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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/campfires/item_id/887673-Alwyn-and-Pomona
Rated: 13+ · Campfire Creative · Novella · Fantasy · #887673
The lyrical adventures of Alwyn the minstrel as he searches for his lost Princess...
[Introduction]
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When a romance blooms between the daughter of a King and a young wandering minstrel, the King decides to nip it in the bud....
Alwyn was happy. Dusk was approaching and he would see Princess Pomona again.

He walked down a wooded path to their secret meeting place among the wild rose vines at the foot of the north tower of the castle. Pomona's window was just above the vines and she could lower a rope and climb down. Perhaps one day soon she would lower a rope and he would climb up! He chuckled at the thought of Pomona and himself kissing right there in her room, just footsteps from the king. But that was the future.

For the last three nights, he had been meeting Pomona in the wild rose vines. All night long they sat and talked. He sang songs for her, playing his lute, telling her tales of adventure and romance, while she sat close beside him, eyes sparkling, her hand gripping his arm or even sometimes his leg. A thrill went through him thinking about the warmth of Pomona next to him in the rose vines. During the day he thought of nothing but her blue eyes and smooth skin and composed songs to sing to her in the moonlight. He was in love.

"Alwyn!"

He whirled around to see who had called his name. It was Trisha, one of Pomona's maids. She was gasping for breath.

"Alwyn! You have been discovered! The King is in a rage! He is going to throw you into the dungeon!"

Alwyn felt his knees weaken and he suddenly sat down hard on the path. "How! What happened!"

"Her sister. Imogene. You know how jealous she is of Pomona..."

Alwyn frowned. "No. I don't know." He hadn't been interested in Pomona's family, although she had mentioned them all often enough. But he just enjoyed listening to the sound of her soft sweet voice and had not really paid much attention to the sense of what she was saying. Family squabbles were not as interesting to him as were he and Pomona's hopes and dreams for the future.

"Imogene told the King that Pomona was slipping out at night to see you. He was furious. Pomona is being sent away to her uncle's castle. And you..."

Alwyn jumped to his feet. "What about me?"

"The King has set his men to looking for you. When you are caught, then you will be stripped, whipped, and hung by your wrists in the dungeon until the King feels that you are no longer interested in Pomona."

Alwyn gulped. "Who is this uncle? Where is his castle?"

Trisha's eyes glittered and Alwyn had the disturbing feeling that she was enjoying his distress. There was a slight smile on her lips. "I do not know where his castle is. She has two uncles. They both have castles. Listen! The guards are coming! I must go!"

The distant sounds of barking dogs sent a chill down Alwyn's back. So! They were going to hunt him down like an animal! They had to catch him first! Alwyn set out on a fast run, away from the village, away from the King's men, and toward an uncertain future. But one thing he knew in his heart -- he would find Pomona again and they would be reunited in love.

Pomona recalled her first meeting with Alwyn and the events leading up to this day.

Her father had allowed her to go to the market place with her maid, Trisha, and a bodyguard who shall remain nameless (and for all intents and purposes IS anyway). Though they were in a peaceful country one couldn't be too careful - besides, it just wouldn't "look right" to have his daughter frollicking among the locals unattended. Being a man of moderate wisdom, he knew, or at least speculated with some chauvanistic certainty, about what kinds of trouble young women could get themselves into without the appropriate (male) supervision. "Whatever," shrugged Pomona...happy just for the opportunity to escape the confines of her luxuriously-appointed, albeit decidedly inanimate, quarters.

With all her learned, demure charms, she'd managed to entice some money from her "daddy's" robust, yet sometimes stingy, pocket with the promise of a new dress to make its appearance at the dinner table. While the king wouldn't have approved, had he known, she was also fond of buying gifts for her maids - which also helped ensure some measure of loyalty amongst them.

It was a beautiful, late Spring day - with the accompanying sights, sounds and smells collaborating to suggest a world teeming with life and possibility. The market place was abuzz. Trisha and Pomona were giddy. The guard was thinking "all my years of training for THIS" (inside neglecting that he was also trained for indifference to any stimuli except danger) and went so far as to further lament "women" while inwardly shaking his head. He at least recognized it was not his job to outwardly express himself unless spoken to or unless there was some saving to do.

Pomona had been feeling something indescribable just on the outside of her consciousness. Since it was a pleasant something, she didn't fret about it or wonder what it was doing hanging out there. She just continued with what she was doing...busily shopping and interacting with the towns people. The feeling continued to grow until IT happened near the fruit stand. The quickening. Her spiritual vision seemed to be focussing out the bit players one section at a time and zoning in on an area somewhat behind her and to the left. She turned around and everything was blurry, with the exception of one set of dark eyes on the other side and just above the bananas.

She stood transfixed...a face began to come into focus around the eyes (THAT was a relief!) and she saw it was a man. While at first she was sure she somehow knew him, the materialization of the face indicated she'd never seen him before. "Hi," he said simply, yet eloquently, "my name is Alwyn." "Alvin?" asked the princess. "Al-WYN," corrected the semi-identified minstrel. "Oh, I'm sorry...my name is Pomona." "You're sorry that your name is Pomona? Well, I like it...and it's nice to meet you." he smiled. "Likewise," the normally articulate princess countered. Pomona didn't notice the lute or even the colorful attire including form-fitting tights that clung in suggestive ways. All of her attention was on his face. She had no idea he was a minstrel or that he cut a fine figure of a man.

The rest of the day was an intoxicated blur. It was agreed on, with Trisha's assistance as go-between, behind the guard's back while under his nose (inasmuch as that is possible...and given his "party pooper" status) that they would meet after supper under Pomona's window, rose vines, North Tower. Trisha had, in fact, picked up on all the obvious cues to his profession, but opted not to question the princess' judgement in such matters - and, besides, found this exciting.

After a tediously long, borderline insufferable, rack of lamb all had been excused from the table. The king continued to compliment Pomona on her beautiful new dress. There was a glint of mean in her sister, Imogene's eyes. "Shut up, old man!" she was thinking, but was smart enough not to say out loud. While she knew he was right, that only added more fuel to her fire of jealousy.

Meanwhile, back on the bedroom terrace, Trisha had arranged a rope to facilitate Pomona's over-the-wall rendezvous. Having no experience in extreme sports, or any for that matter save croquet, should have given the princess pause to contemplate how to carry out such a maneuver; however, it didn't. Once discovering Alwyn was there below, she didn't hesitate, she was up, over the wall, down the rope, and <thud>. He laughed slightly. "Prick," she said. "Excuse me?" he asked, amused. "Thorn," she said somewhat painfully. "I'm sorry, let me see," he implored tenderly. She held her hand out to him and he surveyed it in the moonlight, removed the thorn, and kissed her palm. The touch. The feeling of completeness...at once transcending from the physical while at the same time solidly grounding her there. There was no place else to be. The hours fluidly and quickly passed.

Along towards sunrise, Trisha signaled the need for the princess to return to her quarters. A reluctant farewell to Alwyn and Pomona stood poised in moments of contemplation of being somewhat overwhelmed by her simultaneous happiness for the knowing and sadness for the going. It seemed she'd known Alwyn forever, even though it had only been hours...they were hours filled with passion, excitement, laughter, fun, comfort, warmth. They could talk and kiss forever, to the exclusion of all else, and she could, thereby, lead an utterly fulfilled eternity. "Pomona," Trisha reminded, jarring the princess from her musings. Pomona grabbed onto the rope and looked up at Trisha - briefly noting how her maid's special new necklace from the market caught the first morning's rays.

This scene replayed similarly over the next two nights, with the exception of the fall into the roses. Although the princess had thought she must have looked ridiculous on the rope (and was thankful for long dresses) Alwyn never failed to show up, and never gave her an inkling that he thought she was anything but perfect.

