Princess Tara and the Dragon by Chris Cook

Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Based on characters from Buffy The Vampire Slayer, created by Joss Whedon/Mutant Enemy.
Distribution: The Mystic Muse http://mysticmuse.net
Through the Looking Glass http://alia.customer.netspace.net.au/glass.htm
Feedback: Hell yeah!
Author's Notes: TInspired, in a roundabout kind of way, by Useful_Oxymoron's Princess Willow and the Frog.
Pairing: Willow/Tara

Summary: Once upon a time, but not quite how the usual fairy tales go…

…there lived a princess named Tara. 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 Tara 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 Tara…

That they had their eyes on the day when Tara 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 Tara – whomever she seemed to favor, 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 Tara would favor none of them, which would end with all of them being resentful.

So the King, being something of a traditionalist, declared that Princess Tara 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 Tara 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 Tara rather than eat her, the King considered the matter of Tara'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 armor 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 armor 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 specters (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 Tara, resplendent in his shining armor, 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.

The hero skirted the edge of the crystal-clear lake that had formed in the small mountain valley, clambered with some difficulty over the rocks near the waterfall, and approached the tower itself, which rose out of a small fortress carved from the very mountain rock itself. Planting his standard in the wild grass and lowering himself carefully to one knee, he looked up at the distant balcony at the top of the tower, and declared himself:

"My lady Tara! I am Sir Angel Angelus, Knight of the Realm of Broodington, Paladin of the Order of Aurelius, who hath conquered the fabled Great Labyrinth, faced the riddle of the deadly Sphinx, traveled from the far ends of the earth to the…other far ends," he winced slightly, and made a mental note to rewrite that part of his declaration later, "and performed such deeds as are recorded in saga and legend! I have crossed the vast, trackless desert, navigated the treacherous swamp, braved the terrors of the haunted forest, and climbed the sheer cliffs of yonder mountains, so that I may hereby claim your hand in marriage!"

He waited a moment, regaining his breath, and eventually frowned and wondered if he'd come to the wrong tower. Before he could get up though, the doors to the distant balcony swung open and a figure appeared, blonde hair gleaming in the sunlight.

He was interrupted by a dangerous rumble from the nearest of the many caves that dotted the valley's edge, the kind of rumble that suggests it could become a roar at any moment, and that whoever has causes the roarer to roar will regret it. There followed slow thuds, footfalls if the feet were very large indeed, and various sounds of rocks being dislodged and scattering away that indicated something of considerable size nearing the mouth of the cave.

Sir Angel Angelus got to his feet and drew his sword, warily approaching the cave.

"I warn you, foul beast," he proclaimed, only slightly nervously, "I have faced and slain such ferocious beasts as the Minotaur of the Labyrinth, the dread Gorgon of the Forgotten Wastelands, the Unnamed Terror of the Black Marshes, and the Great Wyrm of the Granite Mountain!"

"The Great Wyrm measured the length of five men, yet it fell to my blade!" Sir Angel shouted. "And the Unnamed Terror was…well, mostly tentacles, and I didn't find all the bits afterwards …" He paused, realizing that he had lost his heroic edge, and finished with "diabolical field!" for good measure.

To say the dragon, when it emerged from its cave, was big would be leaving the word 'huge' disgruntled at having been ignored. Its vaguely serpentine body, supported by two well-muscled and extremely well- clawed legs, rose above Sir Angel like a thunderstorm over a copper rod, and when it unfurled its wings the hero found himself at the centre of a localized eclipse of the sun. He looked up into a draconian face covered in scarlet scales, and found two deep emerald eyes regarding him much like a person might regard an ant that is approaching their picnic lunch.

"Okay," the dragon said, and let fly a precisely-aimed jet of flame that vaporized the hero's sword, reduced his standard to scattered ash, removed the plumes from his helmet, and, indirectly, undid the patient toilet-training work of his nanny all those years ago.

