Tale of the Divine Ursine
Knock. Knock knock knock. Knock Knock.
And so Sir Bear knocked, in the classic 1-3-2 pattern of the noble knight requesting either quarter or parley. Even as he did so, he did not believe the savage dragon would understand this obscure and ancient code. Bear had excelled at many of the more minute details taught to him at the Academy of Knightly Arts. Carefully indexing each and every page in his copy of The Chivalric Code, he had memorized the thousand-page tome in its entirety. His instructors had even devised a special honour for him when he graduated, crafting a small golden amulet upon which were engraved the words, For Sir Bear, the Devil of the Details. This was of course meant humorously, following in the proud tradition of good-hearted joshing and comradely team-building. As he felt the warm weight of his graduation gift against his furry chest, Bear thought fondly of all his friends who were now traipsing the world in search of glory. Were some of them also gone to foreboding keeps to slay fearsome dragons? Had they rescued the honour of many a fair maiden? Had any of them fallen into courtly love? Perhaps some of them were…
Bear barely noticed the oaken door opening, so lost was he in sweet reverie.
“A knight calls requesting either quarter or parley?” asked a gravelly, yet even-timbred voice.
The sight of Sulfuro the Mighty, Sulfuro the Evil, Sulfuro the Wicked and Heartless and Imposing and Firebreathing and, did I say Mighty?, now stood in such shocking opposition to the diminutive and rather natty-looking fellow who lingered in the doorway attired in a matching set of long johns, slippers and a sleeping cap, the otherwise verbose Sir Bear found himself at an absolute loss for words.
Indeed, it was Squire Cluckphrey who stepped forward, bowing slightly to the dragon, empowered by the fact that he and Sulfuro were nearly of a height.
“Good Sir Dragon,” he began.
“I’m no 'Sir', Sir,” Sulfuro cut him off impatiently. “My application to the Academy of Knightly Arts was rejected on the grounds that I am a dragon. The anti-discrimination lawsuit I filed in response had no effect. How does one think to achieve justice in a corrupt system? It didn’t matter that I had twice the brains of every other candidate,” he huffed, his exotic dragon’s eyes slanting sideways to bestow upon Sir Bear an unmistakable look of deep resentment. Just as Squire Cluckphrey had taken a step into the keep, Sir Bear now quite forgot himself, retreating the same distance outwards toward the ruined courtyard.
Sulfuro laughed contemptuously, a small quantity of smoke issuing from his nostrils, dancing upwards in snaky white tendrils through the crisp night air.
Suddenly, another voice could be heard from within.
“Fluffy,” she cooed. “Do close the door, darling. I swear the eggs are getting goose pimples!”
Sir Bear thought he could detect the slightest flushing along the dragon’s strong cheekbones as he charged abruptly forward, gracelessly pulling Sir Bear into the vestibule and slamming the door shut behind him. The masculine party of three became at this moment a mixed company of four, gentled all by the entrance of the fair princess Varicela.
She glided into the room, clad in a pale pink gown of astonishingly fine silk. Delicate silver embroidery lined the bell sleeves and generously plunging décolleté, with a belt to match about her slender waist. The aesthete in Sir Bear slavered with inner approval, and for just the shortest of seconds he wondered whether he would have been better served in the pursuit of his initial career path in textiles.
"Good Sir Bear," the sartorial vision spoke, bathing the grateful knight in the full déluge of her splendour, "we are most gratified to receive you and your squire at our humble home. I assure you, Flu...Sulfuro...would more properly have attired himself, had he had forewarning of your arrival. But how now, Sir Bear of the Wild Wood, what news of the Kingdom? I trust my father is well and hopefully not too sorely put out by my absence? After all, 'tis only natural for the bird to fly the nest, even if just to find a larger nest belonging to a bird of rather a different stripe! But wings are wings and maidens are maidens! Is it not so, Sir Bear?"
The poor knight could do naught but shuffle his feet upon the flagstones as he blundered for a response to this most fantastical barrage of verbal typhoonery.