Trisha and Pomona had concocted a story to explain why the princess seemed to want to sleep all day...and "cramps" were indeed deemed a viable excuse. Alwyn's image had insinuated into her dreams as well as her every waking thought. She imagined him with her no matter what she was doing: mealtime with Alwyn, laughing at the jester with Alwyn, croquet with Mum and Alwyn, listening to one of father's stories with Alwyn, giggling at the sound of his name repeated several times with Alwyn, bath time with...OH! she blushed just thinking about it and then decided she shouldn't. "Hmmm...Alwyn can sing and play the lute. I wonder where he learned that." she mused prophetically. Their time together had been so harmonious, despite the hilarious moments when he was off-key, that she was sure her family would love listening to him play as well.

After the second night, Imogene began regarding her with suspicion. The "Great I," as she was sometimes sarcastically referred to amongst the maids, placed herself in a hiding spot in Pomona's room. The spot afforded her a view that third evening and she saw all she needed to see (Pomona over the wall, a minstrel down below, Pomona back into the room).

The king's shouts of rage stirred Pomona from her morning's rest and dreams of Alwyn. A guard came and brought her to her father. "You have been seen cavorting with a MINSTREL?!" A statement turned into a question with the incredulity of it all. The word "minstrel" in combination with his daughter and "seen cavorting with" seemed to sting his tongue. "What?" Pomona asked ("who is he talking about?") and then it dawned on her - but she hoped her face didn't betray a look of someone coming to a realization when she was decidedly trying to make it look like she still didn't have any idea what he was talking about. Irregardless of her acting ability, or lack thereof, the king was beyond being swayed before she had even reacted.

Pomona quickly learned she was being sent far away to a kingdom of one of her uncles (not even an uncle she particularly liked - this one never sent her a birthday gift, would often call her by a wrong name, and had bad breath). She also discovered that Imogene was behind this "twist of fate." On her way out the door, Imogene was waiting to get in a victorious dig "buh-bye prinCESS," she smugly over-articulated. "Trout," Pomona replied.

Pomona was so angry that the realization about this turn of events had yet to hit her emotionally. She heard the king calling for the dogs and smiled quietly to herself. She had spent much time with the dogs and they loved her, she had even introduced them to Alwyn on the second night. He had a way with animals, she had immediately discovered. It's not just anyone that can get old guard dogs to do new tricks. "Yes, father, call the dogs" she whispered to herself. This was just the sign she needed that everything would work out and that her Alwyn would come for her. In the meantime, she had her memories of yesterday (and the day before that and the day before that) to comfort her along with the promise of a tomorrow. She would do her best to hide her longing and fool everyone into believing she was happy without him in order to protect him.
Once Alwyn was a few miles down the road from the village, he stopped to rest and consider his options.

He had to know where Pomona was. That meant he had to know where her uncle's castle was. He could go back to the village and ask questions, but almost certainly someone would betray him to the King's men. The place to go would be another village where no one knew him. And he would have to hurry in case the King decided to enlarge the search for him.

He looked up at the moon, the moon that should have been shining on Pomona while they talked in the wild rose vines. But now he was a fugitive and Pomona was spirited away to an unknown hideaway.

With a heavy heart, he walked through the night until the first light of a new day. Then he moved off the road and into the woods to rest. Making a bed for himself on fallen leaves, far enough from the road to be out of sight of it but close enough to hear any passing traffic, Alwyn the Minstrel lay down to sleep.

In his dreams, he once more sat beside Pomona and gently strummed his lute...

My life was gray and empty
I walked a lonesome trail
In my search for happiness
I was doomed to fail

Then a sweet thing happened
A star fell from the sky
By chance I saw your face
And the twinkle in your eye

I sang a song of joy
Our hearts took wing and flew
Like the falling star
I fell in love with you

But Fate frowned on my happiness
Snatched you from my hand
Left me sad and lonely
To search throughout the land

I will not forget the rose vines
And the true love we had then
I'll never quit my wandering
Until I find my love again


A soft breeze caressed Alwyn's face as he slept and in his dream Pomona kissed him.




I never knew what I was missing
Skipping along life's golden trail
I thought not much what happiness meant
From behind the palace veil

Then there came the blessed day
I first saw in your eyes
My own veil lifted from my face
With my destiny to surmise

A blissful awakening in my soul
My heart beat strong and true
And praise the gods I knew it thus
I fell in love with you

Though fate would not just leave us be
My love, it shall withstand
And though my heart is aching so
You shall always have my hand

So now I know what I am missing
'Tis the true love we shared then
Which I still hold close and will renew
When my love finds me again



The slightest sensation and warmth of lips brushing hers roused Pomona. Her eyes blinked open and she saw she was alone in the carriage. "Was I dreaming? It seemed so real."

Around sunset the hoof sounds and wheel clicks on the road had proven to be a hypnotic influence. Her mind had cleared and given way to other energy...Alwyn's energy. She had no idea how much time had passed. A faint whisper of music on the wings of silent winds. The kiss. She felt that - knew for sure she did.

The moonlit darkness outside her carriage window pained her heart. "I should be with him, not riding in some dusty old carriage for hours on end on my way to some gods-forsaken castle of could-be lunatics! How could father be so cruel to me?!" she distressed. Tears stung the corners of her eyes and she felt her face flush hot.

Wait.
The kiss.
She felt it.
It was tangible.
Her anguish gave way to wonder and the pain began to ebb away from her. She had never had a "dream" like that before...this was something more. Her mind started racing and she couldn't keep up. A main thought she was able to decipher was "perhaps our souls are mingling at times even when we are physically apart." This thought gave her a measure of comfort, and she decided to keep a mental grip on it to use it again. She was going to need all the moral support she could get and guessed she'd have to learn to be master of her own counsel. When she did not allow herself to be overwhelmed by the current appearance of the circumstances, she knew with everything inside her that he would find her and they would be together again.

The hoofs and wheels clicked on. She snuggled into the seat for the night and caught a glimpse of her thorn mark in the moonlight. "You kissed me there" she thought as she gently and fully pressed her lips to that spot. "Good night, Alwyn, my love, goodnight."

Until my love finds me again.
Alwyn sat up in his bed of leaves. The sun was already high in the sky. He yawned and stretched. Sleeping out in the open was something he often did, since the life of a wandering minstrel does not always provide a cozy room and a warm bed.

Pomona! She was his first thought. I must find her!

He walked back onto the road and studied the dust. The night before, he had drawn a line across the road with the toe of his boot. That was so that if a carriage passed without waking him, he would still know it. But the line was undisturbed. He debated heading back to the village and making inquiries there, but instead set off in the same direction as before.

Soon he came to a crossroads and at the crossroads was an inn, the Sleepy Dog. The door was locked, but there was a rope to pull which rang a bell. From around the side of the two-story building came a red-faced man. He wiped his brow. "Welcome, stranger. I am Benjamin, owner of this here inn and what might you need?"

"A little food and if you would be so kind as to give me some directions?"

"Certainly! Come in..."

Bread, cheese, and a bowl of stew were set before Alwyn along with a cool pewter mug full of ale to wash it down. While he ate, he prompted the innkeeper to talk and soon learned the names of the king's three brothers and the locations of their castles. The closest was Sir Rodney, the Earl of Bullingame.

While Alwyn ate and listened to the innkeeper, a woman with a baby came from the kitchen and sat down at the next table. "Can you play us a song on that lute of yours?" she asked.

"Aye," said Alwyn, "and will it earn me a discount on my meal?"

The innkeeper laughed. "Let's hear the song first. If the baby smiles, then the meal is half-price. If the baby cries, then the price will be doubled."

Alwyn tuned his lute. "A penalty for failure! I must play well for his little majesty."

The woman said, "She's a little girl - Emeralda."

"Ah, then I will play a song of love..."



