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There once was a beautiful maiden named Bridget who was kept captive by an evil, soot-colored dragon. Berac, the foul-smelling, ashen-scaled monster, guarded the only entrance to the only tower in the only castle in the outer regions of Eastern Yore. The tower was made entirely of rough stones that held no comfort. Bridget froze there in the winter and suffocated in the heat of the summer. Berac circled the main gate, near a dried up old moat that ran at least 50 feet deep.
Bridget's only comfort was a large bejeweled sword which she never let part from her side. She slept with one fist clamped and ready around it's hilt. The longsword was ancient, resembling the Scottish claymores of an later period. It was far too large for a mere maiden. And with it's large rubies, it was much too heavy for a small girl of only twenty years. But each time Berac would take to the air and encircle the tower, Bridget's eyes would flash in a frenzied fury. She hated the foul dragon, and his foul breath and his stinkin scales and his red eyes and the way he encircled the tower as if she was a child to be looked after, lest it should disobey or escape. She hated more than anything that she could not free herself. She hated to look from the tower's window upon the countryside, upon freedom and be forced to wait for someone else to come and deliver her.
Each time Berac's wings would beat the air, Bridget would stand, ready herself and lift the weighted sword, wielding it high above her head. Her long hair would whip behind her as she let loose a terrible yell: a warning to the beast to take cover, lest she slice his wing with her blade. This brought her the only security she had, this threatening of the great dragon. The sword was her only power, her only company and her only friend.
One morning, the dawn birthed itself pink in hue and a lone warrior came riding along the countryside of Eastern Yore. A slender man, bearing a curse of a nickname: Gidd; he was tired, wind-beaten and very hungry. His horse, a valiant steed in his prime, was now aged and ready for easier days. His master bore a wane expression, something of a cross between a forelorn smile and an apathetic stare. He had been thus for days, riding on end with no sleep and no shelter from the sun's scorching gaze.
Far off in the distance, this son of a soapmaker, approached the dark shadows of a lone castle. Suddenly shivering, he readied his shield and straightened up in his saddle.
"Once again, old boy," he muttered, somewhat soberingly to his tired steed. "Shall we rush forward into what is surely a doomed fate ahead?" The horse whinied pitifully. Gidd nodded in agreement.
Berac sensed the approach and a smile curled on his black lips. Noiselessly, he took to the sky, even Bridget did not sense his movement, as she was practicing wielding the longsword against the stale air inside her tower. Berac knew his moment. With a loud roar, he landed, with full force on the top of Bridget's tower. And with a fiercesome growl, he bellowed flame high into the air. Bridget's scream was lost in the torrent of flames, cracking in the silence.
Startled, Gidd saw the shower of flames ahead and knew what was in store. He dismounted the horse and ran to the maingate to gain a better view of his target, swallowing his fear. Berac saw the man from his perch and cackled aloud.
"What a fool," thought the beast.
Angered at Berac's unexpected display, Bridget issued a warcry from her lips and drove the longsword into the one claw Berac had chosen to leave exposed, clinging to her only window. Reeling in pain, the dragon dove from his perch and blew an angry blast in the window's direction. Bridget took cover just in time, and arose to see a knight, shivering in terror as Berac approached him.
Gidd didn't know what to think. All he could see amidst the smoke and stone were the faint outlines of a great black dragon and a tower looming before him. He had heard a warcry in a female's voice and lost all his nerve.
"That didn't sound like a damsel in distress," Gidd thought, "Sounded like someone who's got more nerve than I do. Why am I even here?"
Berac snarled and his breath was so close that it rustled Gidd's hair. Sobering up to the thought of being a great dragon's lunch, Gidd gripped his shield and awaited the inevitable.
Angered at witnessing yet another warrior eaten before her eyes, Bridget hollered to the dragon:
"Oi! You big oaf! Wouldn't you like to make sure that this one ain't alone this time?"
Berac turned to look at her, dumbfounded.
"Yeah, that's right, stupid, from up here I see a great army amassing behind this knight. You best think what you're doing."
Her lie wove it's magic. As Berac faltered for a moment and stretched his neck to view what the girl was mentioning, Gidd took his chance and rammed his rusty-hilted sword through Berac's exposed heart. Heat, growls, and a few screams later...and finally, Berac's body fell in a great heap before Gidd's trembling arms.
Sheathing his sword, Gidd swallowed his pride and mounted the steps to thank this woman for saving his life. Swallowing her pride, Bridget waited for him to ascend her tower, to thank him for saving her when she could not.
In all my life, I have only begun to ponder this: that men must overcome their cowardice and fight for the women they think do not need their help. And women must overcome their pride in thinking only they can save themselves.
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| | Posted 2/25/2008 10:47 PM - 58 Views - 6 eProps - 4 comments
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