"M...my princess, I must confess you have me at a loss, for I am missing knowledge of the most fundamental sort pertaining to this situation. Have you not been dragged here, quite against your will, by this...artful...dragon, perhaps even r-r-ravished and violated, kept hostage in this place with no contact with the outside world save the ransom letters you have been obliged to send mensually to your father? Have you not endured unspeakable horrors? Are you not afraid for your very life and limb? Have you...?"
Though he was just now warming to his topic, Varicela cut him off abruptly as she raised her little chin in the air and guffawed like the bawdiest of sailors.
"My dear Sir Bear, I fear someone has been leading you down the garden path. My father's fatuous advisors perhaps, the inestimable Lords Barleycorn and Brandywine? Why those two spend so much time biting and bickering, 'tis hardly any wonder they were blind to something so obvious as a beautiful young maiden thrust deep in the throes of love's first passion!"
Squire Cluckphrey squeaked aloud.
"I...I don't understand," stuttered Sir Bear.
More smoke puffed its way into the room as Sulfuro again snorted his disdain.
"Darling," Varicela said in velvety tones, "Haven't I asked you not to snort in the house? It tarnishes the silver."
"Yes of course. Forgive me, love."
"Oh, my little Fluffy, so sweetly chided! Come here my little buggy wuggy!"
Thus began a display of the sort Sir Bear hoped always to avoid witnessing. He waited a few excruciating seconds before clearing his throat purposefully.
"May I suggest..."
"May I suggest, good Sir Bear," said Varicela, straightening her dress as she adopted her most regal tone, "that we continue our discussion over the civilized pleasures of a good meal. Why, we've all been standing in this sad little foyer like a bunch of lost little ducklings for some time now. I'm sure Cook must be waiting for us to sit down. Dearest, do be a sweetheart and change into something appropriate for this most festive of occasions!"
Sulfuro grumbled something unintelligible as he shuffled down the long dark hallway.
"This way, please!" Varicela chirped with such gracious grace and hostessly charm, that Bear and Cluckphrey found themselves quite disinclined to decline.
Besides, they were ravenously hungry.
And so Sir Bear knocked, in the classic 1-3-2 pattern of the noble knight requesting either quarter or parley. Even as he did so, he did not believe the savage dragon would understand this obscure and ancient code. Bear had excelled at many of the more minute details taught to him at the Academy of Knightly Arts. Carefully indexing each and every page in his copy of The Chivalric Code, he had memorized the thousand-page tome in its entirety. His instructors had even devised a special honour for him when he graduated, crafting a small golden amulet upon which were engraved the words, For Sir Bear, the Devil of the Details. This was of course meant humorously, following in the proud tradition of good-hearted joshing and comradely team-building. As he felt the warm weight of his graduation gift against his furry chest, Bear thought fondly of all his friends who were now traipsing the world in search of glory. Were some of them also gone to foreboding keeps to slay fearsome dragons? Had they rescued the honour of many a fair maiden? Had any of them fallen into courtly love? Perhaps some of them were…
Bear barely noticed the oaken door opening, so lost was he in sweet reverie.
“A knight calls requesting either quarter or parley?” asked a gravelly, yet even-timbred voice.
The sight of Sulfuro the Mighty, Sulfuro the Evil, Sulfuro the Wicked and Heartless and Imposing and Firebreathing and, did I say Mighty?, now stood in such shocking opposition to the diminutive and rather natty-looking fellow who lingered in the doorway attired in a matching set of long johns, slippers and a sleeping cap, the otherwise verbose Sir Bear found himself at an absolute loss for words.
Indeed, it was Squire Cluckphrey who stepped forward, bowing slightly to the dragon, empowered by the fact that he and Sulfuro were nearly of a height.
“Good Sir Dragon,” he began.
“I’m no 'Sir', Sir,” Sulfuro cut him off impatiently. “My application to the Academy of Knightly Arts was rejected on the grounds that I am a dragon. The anti-discrimination lawsuit I filed in response had no effect. How does one think to achieve justice in a corrupt system? It didn’t matter that I had twice the brains of every other candidate,” he huffed, his exotic dragon’s eyes slanting sideways to bestow upon Sir Bear an unmistakable look of deep resentment. Just as Squire Cluckphrey had taken a step into the keep, Sir Bear now quite forgot himself, retreating the same distance outwards toward the ruined courtyard.