Thus, with the "Lullaby of Love," which Alwyn improvised on-the-spot (for indeed his gifts were great), he had actually sang for his supper.
Benjamin was quite moved by the performance. "It is an honor to serve you as a guest at my table," he graciously offered.

Indeed there was something special about Alwyn, and he was in love, and on a magical journey to be reunited with his destiny. This combination had the effect of somewhat mesmerizing those who had the privilege of his encounter.

"It is my pleasure to sing in your company and to dine from your fine table. Thank you, sir, for your kind hospitality."

It was a course which Alwyn was fated to take. He was comfortable roaming the countryside, entertaining and befriending strangers, and had always felt it to be his calling; however, true happiness and somehow eluded him. It occurred to the minstrel how fortunate it was that he was accustomed to this lifestyle now that he was on a particular mission requiring traveling skills. The only difference he saw was that he had a destination now - he just needed to figure out where it was. If he could find her without knowing he was looking for her, finding her when he knew who she was should be a whole lot easier he reasoned.

Suddenly, Alwyn had an epiphany. Perhaps he had been living this way so that he would find Pomona, and then do it again. He knew not before WHY he had traveled, just that he did, like it was a natural thing to do. He now felt deep inside that Pomona was the WHY of that mystery. At that moment he knew, with the wisdom of a man who the universe has suddenly made sense to...he knew they would be together again.

On his way to Sir Rodney's in Bullingame, Alwyn began to whistle happily when a noise in the distance interrupted the tune. He listened closely. There is was again. "Duke??" (NOT the Duke of Duttonville, Pomona's Uncle Clarence, but rather one of the king's guard dogs.)


Meanwhile, in Duttonville, Pomona's carriage was at last arriving at the castle gate. The princess had decided she was going to make the best of things, and in so it would bring her closer to her goal. She was determined to be in everyones good graces. Sometime after sunrise she began composing a little ditty to charmingly greet the duke.

My daddy sent me down here
He said I had to go
I hated such to leave him
Because I'd miss him so
Then I thought, "OH, he's my DEAR uncle!
Please send me, father, DO!
It's been a long time since I've seen him!"
So, uncle, I bring my love to you!

"Ahhh, my clever, sweet Panini," he offered from behind his faulted smile.
Alwyn left the Sleepy Dog Inn, this time taking the road to Bullingame, where Sir Rodney, one of the King's brothers, had his castle.

Thanks to the innkeeper, he now had a plan. The King had two brothers, Rodney and Clarence. Rodney was the Earl of Bullingame and Clarence was the Duke of Duttonville. Pomona must be living with one of them and since Bullingame was closer, that was where he would look.

After walking all day, Alwyn crested a high hill to find himself looking down at the farms of Bullingame. Across from him, on another hill, was the castle of Sir Rodney. Pomona may be so close now! The tiredness melted away and he hurried down the road into the village of Bullingame.

Alwyn's internal compass and aspirations were guiding him towards Sir Rodney's castle on the other side of the quaint little village of Bullingame.

Rodney was passionate about art. The earl would occasionally go to the village and do simple portraits of the townsfolk, all of whom adored the earl.

Alwyn made his way into the village. As serendipity would have it, Sir Rodney was on hand practicing his craft. Alwyn was a man of considerable looks, one might say he had a face that said "paint me" - and the earl noticed. "Good day, leotard."



Several miles away, Pomona had been summoned to the dinner table. Her uncle Clarence had ordered the presentation of quite a feast. "My dear Betty, how was your travel?" (Inside, the princess groaned. Where had he come up with such a ridiculous name? She much preferred uncle Rodney calling her "ringlets," or "blue eyes," or "smile" - he at least knew what her real name was.) "The travel was long, uncle, but worth it to see you," Pomona sweetly offered. The duke was pleased, and nodded his approval. (For indeed, it was a good answer.) "How fares your sister, Imogene?" he further inquired. (Now THAT IRRITATED Pomona!) "She's the same," the princess smiled. After dinner, she was excused "sleep well, Pandora."

Pomona learned she would be attended by Gretchen, who showed her to her room. Gretchen was quiet at first, but the princess stuck to her plan of making friends where she needed to. Within no time, the maid was spilling everything of gossip that she'd heard (as girls of similar age are wont to do, though Pomona had no gossip of her own to offer up in exchange). She was able to get the princess up to speed on the goings on and personalities in the household in short order.

Of particular interest to Pomona were the words the grapevine spoke about her. Gretchen indicated that the princess was not to be left alone, that a 6'6" 300 lb. lumberjack of a musician was after her, and that Clarence would be beginning the process of entertaining "appropriate" male suitors to win the hand of his royal niece.
Alwyn was surprised to find Rodney, the Earl of Bullingame, sitting by the road painting a picture. The Earl wasn't alone, of course. Two of his men sat nearby.

When the Earl saw Alwyn, he called him over. "You must pose for me."

Alwyn bowed slightly. "Yes, my lord." Did Rodney know who he was? Had he been warned to be on the lookout for him?

Rodney continued painting as he spoke. "What is your name?"

Alwyn hesitated. "Darwin, my lord. I am traveling north to visit my cousin."

Rodney gave no indication that he knew Alwyn was lying, but merely said, "Come to the castle in the morning."

Alwyn bowed and made leave of the Earl. Although his face was calm, his thoughts were excited. Soon he would see Pomona!

If she be here?
He considered asking around about Pomona, but decided to hold his tongue, since in the morning he would know for sure and asking questions now would only arouse suspicion.

Unless the Earl aleady knew who he was and was toying with him? Alwyn resolved to keep that possibility in mind and stay vigilant for a trick.

It had started to gently rain as Alwyn made his way through the tiny streets of Bullingame. Where folks were gathered in conversation, the minstrel would busy himself nearby in hopes of hearing word of Pomona, but no such words were heard. At last it was time to see the earl.

<Knock, Knock>
To Alwyn’s surprise, Sir Rodney answered the door. “Darwin...leotard! Good to see you, lad.”

“My pleasure sire.”

“Please come in.”

Rodney brought Alwyn to his study, where the warmth of the fireplace had eased the dampness from the air. They spent much of the day together.

Towards the end of the day, the earl turned his painting around...the minstrel was stunned by the amazing portrait he beheld, but more so by what he heard next. “Alwyn, I’m giving this to Pomona.”

How could he have known??? What was going to happen next??? Does this mean she’s here???
A series of questions came crashing down on his mind. The earl seemed amused by Alwyn’s look of confusion. Giving him a minute to compose himself, the earl opted to answer the questions he knew must be going through the minstrel’s mind.

Sir Rodney was a spiritual man, and an artist...a man of heart and keen observation skills. He had been “testing” the minstrel throughout the day and Alwyn had passed, and decidedly so.



Pomona’s day had been uneventful. As suppertime approached, Gretchen informed the princess that she was ordered to help Pomona dress in her finest for the evening. Tonight, and over the next several nights, they would be entertaining visitors.
At dinner that night, Pomona met the first of her visitors. He was Lance of Fullstone, the son of a friend of the Duke.

Lance was a tall man, only 5 years older than Pomona. He would have been attractive if his forehead was not so lumpy and if both legs had been the same length. He compensated for the leg problem by wearing a tall-heeled boot on the short leg, but his ambling gait was unmistakeable.

The only other imperfection that Pomona noticed was his loud laugh which was startling the first time you heard it and increasingly more irritating on future hearings.

Nevertheless, it was obvious that her Uncle Clarence, the Duke, thought a lot of Lance, so Pomona tried to be nice to Lance, but it wasn't easy.

Lance said, "Pomona, I am happy you are visiting the chateau. You are so pretty that you brighten whatever room you are in."

"Thank you, Lance, that's sweet of you to say."

"Not as sweet as you. Your tears are like the nectar of roses and your perspiration is like the sweey honey from the bee."

