. At first it felt as if someone was reaching inside him, their hands pushing and shoving at his bones and muscles and organs, his blood vessels tangling around the impossible intruder. Then he collapsed onto the ground, the shockwave sending the army of five thousand onto their knees. He couldn't see his princess, his belle, but he knew she would be in distress. His soul was being torn out; so would her's. The pain was constantly getting worse, growing sharper, going deeper. The very things which made his being were violently twisted, changed, shifted into another plane of existence. He felt his heart thump against his chest, trying to break free. There was no human weapon which could do this. He knew the very thing which had destroyed the figure of his lover had returned, this time for him. A witch was here, and he could not defeat her.
His belle, she was all that mattered. How could he save her now? For centuries he had lived, endured being when rest had constantly knocked at his door. But he had vowed to never rest, not so long as his love was unable to join him. She was trapped, trapped in that body the witch had given her. Stolen away from her true, winged form. Transformed into the species they dreaded. Now how could he protect her? How?
The rain grew louder now, no longer were the knights' weapons simply ricocheting off his scales. Now they were upon him, he could feel their ant-like feet climb over his form. He felt the pain mix with the intruder's as they carved around his scales, opening him like an acorn. But it was the inside pain which was worse, he began convulsing, the sensations overcoming him. He tried to focus his eyes, to see the window one last time. But he could see nothing, nothing except a single man- a prince- and then a spear was plunged into his last good eye.
That glorious evening would never fade from the mouth's of gossips and travellers. Prince Padston would forever be on the tongue's of men, in the history books, his name would be told to children as they drifted to sleep. He had done it. He had slain the fire demon; he had claimed his bride. And the tales were true, oh so true. She was like no woman he had ever set his eyes upon. Her hair was black as night, her eyes perfect emeralds, her lips red apples. Her body was youthful and angelic though she walked with the grace of one thousand years. And most importantly; she was his.
They had been wed for a week now, and the feasts and celebrations had not ceased for a single minute. She was graced with every splendour of court, could want for nothing. Yet Padston knew there was something behind those shining eyes, a sliver of longing. It was in the morning of Spring when he found her. Leaning out the bed-chamber window, he watched as the river flowed softly, brushing against the fresh grass on the riverbed. There were still specks of ice through the water, Winter persisting in its existence, but a rainbow of flower petals mixed with the shards, delighting his heart. However the feeling did not last long. He should have been overjoyed to see the scattering of dragon scales floating downstream, reminders of his victory. But then he saw his princess, his angelic wife, her beautiful body laying on the ground, red with blood. And a dragon scale plunged into her heart.
Several weeks ago, when Prince Padston had leaned out of his bed-chamber window to watch the sunrise, a single orange leaf had floated into his palm. To him, it wasn't just a sign that the fires would need to be lit more frequently, or that evenings would come sooner; it was his call to arms. It was the cry for help from his damsel in distress.
He had begun preparations immediately. Winter would soon be upon them, and with the chilly air came the certainty of a frozen river and access to the ancient castle at the end of it.
Padston had been facinated by the stories of the ageless princess ever since he was a boy. He'd heard tales of the angel-like girl whose youth had endured for centuries. Of the beauty who waited in the castle for a brave man to rescue her from her jailer; a winged demon with fiery breath. No one had succeeded before, but no one else was Padston.
He was of age now, the future king. It was time for him to marry, and he was determined to have the angel, the most gorgeous woman in the world whose skin was never creased by the signs of aging. Padston would slay the dragon and claim her as his bride.
Now, with Winter at its peak, he was ready to begin travelling along the frozen river. He had his army of five thousand knights, enough food and wine to last them for months, and a convoy of servants. And not even a demon from the fiery depths of hell could defeat his ultimate weapon; an old hag he'd found in the dark alleys of the town.
They came in the evening, the sun's rays making their armour seem like a shield of gold stretched across the entire river. The humans were becomming stronger, more determined to steal away his poor belle. Their green and black flags waved in the breeze, a mocking welcome to the dragon whose scales were of the same shade; though it did not waver his spirits. The men were but a yearly chore, a tedious thorn in his side. He would have them burned to a crisp soon enough, and then she would be safe until the next time the river froze.