With thunderous footsteps the dragon walked over to the tower, and stood up on its hind legs, bringing its head level with the balcony, where Princess Tara was watching Sir Angel's rapid retreat with mild interest.

"Sorry," the dragon said sheepishly, or as sheepishly as a ten- storey-tall dragon can. "Should've lured him further off to the left before I did the old," she puffed a gust of flame into the air, away from the tower, "trick."

"It's alright," Tara smiled, reaching out to run her hand along the top of the dragon's face, so far as she could reach. "Him and his marriage claim are out of our hair, that's the important thing."

"Aw, well, that's what I'm here for," the dragon said, ducking its head so that Tara could scratch behind the streamlined scales that fanned out on either side of its forehead. It enjoyed the attention for a moment, then leant back, beat its wings to get airborne, and with a sound somewhat like a huge cloak being unfurled in reverse, shrunk into a much smaller, more human form – two arms, two legs, no wings, five- and-a-bit feet tall rather than ten stories, but still covered in iridescent scales, bright scarlet on her forehead, fading down her back to the deep, shadowy crimson of her body.

Her former shape's wing-beat put her just above the balcony rail, and she landed sitting on it, with barely a bump. Tara, who by all appearances was quite accustomed to her giant dragon turning into a regular-sized dragon-woman, leaned on the rail next to her, and hugged her.

The speaker was another in the vein of Sir Angel – less broody, possibly less intelligent, but in his favor, also less defeated thus far. His name was Sir Riley of Iowa, he was surveying the valley through a telescope from high on the eastern side of it, and his confusion, as indicated, stemmed from the lack of dragon therein.

"'At's it theyah, melord," Sir Riley's manservant said, in a curious accent assembled from odds and ends that sounded generically lower- class. The manservant took hold of the end of his master's telescope, and moved it downwards.

"I don't understand, Adam," Sir Riley protested. "We saw the dragon emerge and do battle with yonder knight-" He had heard someone in a play say 'yonder' once, and thought it sounded regal. "-and then it went over to the tower, and just vanished! What am I supposed to be looking at?"

"There's…the princess, I assume," Riley frowned. "And another woman…covered in red…?"

"At'd be th' dragon, melord," Adam said patiently. "'At's wot them's in the know calls a 'bimorphic' dragon, melord."

"No melord, I mean it's a- Aye means," Adam corrected himself, realizing his accent was slipping, "it be a beast wot 'as the abil…abi…knowin'," giving up on finding a suitably lowbrow way of pronouncing 'ability,' "of changin' isself from a big flyin' fire- breathin' dragon, inno a person, an' back again. Melord."

"Ah," Sir Riley observed, in a manner he probably thought of as sagely, as he watched the princess and the apparently-a-dragon conversing on the tower's balcony.

"Are you up for a trip into town?" Willow asked brightly. "I know we weren't going to until the weekend, but you know how it is with me, I get all restless when I breathe fire, so any excuse to stretch my wings…"

"Of course," Tara nodded. "Actually I was going to ask anyway, there's a few new books I'd like to send away for."

"I'll go get my saddle," Willow smiled. She gave an adorable little curtsey – something that had long ago become a playful gesture of friendship, rather than a requirement of Tara's social rank over her – and climbed up onto the balcony rail, crouching and tensing.

Tara bit her lip, and tried not to stare at Willow's lithe form too obviously, until the dragon leapt into the air, and with a rush of air unfolded into her previous huge form. She landed lightly, beating her wings to keep from crushing the grass beneath the tower, and thudded off towards her cave.

Tara had become quite good at carefully concealing her desires from Willow – necessary because her desires were uniformly for Willow, and she was by no means sure they were reciprocated. That Willow liked her, she was sure. She would have no hesitation in describing herself and Willow as the best of friends. But when it came to matters of the heart, Tara was somewhat inexperienced, and when it came to matters of how her heart felt for Willow in particular, she was quite at a loss.