"Yes, well I am sure you have tasted neither, so they may be quite bitter for all you know."

"Impossible, my beautiful Pomona. No one as charming as you could possibly taste less than sweet. I am sure that if I should lick my tongue wherever I chose then I would taste naught but sweetness and charm."

"Well, I don't think you are going to be licking anything anywhere so there is no need to concern yourself with such thoughts."

"Ah, my beautiful Pomona. Surely God himself must have sent you here to charm me with your delightful wit and pretty face."

"You should know, Lance, that I am sworn to another."

"What? That scoundrel Alwyn? A minstrel? Just a foolish flight of fancy for you, young Pomona. The King's men will soon have that minstrel in the dungeon. That is, if they ever catch him. He was last seen running down the road with his tail between his legs."

Pomona felt the heat rise into her face, but she held her temper as well as she could. With tight lips she said, "You will please excuse me now." and left the room.

That night as Pomona lay in her bed, she thought of her sweet minstrel.

Oh Alwyn, she sighed, if only you were here. She waited, half-hoping to hear the chords of a love song, but all was silent. If I marry Lance, I will probably never hear silence at night again; he probably snores. she thought, In all likelihood, I will marry him. After all, he's a noble, he's rich, and he's not a minstrel. That's all that matters nowadays, at least according to Uncle Clarence.

Realizing sleep was not fast approaching; Pomona rose and went to her balcony. From down in the gardens, there came the murmur of male voices. She stepped further out onto the cold stones, straining to catch their conversation.

“If that minstrel has bedded her –”

“I assure you, my lord, no man has touched my niece.”

“She spoke of their oaths.”

“What she spoke of is a fleeting fancy, nothing more. How could it be otherwise? They were met scarcely a fortnight ago.”

“But if, as she said, he has stolen her heart –”

“No man has stolen her heart! The minstrel did talk of True Love, I am sure, which is why the King is anxious to see her married. The only reason. That boy has filled her head with romantic nonsense. She needs the firm, steadying hand of a good husband to bring back to earth.”

“She is a comely lass, though I daresay she does not favor me.”

“She will, my lord, she will. In time she will grow to honor, respect, and even love you; that is the way with women.”

“I will talk to my father. If he assents to the liaison, then I will marry your niece.”

“I look forward to receiving your letter.”

Pomona gasped. Marry Lance? Never! I must find Alwyn; only he can rescue me from this fate. But how?
Sir Rodney gave Alwyn a fine suit of clothes and a strong horse. He smiled as he shook Alwyn's hand. "It's up to you now, my boy. When you get to the castle of my brother, Clarence, the Duke of Duttonville, you will present yourself as one of those seeking the hand of Pomona."

"But what if the Duke arrests me and gives me over to his father, the king?"

Sir Rodney laughed. "There is no need to worry about that. Clarence has been opposed to the king in everything. I don't see him changing now. The only thing you need to worry about is this. There is a spy for the king in the castle of Clarence. This spy informs the king of all that goes on there. Unfortunately, neither I nor Clarence know who the spy is. So be very careful."

So with a wave of the hand and many thanks and goodbyes, Alwyn the minstrel keft the castle of Sir Rodney, Earl of Bullingame, and headed his horse towards the castle of the king's other son, Clarence, the Duke of Duttonville. Pomona was there, but of course she was unaware that Alwyn was on his way to find her. Alwyn hoped she would do nothing foolish. In two days they would be reunited.



At Duttonville, Pomona sat at the window of her room in Clarence's castle. She looked sadly at the night full of stars. Oh, Alwyn, where are you? Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. I will not sit here letting others control my fate! I will do something!

Pomona paced back and forth, her eyes blazing as thoughts and plans whirled through her head. She had to get out of this castle and find Alwyn.
Pomona tried desparately to take hold of the problems that confused her mind, seized her heart, and stung her soul to formulate some sort of plan. She somewhat distractedly noticed that at least her skin was faring quite well actually...was it the water here? the food? the air? the lovely essential oils Gretchen put in her bathwater? "Oh! I don't have time for such meaningless musings! I need to find my Alwyn!"

She doubted seriously that she could escape unnoticed...she'd need help...but WHO would help her?? "Wait! Gretchen?!" her thoughts commanded questioningly. She hadn't known her very long indeed...but...but...Gretchen seemed to take to her immediately. She seemed so happy to attend to Pomona's every need...and the way she smiled and looked at her...and the loving way in which she attended her in the bath. Yes, Pomona was sure that Gretchen did in fact care for her. "I shall find a way to convince Gretchen to help me," she resolved.

Pomona lay somewhat satisfied in her new-found, action-oriented determination. She relaxed into her thoughts of Alwyn and her mind, heart, and soul reconciled for this venture. The air itself seemed to vibrate its approval.


Alwyn rode quietly through the night toward his beloved destination. With the moon happily shining his way, he noted how Mother Nature had conferred her blessing onto his travel. This made him smile the smile of a man who knows with every fiber of his being that this is right and has the universe to back him up...a smile so rare indeed, pity there was no one there to see it. The rhythm and the course had a somewhat hypnotic affect on him.

Pomona...Pomona...the name repeated itself, over and over...until he started to wonder where she got that name in the first place. Perhaps it derived from "pomme"...and meant she was the apple of someone's eye...and Mona Lisa...and meant she had a mysterious smile as a baby. Hmmm? Mona Lisa? Had she even become famous yet? He couldn't bother to remember. Perhaps it was from "pomme de terre" and signified she was the potato of someone's something. He laughed to himself...and imagined how delightful it would be to have Pomona there to laugh with him. "Soon my love."

Rest began to call Alwyn's name, like a back-up vocal to a lullaby that was slowly stealing the solo. He pondered sleeping as he rode but doubted very much that the horse, although most well-bred, would know the course to take...no offense to the horse intended. He kind of chuckled at the thought that it could (indeed, he was in fine spirits!). He imagined how Pomona would giggle at that and her eyes would twinkle in that way he knew and loved so well...for he was a most quick learner and appreciater of all the things related to Pomona's "ways." The breeze seemed to carry her scent and caress him in seemingly suggestive ways - but, really, everything had the potential to be suggestive when it came to her so why should scents on breezes be any exception. He decided he would pull off the path at one of the places Sir Rodney had suggested...and hopefully dream of his beloved.


In another room of the Duke's castle, Clarence lay restless in the current predicament. (At least it was not a toothache keeping him awake this time, and he had the presence of mind to be thankful for that.) His thoughts flowed into each other. He remembered when Pomona was a very little girl...of maybe 3 or 4...she spent her first summer with him...how he had been so taken with her...she had a magical affect on him...utterly charming he thought. He remembered touring the gardens with her and telling her the names of all the flowers...and her asking WHY things have certain names...and WHY was her name Pomona? What a wonderful summer that was. He had taken to calling her different names and she'd giggle happily. She was like the daughter he never had. Shortly after his brother became King and moved to the King's castle and Clarence had seen her so rarely since. He still had a soft spot for her.

Now her father had put him in a terrible spot. Clarence and Sir Rodney knew what they were "supposed" to do...and that a spy was in his midst in Duttonville that reported to the King. This had forced Clarence to entertain such fools as Lance. He only hoped that when the King met Lance he would deem that the fool was obviously unsuited for Princess Pomona...and he was completely prepared to entertain as long a parade of Lances as necessary to afford Alwyn the time to arrive and then...well...cross whatever bridges necessary to allow them their happiness.


Elsewhere in the castle, Pomona sprung upright in bed..."I'll cut my hair and dress like a boy!"
It was well after midnight. Clarence's castle at Duttonville was dark and quiet except for one high window where a candle glowed. In that room a whispered conversation was taking place.

"Do I look like a boy?"

"Yes, m'lady, you do!"

Pomona adjusted her cap and smiled. "And the horses are ready?"