Sulfuro laughed contemptuously, a small quantity of smoke issuing from his nostrils, dancing upwards in snaky white tendrils through the crisp night air.
Suddenly, another voice could be heard from within.
“Fluffy,” she cooed. “Do close the door, darling. I swear the eggs are getting goose pimples!”
Sir Bear thought he could detect the slightest flushing along the dragon’s strong cheekbones as he charged abruptly forward, gracelessly pulling Sir Bear into the vestibule and slamming the door shut behind him. The masculine party of three became at this moment a mixed company of four, gentled all by the entrance of the fair princess Varicela.
She glided into the room, clad in a pale pink gown of astonishingly fine silk. Delicate silver embroidery lined the bell sleeves and generously plunging décolleté, with a belt to match about her slender waist. The aesthete in Sir Bear slavered with inner approval, and for just the shortest of seconds he wondered whether he would have been better served in the pursuit of his initial career path in textiles.
"Good Sir Bear," the sartorial vision spoke, bathing the grateful knight in the full déluge of her splendour, "we are most gratified to receive you and your squire at our humble home. I assure you, Flu...Sulfuro...would more properly have attired himself, had he had forewarning of your arrival. But how now, Sir Bear of the Wild Wood, what news of the Kingdom? I trust my father is well and hopefully not too sorely put out by my absence? After all, 'tis only natural for the bird to fly the nest, even if just to find a larger nest belonging to a bird of rather a different stripe! But wings are wings and maidens are maidens! Is it not so, Sir Bear?"
The poor knight could do naught but shuffle his feet upon the flagstones as he blundered for a response to this most fantastical barrage of verbal typhoonery.
"M...my princess, I must confess you have me at a loss, for I am missing knowledge of the most fundamental sort pertaining to this situation. Have you not been dragged here, quite against your will, by this...artful...dragon, perhaps even r-r-ravished and violated, kept hostage in this place with no contact with the outside world save the ransom letters you have been obliged to send mensually to your father? Have you not endured unspeakable horrors? Are you not afraid for your very life and limb? Have you...?"
Though he was just now warming to his topic, Varicela cut him off abruptly as she raised her little chin in the air and guffawed like the bawdiest of sailors.
"My dear Sir Bear, I fear someone has been leading you down the garden path. My father's fatuous advisors perhaps, the inestimable Lords Barleycorn and Brandywine? Why those two spend so much time biting and bickering, 'tis hardly any wonder they were blind to something so obvious as a beautiful young maiden thrust deep in the throes of love's first passion!"
Squire Cluckphrey squeaked aloud.
"I...I don't understand," stuttered Sir Bear.
More smoke puffed its way into the room as Sulfuro again snorted his disdain.
"Darling," Varicela said in velvety tones, "Haven't I asked you not to snort in the house? It tarnishes the silver."
"Yes of course. Forgive me, love."
"Oh, my little Fluffy, so sweetly chided! Come here my little buggy wuggy!"
Thus began a display of the sort Sir Bear hoped always to avoid witnessing. He waited a few excruciating seconds before clearing his throat purposefully.
"May I suggest..."
"May I suggest, good Sir Bear," said Varicela, straightening her dress as she adopted her most regal tone, "that we continue our discussion over the civilized pleasures of a good meal. Why, we've all been standing in this sad little foyer like a bunch of lost little ducklings for some time now. I'm sure Cook must be waiting for us to sit down. Dearest, do be a sweetheart and change into something appropriate for this most festive of occasions!"
Sulfuro grumbled something unintelligible as he shuffled down the long dark hallway.
"This way, please!" Varicela chirped with such gracious grace and hostessly charm, that Bear and Cluckphrey found themselves quite disinclined to decline.
Besides, they were ravenously hungry.