The basic expectation was that she should marry a prince, or at least a well-to-do and valiant knight. This, she had decided fairly early in her teenaged years, would not do, and so she had set about reading through the complex and bewildering array of rules and traditions surrounding royal relationships, with the odd bit of quiet support and encouragement from her mother, to see if her particular tastes could be accommodated in some way – in short, to find out if it was allowable to be a gay princess.

As it happened, her relocation to a tower was handy in that regard, in that there was no actual requirement anywhere in the rules and regulations for being a princess in a tower that specified the hero who rescued her couldn't be a heroine. Doubtless an oversight by an unimaginative scribe at some point in the distant past, but the laws were written, and had been for many a generation, and that was that. Of course there weren't a lot of heroines around, compared to the veritable plethora of men in armor traipsing around the landscape in search of a quest, but Tara was prepared to be patient. Sooner or later, she assumed, a likely enough heroine would show up, and they could take things from there.

That had been the plan, at any rate. Until she had arrived at her tower, and met Willow.

She had been quite surprised, upon being delivered to her tower, to find that the terrifying guardian she had been imagining was in fact possessed of a very likeable, eager-to-please nature, with not a malevolent bone in her body. Their friendship was something Tara had not expected in the least, yet now could hardly imagine not having – the time they spent together, talking and laughing and debating, comparing philosophy and literature from the tower's substantial library, sharing memories of their lives prior to meeting, reading comedies aloud or simply making them up just to make each other laugh…

It was, Tara admitted, a shock to discover her attraction to Willow. She had no objection to her at all as a person, but as a human raised among humans, she had not expected to find herself in bed one night, inspired to some detailed self-examination by one of the rather more racy Sapphic romances from the library, imagining herself in the embrace of a dragon. Tara was no fool – for all her shyness around others, Willow included, she had never fallen into the habit of shying away from her feelings in the confines of her own head, and by the time her initial amazement had worn off, she was delighted to discover how aroused she could be by the thought of Willow. From that evening on, Tara's dreams, and fantasies, were filled with a lean, gleaming body, iridescent scarlet in the sunlight, and a smiling, curious face, scales diminishing almost to invisibility around her cheeks, her adorable nose, her lively lips and her wide, liquid green eyes, the delicacy of her features in sharp contrast to the long, solid flight scales that swept back from her forehead and temples, down her neck to her back, lying flat when she was relaxed, standing up like a crest when she was excited – and, Tara imagined, when she was aroused.

Made shy by her feelings, Tara had never quite been able to broach the topic of attraction with Willow, even when they had found themselves discussing dragons in general. She had no idea whether dragons found humans appealing, whether her smooth, scaleless skin was exotic to Willow or just plain and strange, whether her scent was alluring or forgettable to Willow's senses – smell being a dragon's most refined sense, she had learned – or even whether draconic sexuality was as whimsical as it was in humans, or based inescapably on pheromones or body language or some other quality she simply did not possess.

"Ready," Willow called up to her, and Tara realized she had got carried away with her thoughts and dreams, as she often did around Willow. She supposed it might have been easier had she suggested Willow wear clothes, at least while she was in her human-sized form, but somehow she could never bring herself to ask. The rational part of her mind considered that, whatever intimate parts Willow had, they were concealed in any case beneath her scales, so really she was no more 'naked' than a person in a tight suit. And in any case, Willow was happier without clothes, which dragons, she said, rarely bothered with.

The rest of her mind was quite happy with this rationalization – or indeed any rationalization that kept up a continuous supply of what amounted to naked Willow, as fodder for her fantasies. Tara occasionally felt a little guilty for picturing her friend in such vivid detail during her night-time activities – but only a little, and never enough to stop.

"Wait a moment!" Sir Riley protested, as he and his manservant watched Tara climb aboard the saddle she had strapped around Willow's neck. "She can't leave the tower! Can she?"