"I hope so, but we must hurry." Gretchen's eyes glowed with pleasure. This would be exciting. It hardly seemed real to her to be escaping from the castle with Princess Pomona.

Pomona blew out the candle and lowered the rope out the window. They had placed large knots along its length to aide their climb down the wall.

A few minutes later they located the horses, saddled and ready. It had cost Pomona a few pieces of gold to arrange it and she carried more gold in a purse around her neck. She resisted the desire to urge her horse into a gallop. They had many miles to cover. The horses must be treated gently.

This resolve lasted until the castle was out of sight and the princess and her attendant galloped off into the night. Pomona felt like a new woman, all things considered. She had never worn men's clothing, or had short hair, or straddled a horse, or been out galloping through the woods in the middle of the night. All these peculiarities made her feel liberated, electric, and powerful.

In this stride and energy, they had rode on some time when Gretchen broke the spell..."Mi'lady, where are we going?!" she called out. Pomona slowed her horse and came to a stop, "Umm, well..." the realization that she didn't know blanked her mind even further. She was speechless. "Mi'lady?" Gretchen inquired, calling her out of her trance. Pomona could feel herself blinking back tears. Somehow she had felt she would just automatically go to Alwyn once she was free of the castle. It never occurred to her that she didn't actually, really know precisely where he was. "Ummm..." she thought perhaps she should put her feet back on the ground to do some thinking. She had often seen her father pacing back and forth when he had important decisions to make...perhaps that would work for her as well.

She prepared to dismount the horse like the strong young woman that so easily climbed on same somewhat earlier in the evening - without the forethought experience would have provided. In the split second she realized this was an issue it was too late...she was down on her backside in a small patch of mud that some previous rainshower had so "courteously" afforded. Seeing this, Gretchen carefully lowered herself from her horse, finding her own steps somewhat shaky. "Mi'lady, are you alright?" Still somewhat stunned, "My legs...owww" Pomona managed to reply. This scene before Gretchen suddenly snuck up and tickled her funny bone...she repressed it as long as she could but it was persistent...right there, tickling...until she couldn't hold it in any longer and it burst forth from her with a force that even her funny bone found surprising...which made it that much more hysterical.

"Gretchen?! What is so amusing??" "Umm (haha) you, Mi'lady (hahahahaha)!" "Gretchen! First of all, stop calling me Mi'lady! Secondly, if you might, perhaps, stop laughing long enough you may be able to, possibly, help me up??" "Oh! Yes, of course, Mi'l...umm...Yes, certainly...sire?" Gretchen offered. As she reached out to Pomona the sudden foot against her ankle and pull on her hand quickly advised her that she'd been had. Down in the mud she tumbled...a somewhat stunned look on her face which was quickly obscured by <splat>. Gretchen scrambled to get up and tried to run but Pomona gave suit...tackled her from behind and the the two rolled down a small grassy incline. In short order, Pomona had Gretchen pinned to the ground...caught up in the unexpected exercise of the moment, it took a minute for them to catch their breath before they both started laughing.

"Gretchen, your name will be George and mine will be Modesto. We will start by going towards my uncle's in Bullingame, it is on the way to my father's castle."

With this plan in mind, they limped their way back to their horses. "I don't remember it raining, Mi'..desto." "Hmm, neither do I, George...George, I didn't realize men's clothes were so...restrictive" the princess said as she pulled at the seat of her pants. She wondered briefly how men carried on each day trying to keep them out of there...when an anatomical thought crossed her mind and she giggled inside but was too much of a lady to consider it further.

Pomona realized that while pacing may work for the king, she found that kicking Gretchen's ass worked for her personally. She grinned as she made that mental note.

Alwyn gazed at the towers of the castle of Clarence, the Duke of Duttonville. Soon he would see his beloved Pomona!

As his horse trotted across the drawbridge, Alwyn debated what the best way to approach the Duke might be. Although he was now wearing clothes as handsome as a prince's, he still felt like a minstrel inside, so just striding into the Duke's home like a prince seemed an impossible thing to do.

One of the Duke's knights was near the gateway and noticed Alwyn's arrival. "Are you Alwyn the Minstrel?"

Alwyn halted his horse. "Yes, I am he."

"The Duke wants to see you immediately. Come with me."

Alwyn followed the knight into the main hall of the castle, wondering how in the world Duke Clarence could already be aware of his intentions. The Duke's face was not friendly. He glared at Alwyn. "Where is she?"

Alwyn's mouth fell open. "Sire?"

"Pomona. Where is she? You were here last night and stole her away. You will return her immediately. Where is she?"

Alwyn stared at the Duke. "But Sire! I do not know what has happened. I am here to seek Pomona's hand in marriage. She is not here?"

"Don't play your minstrel games with me, young Alwyn. I have a dungeon and I have a torturer. Where is Pomona?"

"Your Lordship, I do not know! But we must find her!"

"Enough! Lock him up! Find Ignatius. I want this minstrel talking to me."

"Sire, please! I know nothing of all this!"

"We'll soon find out about that, young Alwyn the Minstrel. Perhaps you should play your lute for one last time. After Ignatius goes to work on your fingers you might find strumming a lute somewhat difficult."

"OUCHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!" The painful cry seemed to resonate of the edge of time itself...as though anyone unfortunate enough to hear it would be haunted by the memory well into the afterlife.

"Oh, for gods' sake! Stop being such a baby...and stop being so melodramatic! It's only a small cut."

"<sniff> I'm...how...<sniff>...???" Pomona glanced quizzically at Gretchen who shrugged, "Don't ask me, Mi'lady, for I have no idea what you're getting at." "What...what happened?" "You tripped over a tree root when we were leading the horses down to the lake...you scraped your knee. With all due respect, Mi'lady, you are clumsy. May I tend to your knee now?"

Several moments passed without answer...in silence. Gretchen curiously watching Pomona. Pomona's gaze fixed on the lake...breathing deliberately, slowly. She wasn't quite used to being on her own and making decisions...she knew she needed to get to her uncle as soon as possible. She couldn't let on how difficult everything was for her. She wanted to present to him clear and composed...and started to imagine how proud he would be of her being strong...and that he would help her find Alwyn. In she breathed <Alwyn>, out she breathed <stress>. In <Alwyn>, out <stress>...

"That's ok, Gretchen. I need to freshen up to see my uncle. I shall take a swim now." With that, Pomona stood up, shed her boy clothes and waded into the calm water. Gretchen watched from the banking as the princess slowly walked further away from her. Suddenly, Pomona had a thought and turned slowly around, "Gretchen? I forgot to take off the pouch...I probably shouldn't swim with it...would you roll up your pant legs and meet me half way?" Gretchen could see her point and was happy to oblige. They were almost ready to make the exchange when Pomona bent slightly saying her knee hurt. The next thing Gretchen knew she was being splashed...repeatedly...with Pomona giggling after her, "Gretchen, I may be clumsy...but you, Mi'dear, are a sucker...with all due respect."

Not one to be counted out, at least this time, Gretchen quickly deposited her clothing on a nearby branch and gave suit. They spent the next several minutes trying to run, laughing, splashing, swimming...she found she really quite enjoyed the princess. When she would reflect back later it was particularly about times like this that she felt guilty for betraying Pomona's confidence by spying for the king.

"What have we here?" came a deep voice. The two naked girls quickly lowered themselves into the water so that only their heads were showing.

On the bank of the lake stood three men. One of them had a black beard and he held Gretchen's clothes in his hands. He looked around as though he could see no one. "Someone seems to have lost their clothes. Shall we carry them to the village and see what lass may have lost her clothes?"

"Those are our clothes!" Gretchen blurted out.

"Did you hear something, Robert?" said the man with the black beard to his companion, a short man with curly blonde hair.

"Yes, James, I did. Perhaps this is an enchanted lake and there are water sprites in it?"