The first arrow ricocheted off his thigh, and what followed was a cacophony of metal against metal; arrow head against scale. The sound was enough to make the men cover their ears; raise their shields as a breath of fire fell upon them. To him, though, the sound matched the drizzle of the sky; it was peaceful, nothing he wasn't used to.
A glance to the right revealed the single window of the castle, where she slept in the comforting darkness. But now the belle was there, her arm reached out to him. His flaming, red eyes met her delicate emeralds, their enduring love strengthening the two spirits. He sweeped his tail along the ground, sending armour and bodies flying towards the setting sun. Ice catapulted into the air as they landed, spearing both the dragon and the men. But to him it didn't cause pain, and the sound was only rain.
From behind the battle line Padston watched the hellish demon fight. The creature swept his knights aside like a servant sweeping the floor; but he kept sending them. For even diamonds could be broken, if you struck them often and hard enough. And his five thousand men were surely enough.
The princess, the unaging angel; she was there. He could see her in the window, her arms outstretched to him, begging for her freedom. Centuries she had waited, no longer would the beauty need endure the dragon's cruelty.
Padston waved a hand over his shoulder, summoning his ultimate weapon. The hag stepped forward, her withered features framed in shadow. Padston knew she could defeat the demon, his childhood bedtimes had made him certain. The tales went that centuries ago, before even the angel had been imprisoned, a hag had killed a dragon. Now history would repeat itself, and the princess would finally be freed.
The pain came to him suddenly, like a flash of lightning. At first it felt as if someone was reaching inside him, their hands pushing and shoving at his bones and muscles and organs, his blood vessels tangling around the impossible intruder. Then he collapsed onto the ground, the shockwave sending the army of five thousand onto their knees. He couldn't see his princess, his belle, but he knew she would be in distress. His soul was being torn out; so would her's. The pain was constantly getting worse, growing sharper, going deeper. The very things which made his being were violently twisted, changed, shifted into another plane of existence. He felt his heart thump against his chest, trying to break free. There was no human weapon which could do this. He knew the very thing which had destroyed the figure of his lover had returned, this time for him. A witch was here, and he could not defeat her.
His belle, she was all that mattered. How could he save her now? For centuries he had lived, endured being when rest had constantly knocked at his door. But he had vowed to never rest, not so long as his love was unable to join him. She was trapped, trapped in that body the witch had given her. Stolen away from her true, winged form. Transformed into the species they dreaded. Now how could he protect her? How?
The rain grew louder now, no longer were the knights' weapons simply ricocheting off his scales. Now they were upon him, he could feel their ant-like feet climb over his form. He felt the pain mix with the intruder's as they carved around his scales, opening him like an acorn. But it was the inside pain which was worse, he began convulsing, the sensations overcoming him. He tried to focus his eyes, to see the window one last time. But he could see nothing, nothing except a single man- a prince- and then a spear was plunged into his last good eye.
That glorious evening would never fade from the mouth's of gossips and travellers. Prince Padston would forever be on the tongue's of men, in the history books, his name would be told to children as they drifted to sleep. He had done it. He had slain the fire demon; he had claimed his bride. And the tales were true, oh so true. She was like no woman he had ever set his eyes upon. Her hair was black as night, her eyes perfect emeralds, her lips red apples. Her body was youthful and angelic though she walked with the grace of one thousand years. And most importantly; she was his.
They had been wed for a week now, and the feasts and celebrations had not ceased for a single minute. She was graced with every splendour of court, could want for nothing. Yet Padston knew there was something behind those shining eyes, a sliver of longing. It was in the morning of Spring when he found her. Leaning out the bed-chamber window, he watched as the river flowed softly, brushing against the fresh grass on the riverbed. There were still specks of ice through the water, Winter persisting in its existence, but a rainbow of flower petals mixed with the shards, delighting his heart. However the feeling did not last long. He should have been overjoyed to see the scattering of dragon scales floating downstream, reminders of his victory. But then he saw his princess, his angelic wife, her beautiful body laying on the ground, red with blood. And a dragon scale plunged into her heart.