"Aye b'leive, melord, they do be doin' just that," Adam replied. Indeed, Willow took one bound and soared off over the mountains, with Tara safely atop her.

"Ar. No melord, aye think yerlordship will find that to be a fallacy," Adam said distractedly, watching the dragon dwindle into a silhouette in the sky.

"A what?" Riley asked sharply. "You don't mean like those wooden implements they sell for female adventurers, for when they're alone on their travels? I always took them to be some kind of massage aid…"

"Yes, melord," Adam backpedaled hastily, "or no rather, in this case. Aye means, melord, that wot a princess does, traditionally, with regard to 'er tower, is to not stay in it."

"Pardon?" Sir Riley turned a bemused expression on his servant. "How can a princess not stay in her tower? That's the point, isn't it? The princess gets put in a tower, until a hero arrives to rescue her…"

"Oh," Sir Riley frowned. "Well…I suppose…I assumed they stock the tower with food, and suchlike…"

"'S very difficult to find enough foods wot'd last long enough, melord," Adam shrugged. "Plus which, people wot're locked alone in towers fer extended periods 'ave a tendency to go round the twist, melord."

"'At happened to Princess Glory, melord, when she were a girl. I unnerstand it was on account of 'er father tryin' to do the 'old princess-in-a-tower fing on the cheap, an' not consultin' experts on 'ow it should best be done."

"Princess Glory?" Sir Riley searched his memory. "You mean Queen Glorificus the Homicidal?"

"'At's the wun, melord. O'course she became Queen, once a 'ero let 'er out of 'er tower. Word is she was still wearin' 'is 'ead as a 'at when she got 'ome and persuaded 'er old man to abdicate in 'er favor."

"But, if this Princess Tara isn't being held captive, why am I here to rescue her?"

"Oh, tradition melord! 'At's how a big strappin' 'ero like yerself acquires a beautiful damsel, as is spoken of in legend and such, melord. 'At's the traditional way of doin' it."

"'At's the spirit, melord. Now we ort to just get ourselves down 'ere before yon dragon turns up again. An' it'll all go just like you planned it, melord."

"Yessir. You'd be recallin' 'ow I explained wot your plan was to you, melord. Dashed impressed, I wos, melord, o'course me bein' a commoner an' all, but even so I daresay there ain't never bin a plan wot 'as been so well fort out."

"Oh. Well…yes, I do have something of a gift for planning." Sir Riley nodded uncertainly. "So, this plan…of mine…of course begins with…?"

"Us goin' down and preparin' for the dragon’s return, melord," Adam replied faithfully. "An' then, we won't 'ave no trouble at all wif the dragon. No trouble at all. And you'll get your princess, melord." Sir Riley was too distracted to notice how Adam hastily added this last part, almost as an afterthought.

Willow's saddle was designed for the rider to more or less lie along the back of the dragon's neck, rather than try to sit upright. Tara, a keen horsewoman when she had lived back in her father's kingdom, had adapted quickly to the different mode of riding. With Willow's input she had heavily modified the saddle, stripping out much of the padding and extra layers of leather, and redesigning the stirrups for her hands and feet, allowing her to grip much more securely as she lay along Willow's neck. With a little practice she was able to rise up like a jockey, quite secure and safe, yet with the wind surrounding her, streaming above and below her body, as if she were flying herself, and with her encouragement Willow had taken her on thrilling acrobatic jaunts, swooping through the mountain peaks, flying high in the sky, looping and diving.

Privately, Tara also enjoyed their more sedate flights – with the saddle's padding gone she was free to lie flat, directly on Willow's scaled skin, feeling her powerful neck muscles move as she turned her head this way and that, the horn-like flight scales arching out and back from her forehead directing air streams onto her wings, allowing her to maneuver while remaining almost still. Tara was never so content as when she and Willow flew together, with the rest of the world laid out beneath them, beautiful and distant.