The third man was tall and skinny and had a bow slung over his shoulder. "Aye! I've heard of these water sprites. They call to men and make sport with them."

"Is that true, Archer?" James asked, twirling his black beard with long fingers. "What should we do then? Can they be shot with arrows? Should we disenchant this place?"

Robert, the short blonde, laughed. "They are not to be shot with the Archer's long arrows but with the much shorter arrows that we each carry below our belts."

James laughed. "Speak for yourself, Robert! I carry a long an arrrow as any and my aim is true."

Pomona and Gretchen shivered in the water, but their faces were warm and red. "What should we do?" whispered Gretchen.

Pomona discerned a tone in Gretchen's voice and narrowed a quick sideways glance in her direction, "tramp" she thought.

"You will aim none of your pathetic weapons in our direction!" Pomona defied. The three men ribbed each other in laughter, thinking they held all the cards but oblivious to the full deck. "A feisty sprite!" "The best kind!" Pomona's anger and uncertainty continued to grow in parallel increments until they threatened to cancel each other out. As her mind was unsure what that would leave her with, they continued to volley for the spot in her conscious.

Sensing the princess' impending psychiatric event, Gretchen interrupted. "She is the niece of the Earl of Bullingame! There is a reward for our safe return!" The men became quiet, speaking amongst themselves. Pomona eyed Gretchen who shrugged almost unnoticeably, in a way that suggested "well, YOU certainly weren't coming up with any better ideas." Relieved to relinquish momentary control of their fates to the maid, the princess whispered "What should I do with the pouch??"

***

Ignatius whistled a tune as he ascended the dungeon steps in search of the Duke. He found him pacing the ballroom, wringing his hands, and muttering like a madman to an invisible confidant. "What have you learned?!" Clarence demanded.

Not one to become emotionally invested in the goings on around him, a personality attribute which scored high for him in the interview process for this position, the torturer suggested the Duke should come to speak with the minstrel directly. "Why should I?!" Clarence retorted, in a way indicating he wasn't seeking an answer but but more like he was confounded by the stupidity of the person who suggested it.

Ignatius didn't respond, he turned on his heel to lead the Duke to Alwyn. He began to whistle again, much to Clarence's annoyance. "Stop it!" Although he stopped, he continued to hear the tune in his head "Ignatius, Ignatius, Bodacious! Banana Fana Fo Facious...me my mo Macious...Ignatius!" In all his years he never knew a word rhymed with his name, he felt like a new man...he even felt like he somehow walked differently. Bodacious! He smirked inwardly.

"Very well, m'Lady," said James. "We will help you return to the Earl of Bullingame."

Pomona pointed at the trees. "Take the three of you well back into the wood. If a one of you so much as glances in our direction I shall instruct the Earl to pluck out your eyes and feed them to the crows."

"My Lady doth inspire us to obediance," said James with a deep bow. "Come along, sires. Let us take ourselves away so that the Lady may regain her modesty."

James and Robert and Archer walked deep into the wood as Pomona and Gretchen kept a wary eye on them. "Can you see us now?" called Pomona.

"No, we cannot!" came a faraway male voice.

"I think it's safe now, Gretchen. You get out first and fetch me a towel."

Gretchen rolled her eyes but walked out of the lake without haste to get the towel. The sun gleamed on her naked skin. What a little tramp! thought Pomona.

In their hiding place in the trees Archer nudged James in the ribs. "Look at that!"

"Aye!" said James. "A ripe lass indeed. And look how she slowly struts. I doth believe she knows full well we spy on her."

"Aye..." murmured Robert and shivered a little.

"Well?" said Pomona. "Can't you move any faster?"

"The sun feels warm on my skin, M'Lady, and it dries the water better than any cloth. Perhaps you would like to try it?"

"No!" said Pomona. "I do NOT wish to try it. Hand me a cloth, and quickly."
The princess watched as the maid continued to walk slowly in her direction, a pace which would suggest she was half-afraid of getting wet...ridiculous given that she was JUST in the water. Her exaggerated posture (chest forward and back arched), rosy cheeks, and twinkle in her eyes begged recognition of the obvious motivation that propelled her. She certainly strode with ease, decidedly unlike a girl who was tackled in the mud after spending hours on a horse. "Tramp!" Pomona thought, yet again. "Gretchen!" came the reprimanding whisper, "WHAT are you doing??" "Bringing you your towel mi'lady."

The princess waded in far enough that she could stand up as she wrapped the towel around her. Finding her clothes she searched the tree line for a secluded spot to get dressed. "Don't stray too far mi'lady," came an unidentified call from the woods. So they ARE watching! "No need to concern yourselves 'gentlemen'" she hollered back, as she hastily fumbled with her clothes and her dignity. Gretchen, on the other hand, thought "so they ARE watching!" (with a much different emphasis in her mind) as she slowly began to dress out in the open. She bent over gingerly at the waist to pick up her leggings, slowly inserting one foot and then the other from that position, wiggling her hips as raised the clothing up and rising back up from the waist. Then turned to face the woods as her arms extended upward in a grand open gesture as she lifted her shirt up to put it down over her head. She was quite the spectacle. "WHO dresses like that?!" Pomona fumed internally, while three obscured men watched and wondered, "WHO dresses like that?!" with a sense of fascination.

***

Clarence found Alwyn unharmed in the dungeon. He turned to Ignatius, "The minstrel bears no mark of your questioning!" Then, as an afterthought, "You fancy yourself a torturer?!" Alwyn softly interrupted, "Sire, if I may please have your ear?" Something in his voice, a tone moreso perhaps than the actual words, spoke to Clarence, suggesting he should listen...he relented, "Speak boy!" "Sire, I love Pomona, I would never hurt her. I came here to find her, and alas I did not. Had I reunited with her already already I would not be here alone looking for her. She is missing. I am devastated. We need to find her, sire, please." Although the Duke was often a confused man, the obvious logic of the minstrel's brief monologue did not escape him. "If he had her already then he wouldn't still be here alone." whispered repeatedly through the echoing tunnels of his mind. "Then...where is she!?!?" he bellowed.

One of Clarence's woodsmen thundered in on a black horse and lept from the saddle,landing nimbly beside Clarence and Alwyn. "My Lord! We have found the trail of the princess. She rode away from the castle on horseback accompanied by her maid on a second horse."

"Excellent!" said Clarence. "Saddle up a horse for me and one for my friend Alwyn. We will find the princess!"

"Yaayyy!" said Alwyn.

Meanwhile, back at the lake, James, Archer, Robert, Pomona, and Gretchen formed a party of five, and began slowly walking their horses towards the castle of Rodney, the Earl of Bullingame. Robert began to sing...

One day as I was walking far
A small lake I did spy,
And in the lake two water sprites
Quite lovely to my eye.

I drew my sword and held it up
The sun flashed on it bright;
The sprites did see me standing there
And sudden they took fright.

"Oh, mighty warrior!" called the one
"Wouldst kill me while I swim?"
"Nay!" said I, "I mean no harm;"
Said the other, "I trust him."

I stripped off armor, sword and shield,
Into the lake I dove;
The sprites and I did playful swim
To a secret hidden cove.

"This secret hole I did not know,"
I whispered to the sprite;
"You have my lasting gratitude
For showing me this sight."

"Oh warrior, it's enchanted here,"
Said the sprite with hair of gold;
"And those who deeply, deeply swim,
They never will grow old."

I held my air and thrust down deep
Until I felt near death:
Then popped back upwards like a cork
And gasped for one more breath.

"Again! Again!" the sprites called out
And down and up I went,
Until my strength was all used up
And every breath was spent.

Then lay we three on a sun-baked rock
And pressed each others arms,
And legs and hands and pretty toes
While I praised their many charms.

