Read Online Tide of Shadows and Other Stories by Aidan Moher - Free Book Online
Authors: Aidan Moher
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heavy-lidded eyes as dull as a muddy river. A smile to scare the fur off a bear and a voice like a banshee.
"Hah, a wife, indeed!" huffed the prince to himself, and smiled at his mother’s dashed dreams.
"Did you bring a Parnassus?" said she.
"A what?"
"A Parnassus, you bum."
"A flower, you mean?"
"Go get one, you louse, or I stay here until a real knight comes."
"WHO GOES THERE?" cried the dragon, woken from his slothful slumber by their banter.
"A silly knight, cruel and ugly as can be," said the Princess of Flowerdumpling Peak.
And so Fáfnir lit the lamps of his terrible eyes upon the Prince of Copperkettle Vale, and...they softened. Time crawled as their eyes met and danced.
"TAKE HER!" bellowed the dragon after an electrically charged (and only slightly inappropriate) moment.
"What!?" cried the princess.
"TAKE HER AWAY, AND LEAVE ME IN PEACE!"
The princess stomped her slippered feet and balled her little fists. Steam poured from her ears.
"I do not want her!" said the prince. "She is a horror, and spoiled to boot!"
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA! I BRING HER THE WORLD, AND SHE WANTS BUT A FLOWER!"
"I will take her away, but on one condition."
"NAME IT!" said the dragon.
"You must give me your greatest treasure!” said the prince with a cocky grin.
"DONE! JUST GET HER AWAY!"
The princess, as you might imagine, was indignant and on the verge of a very entitled tantrum. A powerful prince and a dreadful dragon fighting to be rid of her! Where was the justice? Where was the romance? Where was her knight in shining white armour!? Was a flower so high a price to ask for the heart of a beautiful princess?
"Fine!" she said in a snit. "Have it that way! If you do not want me, I shall leave you two for each other!"
And she did. The blizzard raging outside the cave swallowed her whole. And soon she was forgotten by the two mortal enemies.
"She is gone," said the prince. "So, I will now claim a treasure!"
"BUT SHE LEFT ON HER OWN!"
"We struck a deal! Or is a dragon's word worth so little?" said the Prince of Copperkettle Vale. A coy smile touched his lips. "I could slay you, if you'd prefer."
The dragon huffed (in a manner eerily similar to the princess, though with an added puff of smoky flame).
"FINE. BUT BE FAST AND BEGONE!"
"What do you think of this one?" asked the prince, holding up a shining suit of chain mail adorned with little red rubies.
"YOU COULD DO BETTER!" Fáfnir admitted.
“This, then?” The prince held a silvered crown set with gems every colour of the rainbow.
"YOUR EYES WOULD GO BETTER WITH GOLD!"
"Then this!" said the prince, lifting a robe woven of gold thread, the emblem of a tree stitched in silver.
"YOU ARE NO WEEPING WILLOW, KNIGHT. IS THERE NOT A LION TO SUIT YOU BETTER?"
And so it went.
The Prince of Copperkettle Vale spent many days searching the halls of Fáfnir's lair, looking for the perfect piece of treasure to seal their deal. At the end of each day, as the endless storm outside shook the very mountain to its core and the sun turned her realm over to the moon, the prince joined Fáfnir for supper (roast mutton with turnips; roast beef with mashed taters; chicken—plucked and roasted, drizzled in butter; charred oxen with yams and honeyed turnips; or ham cooked with mustard) and they talked of war and loneliness, princesses and knights, the dreadfully strong and the deplorably weak.
Then, in that dark cave, the funniest thing happened: love blossomed—even though they seemed so surely doomed, for love knows no boundaries and cares little for the colour of skin, social standing, gender, or, apparently, even species.