"Here we are," Willow rumbled, as she curled her body over a little, allowing her wings to cup the air. Tara lifted herself up as they landed gently on a wide field beside a picturesque town high up in the mountains, then dismounted as Willow craned her neck down, and helped her take off the saddle. Willow winked in thanks, then took a breath and changed, while Tara opened one of the slim saddlebags and unfolded a light dress for her. The townsfolk were quite accustomed to a variety of strange and semi-mythical creatures, but Willow felt it was more polite on her part to be human-sized, and clothed, when she and Tara visited.

"There's a new flag up," Tara noted, looking to the edge of the field, where a couple of dozen pennants were flying from tall posts, some with crates and packages sitting beneath them.

"Last time I saw Clem he said he'd been contacted about a new job," Willow said. "Maybe that's her. Oh drat, that reminds me, I meant to stop by the lake and say hi."

"Thanks," Willow smiled, quickly pulling her dress off again. "I'll just be ten minutes or so."

Tara stood back as Willow took a running leap into the air, transforming mid-jump and soaring, with a beat of her wings that tossed Tara's hair around in the sudden rush of air. She watched the dragon climb and bank off to the south with an affectionate smile, tinged with longing, then folded Willow's dress back up and headed into town.

Towersburg, as the name suggested, had grown up around the practice of secluding princesses in towers, and from its humble beginnings several centuries ago had become a bustling, prosperous town. Situated at the top of the only path into the mountains not infested with ghosts, treacherous pitfalls, avalanche-prone valleys or irritable monsters, it was the only safe way for anyone – besides suicidally brave heroes – to reach the mountaintops, where the future queens of anywhere up to thirty kingdoms could be living at any given time. Convoys carrying staple goods, as well as luxuries of every kind, were a frequent sight in Towersburg, which welcomed them with open arms. Being the only trading outpost in the region, catering to princesses with time on their hands and the considerable treasuries of their home kingdoms at their command, the town was profitable like no other.

"Mornin', Lady Tara," the barkeep greeted her as she entered the tavern, a clean, lively-looking place currently inhabited by a few patrons enjoying an early lunch.

"Ah, good for you. The standard of heroes these days is just shockin', it really is. Any fool with a shiny shield and feather in his helmet thinks he's the almighty's gift to noblewomen. Miss Willow around?"

"Right-o. Oh by the way, I don't know if you noticed the new flag up?" Tara nodded. "New girl arrived today," Rolf went on, "looks a bit nervous, I thought perhaps you might have a chat with her? She's in the courtyard out back, Lady Drusilla's with her."

"Fresh batch of leaves yesterday," Rolf said proudly. "The missus has been looking forward to brewing up some, I'll bring it out to you soon as it's ready. I'll get some sulfur tonic on the stove for when Miss Willow shows up, too."

"Thanks Rolf," Tara smiled. She made her way out to the paved area behind the tavern, where a handful of sturdy wooden tables and chairs were set up in the shade of the garden's apple trees, and found a slim, expensively-dressed young woman sitting there, contemplating a mug of coffee cradled in her hands. Beside her was a taller, dark-haired woman, talking to her quietly.

"Dru!" Tara called in greeting. Both looked up, and the taller woman's face broke into a warm smile.

"Tara, good to see you," she said, waving Tara over. "Fred, this is Princess Tara of Macleigh. Tara, Princess Winifred of Burquelle."

"She's just got here," Drusilla explained, "and can you believe it, her parents didn't even explain how the tower system works? Makes you wonder how they can run a kingdom, doesn't it."

"I was…kind of apprehensive," Fred admitted shyly, giving Tara a fleeting smile. "But it's not like I was expecting."

"Let me guess," Tara said. "You were worried about being trapped alone in a tower until someone rescued you?"

"Don't worry, everyone goes through that," Tara smiled. "Towering is really a specialized field, only a few royal advisers, and the people up here of course, really know how it works."

"Is it true there's lots of princesses up here?" Fred asked. "And you're allowed to visit each other, and make friends…?"