Pomona suddenly said, "That is a lovely song but I think you should stop singing it now."

James chuckled. "But he hasn't gotten to the best part yet."

"Nevertheless, I would like to hear another, different song, but perhaps he does not know any song but that one of the sprites?"

Robert smiled. "I did not know that one until today, M'Lady, but yes, I know many songs and I will sing you another."
Gretchen remained appropriately impressed, "That man is an utter god," she mused inside, beaming at Robert and batting her eyelashes.

"I much prefer the first, but I'll sing you this one just for fun," he offered.

Oh lovely lady why art thou
a damsel in distress?
Why is your hair in shortened style?
Where did you lose your dress?

Pay no mind, dear handsome sire
(most handsome of you three),
it matters not the where and why...
and please don't sing to me.

So spoke the regal lady
who might like to crush my pride,
but my courage, it was urged on up
by the beauty at her side.

Oh, Robert, please do sing to me,
such happiness it brings.
Her boy clothes looked so good on her
it urged up other things.

"Please stop now," urged Pomona.
"Oh, please continue," countered Gretchen.
Archer and James laughed, in that way groups of guys who like to fluster women do. "You are most amusing, Robert, but perhaps you and Gretchen can talk quietly amongst yourselves." The phrasing suggested a question, but the enunciation clearly made it a statement. Gretchen leaned in to whisper in Robert's ear, "what other things?" Inevitably, "tramp" flashed through Pomona's mind, but was interrupted by a query from James. "Mi'lady, why DO you wear your hair so short?" "Oh, it's not so short really," Gretchen interrupted, "I've just pinned it very tightly up...told you it looked real mi'lady." Robert started whistling a tune, like he couldn't stand a moment's quiet without composing a song. "Too bad he didn't write plays instead," Pomona thought. Then it hit her, hit her like an idea she should have had much sooner that she might kick herself for later..."Robert, do you know Alwyn the minstrel?"

"Yaayyy!" exclaimed Alwyn for the second time today, as his horse reached a gallop. Yay. He'd never heard it before, but it was a happy sounding word which he had unconsciously resolved to use more often...if the situation called for it. Having realized he'd said it again, he consciously thought of other possible applications. "I stub my toe and say 'yaayyy'...no, that doesn't work...I find my beloved Pomona 'yaayyy' could work...I feel the sweet warmth of her lips on mine 'yaayyy'...nope, that doesn't work." He realized it was only for select happy events and logged it in his internal phrasebook to use again. Alwyn was happy to be on the trail of Pomona. He was happy to be free from Clarence's dank dungeon wherein he'd sang songs to Ignatius...songs he didn't quite believe himself...but what do you say to a torturer?? He consoled himself with feeling he'd upped his minstrel cred by being able to sing under such conditions, and ignored the slightly sullied feeling he had. "It's in the past." He breathed a sigh of relief as he allowed that brief, albeit dark, memory to be replaced forever by his sheer excitement of moving closer to his love.

At lunchtime Alwyn and Clarence and Bob the Woodsman dismounted for a brief rest. As their tired horses munched happily on the green grass, the three men sprawled nearby and discussed their pursuit of the Princess Pomona.

Bob the Woodsmen chewed on a blade of grass until he had a nice wad to spit. He aimed for a shiny black beetle that was strolling through the grass. "Got him!"

"Where do you think the princess is headed?" asked Clarence.

"I judge they are headed for the castle of the Earl of Bullingame."

Alwyn gasped. "I just came from there."

Meanwhile Pomona and her four companions trudged along, singing songs to pass the time, not that there was much more time to pass because as they rounded the crest of a hill they could see in the hazy distance the castle of the Earl of Bullingame.
Bob the Woodsman was a legend in shiny black beetle folklore. It was told that Bob once knocked a beetle named Larry off a fence post at 250 yards with nothing but a spring blade of grass and the power of his spit. It was postulated that his clean shaven face, full lips and strong tongue aided his projectile endeavors. At any rate, Larry was never the same after that. He spent the rest of his life in a hole in the ground, recounting the story to whoever stopped by to visit. One would think Bob was cast from the hand of the devil solely to wreak havoc on unsuspecting shiny black beetles. Nowadays, most beetles had preferred to think of him as merely myth...but now, a fresh reign of terror would strike the hearts of beetles everywhere, as a sullied beetle lay unconscious in the grass covered in slimy green goo.

Alwyn casually turned to Bob, "nice shot by the way." "Oh, it was nothing really," Bob replied.

Alwyn was happy to be heading back to Bullingame, but wishing, of course, that he hadn't left. Clarence, on the other hand, grimaced uncomfortably. He regarded his brother as a flamboyant tree hugger, but at least less imposing than his brother the king.

Meanwhile, as the party of five regarded the castle of Bullingame, Pomona regarded Robert with a look similar to disdain. He'd been so caught up in his singing and whispering with Gretchen that he'd ignored Pomona for some time...she'd opted to let it go, at least he was leaving her alone. Suddenly, with reprieve from his company upon her, she held her tongue no longer. "Robert! If I may? I asked you 14 songs ago...do you know Alwyn the minstrel??" Robert just shrugged, "nope, never heard of him." Well, at least she had her answer. She turned to look at Archer and James who both also bore blank, but sympathetic, expressions. "No, mi'lady I'm afraid I don't." "Sorry, nope...me neither." Pomona hadn't realized how she'd been holding out the hope over the past 14 songs of hearing a connection to Alwyn. She felt her heart sink, and the sting of unwelcome tears fill her eyes.

Sir Rodney, the Earl of Bullingame, had his painting easel set up on top of the tallest tower of his castle. From there he had a magnificent view of the countryside.

He was adding a dab of green to his canvas when he noticed five riders approaching on the castle road. He called to one of his servants to ride out and see who it was.

The servant saddled up a pony and trotted out through the open gate. As soon as he topped the first hill he could see that it was Princess Pomona in the distance so he hurried back to Rodney and gave him the news.

Rodney wiped his brushes and closed up his paint pots. Pomona! He was anxious to hear her story.


Alwyn and Clarence and Bob the Woodsman stopped for another moment of rest on the road to Bullingame. "Look, Bob," said Alwyn, "a beetle!"

Sure enough, a shiny black beetle was laboriously attempting to climb a thin weed. Splat! He fell to the ground covered in green slime.

"Good shot, Bob!" Alwyn said. And the three men laughed and sipped cool water from the leather bags they carried on their horses.

The beetle groaned and began the long task of freeing himself from the wet wad of Bob's spittle bomb.

Alwyn sang a little ditty.
"There once was a woodsman named Bob
Who spat grass like it was his job
The beetles were harried
From the load they carried...
A well-aimed and green gooey gob."

The beetle groaned some more. Bob chuckled. Clarence grew more weary...almost like Alwyn's creativity was linked directly to the Duke's vitality.

Alwyn had been getting antsy..."Are we ready to go, sire?" "Yes, yes...these old bones have rested long enough." "YAY!" Bob exclaimed, having heard the expression many times before. Alwyn laughed and yelled "YAY!" echoing the sentiment.

Sir Rodney's surrealistic landscape "My Impression of the Countryside on a Reasonably Fine Day" would have to wait. Pomona was coming! He instantly knew he was going to change the title of his piece to suit the occasion..."My Impression of the Countryside on What Became a VERY Fine Day."

Pomona was still sniffling a little on the inside, but was excited to be close to seeing her uncle Rodney. Gretchen and Robert's relationship had fast-forwarded to riding closely side by side and giggling like teenagers. Archer and James seemed emotionally detached from, although consistently mentally interested in and perhaps spiritually invested in, the day's events.

At last they had reached their destination. "YIPPEE" exclaimed Robert.


Rodney was standing by the drawbridge when Pomona, Gretchen, Robert, James, and Archer rode up. "Hello! Hello! This is a welcome surprise!" Pomona laughed and hugged her Uncle.