It was not the love between a prince and princess, founded on families and power, treasuries and politics. This was a true love, formed between two who share a soul. Their cruelty was equal and their love of mayhem and treasure unmatched. They bonded over stories of villages razed and kingdoms invaded. They sparred with sword and claw where other couples
"Hah, a wife, indeed!" huffed the prince to himself, and smiled at his mother’s dashed dreams.
"Did you bring a Parnassus?" said she.
"A what?"
"A Parnassus, you bum."
"A flower, you mean?"
"Go get one, you louse, or I stay here until a real knight comes."
"WHO GOES THERE?" cried the dragon, woken from his slothful slumber by their banter.
"A silly knight, cruel and ugly as can be," said the Princess of Flowerdumpling Peak.
And so Fáfnir lit the lamps of his terrible eyes upon the Prince of Copperkettle Vale, and...they softened. Time crawled as their eyes met and danced.
"TAKE HER!" bellowed the dragon after an electrically charged (and only slightly inappropriate) moment.
"What!?" cried the princess.
"TAKE HER AWAY, AND LEAVE ME IN PEACE!"
The princess stomped her slippered feet and balled her little fists. Steam poured from her ears.
"I do not want her!" said the prince. "She is a horror, and spoiled to boot!"
"YOU HAVE NO IDEA! I BRING HER THE WORLD, AND SHE WANTS BUT A FLOWER!"
"I will take her away, but on one condition."
"NAME IT!" said the dragon.
"You must give me your greatest treasure!” said the prince with a cocky grin.
"DONE! JUST GET HER AWAY!"
The princess, as you might imagine, was indignant and on the verge of a very entitled tantrum. A powerful prince and a dreadful dragon fighting to be rid of her! Where was the justice? Where was the romance? Where was her knight in shining white armour!? Was a flower so high a price to ask for the heart of a beautiful princess?
"Fine!" she said in a snit. "Have it that way! If you do not want me, I shall leave you two for each other!"
And she did. The blizzard raging outside the cave swallowed her whole. And soon she was forgotten by the two mortal enemies.
"She is gone," said the prince. "So, I will now claim a treasure!"
"BUT SHE LEFT ON HER OWN!"
"We struck a deal! Or is a dragon's word worth so little?" said the Prince of Copperkettle Vale. A coy smile touched his lips. "I could slay you, if you'd prefer."
The dragon huffed (in a manner eerily similar to the princess, though with an added puff of smoky flame).
"FINE. BUT BE FAST AND BEGONE!"
"What do you think of this one?" asked the prince, holding up a shining suit of chain mail adorned with little red rubies.
"YOU COULD DO BETTER!" Fáfnir admitted.
“This, then?” The prince held a silvered crown set with gems every colour of the rainbow.
"YOUR EYES WOULD GO BETTER WITH GOLD!"
"Then this!" said the prince, lifting a robe woven of gold thread, the emblem of a tree stitched in silver.
"YOU ARE NO WEEPING WILLOW, KNIGHT. IS THERE NOT A LION TO SUIT YOU BETTER?"
And so it went.
The Prince of Copperkettle Vale spent many days searching the halls of Fáfnir's lair, looking for the perfect piece of treasure to seal their deal. At the end of each day, as the endless storm outside shook the very mountain to its core and the sun turned her realm over to the moon, the prince joined Fáfnir for supper (roast mutton with turnips; roast beef with mashed taters; chicken—plucked and roasted, drizzled in butter; charred oxen with yams and honeyed turnips; or ham cooked with mustard) and they talked of war and loneliness, princesses and knights, the dreadfully strong and the deplorably weak.
Then, in that dark cave, the funniest thing happened: love blossomed—even though they seemed so surely doomed, for love knows no boundaries and cares little for the colour of skin, social standing, gender, or, apparently, even species.
It was not the love between a prince and princess, founded on families and power, treasuries and politics. This was a true love, formed between two who share a soul. Their cruelty was equal and their love of mayhem and treasure unmatched. They bonded over stories of villages razed and kingdoms invaded. They sparred with sword and claw where other couples
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