"Yep," Tara replied happily. "The thing about being put in a remote tower is that 'remote' is relative. There's towers serving just about every realm on the continent here, all within about ten miles of each other."

"Plus a handful of fortresses, mist-shrouded islands in lakes, labyrinthine catacombs…and a flying cottage," Drusilla added. "For princesses who're after something specific, rather than just the generic tower."

"The important thing is that all the heroes think we're just sitting around waiting to be rescued," Tara explained. "That way they don't get suspicious when we make it difficult for them."

"That's the good bit," Drusilla grinned. "Down in the rest of the world, royal princesses get married for political reasons, or to shore up alliances, or seal treaties, or…well, all sorts of reasons other than because they actually like their would-be husband. Up here, you decide who your husband is. Or wife, if you feel like it, they never closed that loophole."

"Well," Tara said, leaning back, "suppose a hero decides to rescue you. All the towers are laid out so there's only one avenue of approach, and it takes several weeks at least to reach you. All you have to do is keep a telescope trained on the horizon, and you'll see if anyone's coming, usually a week or two ahead of time."

"Heroes like having their own banners," Drusilla added. "Makes them easy to tell apart at a distance."

"Then you just send a letter back home, either on the mail coach or with a homing bird – they've got a couple of fairies who carry letters too, if you're in a hurry – and get sent a full report on whoever's trying to rescue you. If you don't like the look of it, there's all sorts of things you can do to make sure you're not rescued. It depends who you've got guarding you."

"Uh, they said," Fred frowned, searching her memory, "I'd be guarded by Al-Klemmagon the Undying, Lord of the Deep Ones." She looked more than a little alarmed at the prospect.

"Oh, Clem," Tara smiled. "Don't worry, he's a sweetie, you'll get on fine. He's been in the princessing business for something like two hundred years."

"Absolutely," Drusilla nodded. "All the best mystical guardians are in it – the pay's good, the working conditions are easy, you get to hang around with people who're used to strange creatures and so on, and the only people who ever attack you are lone heroes who, believe me, would be hard-pressed to defeat a mangy old were-rat nine times out of ten."

"I thought…don't the heroes kill the monster guarding the princess?" Fred asked.

"Not for centuries," Tara said. "I read up on the history of the practice when I first got here. If you want to get rid of a hero, your guardian ambushes him and sees him off. Heroes don't run into creatures as powerful as the ones we have up here normally, so it's not a problem. And if you like the look of a hero and want to be rescued, your guardian just makes a show of confronting him, then throws the fight and lets itself be 'driven off'. Of course it takes weeks to get back to civilization, so you've got plenty of time to change your mind, and your guardian can 'miraculously recover', kidnap you from the hero, and get you back to your tower."

"It's not a bad system, all things considered," Drusilla shrugged. "It's even fun, now and then. Depending on the hero, I sometimes take them on myself, rather than letting my vampire handle them."

"Yeah, Willy," Drusilla smiled. "He's sweet, he writes poetry. In a pinch he can turn into a giant bat and scare the wits out of people, but mostly I just wait for a hero to rescue me, and then put on my creepy act."

"Oh, what a pretty helmet you have, Mister Hero," Drusilla trilled, letting her eyes unfocus and assuming a rather worrying smile. "I once dreamed I had a great big axe that chopped helmets in half. My fairy friends tell me I'm naughty for having dreams like that. But they don't dance in the moonlight, so I don't listen to them, even when they tell me it's wrong to fill up cauldrons with juicy, bubbly blood, and make a lovely stew. A couple of hours of that," she said, returning to normal, "and even the most ardent hero decides I'm better off being left for someone else to rescue."

"Um, suppose," Fred said shyly, "there was a certain someone at home…a commoner, for the sake of argument…that I was kind of…"

"Ah, in that case," Drusilla said, "you're in your element up here. Anyone can be a hero, especially if you arrange it so that 'someone' anonymously sends them letters explaining how to get past the various obstacles leading to your tower. You should talk to Princess Anya, from the granite tower just over the northern ridge, she's working on the same kind of thing with a stable boy she got friendly with before coming here."

"Commoner defies incredible odds, wins hand of noble princess," Tara smiled. "It's a classic. No-one would dare argue with it."

"Didn't Lady Buffy actually send herself to a tower, just to set that up?" Drusilla asked.

"I think so," Tara nodded. "She changed her mind," she added to Fred. "She's from Sunnydale, just a small principality, so she shared a tower with Lady Faith of Snowydale, and by the time…what was his name, Parker? By the time he got to the tower, she'd decided she could do better."

"She's sweet once you get to know her," Tara added. "She's just very…formidable, for a noblewoman. She taught me boxing a few months ago. Just as a form of exercise of course, but it's kind of fun." She mimed a couple of jabs, as Fred grinned. The three turned as Willow emerged from the tavern, carrying a tray of drinks.

"Hi sweetie," Tara smiled. "Fred, this is Willow – Fred's going to be staying at the lake tower."

"I know, Clem's going nuts cleaning the place out," Willow chuckled, handing Tara her tea, and taking a sip of her own steaming coffee from a corrosion-resistant mug. She noticed Fred still looking a little anxious at the mention of her soon-to-be defender, and gave her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry, Clem's the sweetest lake monster you've ever seen."

"It's a musical," Drusilla explained. "All about these guys making a custom chariot, and one of them falls in love with this girl…"

"Krevlornswath – that's Princess Harmony's demon – started a musical and drama club a while ago," Willow said. "Tara sang the female lead part in Pirates of Pylea, the first show they did."

"Don't worry, me neither," Willow smiled. "Can't carry a tune in a bucket. Actually I'm a decent alto in my larger body, but then I wouldn't fit into the town hall."

"Yup," Willow cheerfully confirmed. "Bimorphic. I'm my smaller body at present, obviously. Well, I guess this could be my large body, but then the small one would be, oh, about gnat-sized. Not really very hero-resistant. Though," she mused, "I suppose I could sneak under their helmets and buzz around until they went crazy…What's up?" Fred was looking at her in polite bemusement.

"Because I talk like that without passing out?" Willow chuckled. She leaned close to Fred and spoke in a mock-whisper. "Tara says I retain the lung capacity of my larger self. I think she's just having a joke at my expense."

"I like your babble," Tara protested playfully. She was glad to see Fred joining in the laughter, a little hesitantly, but genuinely nonetheless.

"Actually Tara's my first and only princess," Willow said. "I'm actually kind of young to be doing full princessing – mostly you do an apprenticeship first, and spend some time guarding minor treasure hoards, or the resting place of mystical relics, until you get the hang of it. But bimorphic dragons are in high demand."

"All the anti-hero advantages of a regular dragon, but we don't hibernate nine months out of the year and eat whole flocks of sheep in one go when we're up and about," Willow grinned. "My mother's a bimorphic serpent dragon, she set me up with an agent in the same school of royal wizards she got princessing work through. My father's a full-blood emerald wyvern, so he mostly does construction work. You know, if you need a pass dug through some mountains in a hurry…"

Tara realized she was staring, a little less than casually. She already knew all about Willow's family, and how she had gotten into the princessing business – rather than listen to her words now, she chose to simply listen to the sound of her voice. Willow, animated and absorbed in the conversation, didn't notice, nor did Fred – Tara guessed that perhaps Drusilla could tell she was gazing at her friend with more than mere friendly interest, but she was never one to gossip. Occasionally Tara had considered asking Drusilla's advice, but always she had backed out – there was something fiercely determined inside her, in spite of all her doubts. As much as she valued Drusilla's friendship, and her wisdom on other matters, Tara wanted to find her way with Willow on her own.

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Princess Tara and the Dragon

by Chris Cook

Copyright © 2006

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