There was a thunder of hooves and up rode Alwyn, Clarence, and Bob. Pomona screamed, "Alwyn!" and Alwyn grinned and jumped off his horse. They were running toward each other when a dark shadow engulfed them. They were too intent on each other to look up, but everyone else did.

"It's the dragon!" Archer yelled.

"Look out!" Gretchen screamed and only then did Pomona look up as the fierce claws of the dragon swooped down to snatch her away from her lover.

The assembled crowd could only stand and stare as the dragon beat his mighty wings and lifted off into the clouds with Pomona dangling from his claws like a rabbit being carried home to feed his young. She kicked her legs frantically and screamed, "Alwyn! Alwyn! Help me!"

But the dragon rapidly shrank to a dot in the sky and disappeared.

Everyone turned to look at Alwyn.

"What?" he said. "Is it my fault a dragon carried her away?"

Clarence and Rodney both were angry. "You could at least show a little concern. She's our niece and she loved you."

"Loves me," Alwyn said, "and I love her and she's still alive. I know that dragon. It belongs to Bryan Harg, the Dark Wizard of Alonia."

Gretchen gasped. "I've jeard of him. He sends his dragon out to collect young beautiful virgins so that he can... so that he can..."

"Yes," James said. "We know what he does with them. A fate worse than death. So what do you propose, young Alwyn?"

Alwyn stood up tall. "I propose to gather a band of merry men and seek out this Bryan Harg, to defeat him, and to reclaim Pomona for my own."

Everyone clapped. James stepped forward. "Well said! And I and Robert and Archer will join you."

"As will I," said Bob the Woodsman.

"Excellent!" Alwyn said, "And I hope that Clarence and Rodney will gather reinforcements to send along after us, for we must ride now if we are to have any chance of success."

"Aye, son," said Clarence. "That we will!"

"Then it's good-bye for now and wish us success!" Alwyn mounted his horse, snapped the reins and the five men rode off in the direction the dragon had flown.

"I hope they find her," Gretchen said. Clarence hugged her shoulder. "They will, child. They will."
As the group of "merry" men (now not so merry since the beautiful flower in their care had been abducted) set off towards the tower of the evil Bryan Harg, they discussed matters amongst themselves that varied in importance.

"Why would this wizard single out Pomona?" cried Alwyn in despair.

"Will we get there in time?" wondered Archer.

"What are we supposed to do about the wizard?" said Bob, twiddling a piece of grass thoughtfully between his teeth.

"How come wizards always reside in towers...?" mumbled James in a somewhat distraught manner. However, nobody was listening to him at that point. They had all turned to Bob.

"Bob.... I'm sure you know all about spitting," said Alwyn.

"Why, yes, of course!" said Bob. "Naturally, I am the most advanced spit mechanic on this side of the Rhilliam River."

"And can you reproduce these 'mechanical' things on, say, a much larger scale?"

"Well, what do you...?" Bob trailed off, then his face lit up like a candle flame. "Oh, I see. How big, do you suppose?"

"I'm thinking.... Big enough for that boulder over there?" Alwyn's face took on a mischievous grin. Bob gave a little laugh, and the other men became several shades merrier, as well.

"Perhaps. I'd need lots of supplies; I don't suppose you've heard of a new technological breakthrough called a 'rubber band'?"


Meanwhile, at the palace in Bullingame, Gretchen couldn't sleep. There was a maid by her side watching over her who was having far more success in that matter.

"Marie... good lord, Marie, wake up!" Gretchen whispered sharply.

"Yawhassit?" replied the girl intelligently.

"I'm leaving."

"What do you mean, milady? Surely you can't go to the market at this time of night?"

"No, not the market."

"Oh, then to a m - "

"For the love of roasts and royalty, Marie, no!!! I... need to go help Pomona."

"But milady, you could be hurt!"

Gretchen raised an eyebrow. Marie could be even slower than she let on.

"Yes, Marie, this is a possibility," she said slowly. "However, I was hired to spy for the king and help to ruin any plots against him or anything that would upset him in any way, and now that I've gotten to know Pomona, I feel guilty about it. So... I'm going to take her place."

Marie gave her a blank stare. "But the wizard... you know what he captures women for. Um, perhaps it would be best if you just - "

Gretchen felt like tearing her hair out. "Just cover for me, all right?!?! I know what I'm doing!" And with that she leaped out of bed, grabbed her pack (which she hadn't UNpacked from her recent journey with Pomona), and jumped out of the (thankfully low) window, into the night.
The latent hand of destiny gripped the main and supporting characters in such a way they all felt suspended through time.

Pomona writhed in the clutches of the dragon for so long it began to feel comfortable...comfortable in a way that made her wonder if she would be able to walk again when and if she were called upon again to do so; the band of moody men galloped until they were sure their horses' hooves had calloused; Gretchen ran headlong, toward a fate she thought might actually be exciting; and a bunch of supporting folk looked at each other and shrugged wondering what was going on.

At long last the dragon deposited Pomona at the top of Tower of Bryan, as it was known amongst the fans of local folklore. Bryan had been pondering her arrival for years now. He didn't used to be evil. He was somewhat awkward as a teenager, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin, but he was a good boy...his mom loved him, a few aunts, uncles, and cousins loved him...even a couple kids in the village would smile and wave when he came by. Then came that awkward ill-fated summer when he fell in love with a girl...a girl that jilted him, humiliated him, and ran off to marry a prince who would later be King...a woman who Pomona would later call "mum." Before anyone knew what happened, Bryan's skin had cleared up, he'd filled out his tights, and became handsome, some speculated he must be working out, taking vitamins, eating right...while others said it was some kind of magic and he had acquired a tower and a dragon...and an evil intent.


"Mwa-ha-ha-ha!" said Bryan Harg.

Pomona stared at him. "Oh give me a break!"

"No breaks for you, my fine buxom lass!"

Pomonoa blushed and squirmed in her chains. Oh yes, she knew she was "buxom" and "fine", but she didn't want to hear it right now. Although Bryan Harg was good-looking and well-shaped, Pomona didn't like men who chained women to walls for their amusement. Anyway, her heart belonged to Alwyn. He would NEVER chain her to a wall and make cracks about her bosom.

"You think you don't like me now," said Bryan Harg, almost as though he could read her mind, but actually it was just because he had chained so many women to walls in the past that now he had a pretty good idea what they thought about while they were hanging helpless before him.

"But after a few days of hanging on the wall," continued Bryan Harg, "you'll come to find me attractive. It's called the Stockholm Syndrome and it works like a charm."

"Nay, knave!" screamed Pomona. "Your foul charms will never work on me. I love another and I would rather die than ever belong to you!"

"You would?" said Bryan, who seemed genuinely surprised at this revelation.

"Quite so," asserted Pomona with a smug nod.

"You love this man even that much?"

"Buffoon, did I not say just now that I did?"

Now Harg snorted. "Well then who is he? Some haughty warrior with pearly skin and blue eyes, who has won a few mock tournaments and won the hearts of a few dozen ladies and thinks he's the greatest warrior of all time?"

"No!"

"Fine, then. So he's a affluent and well-known scholar who's explained some principles that you can barely understand--and therefore, must be true--and who must be truly wise because of the massive amount of material wealth he's accumulated. Right?"

"NO!"

"O-HO! So then he MUST be a self-satisfied, pink-cheeked, soft-handed nobleman or royal, made swinish and arrogant through years of being overfed and having people bow down to him?"

"All right, just what kind of a whore do you think I am?"

"Why, my dear lady. I KNOW what kind of a whore you are. You're the daughter of the fair Katarina, are you not?" He paused for a moment, then frowned, realizing he had just raised the question himself and now he wouldn't get any peace until he had answered it. "I mean, you are, right? You are Katarina's daughter?"

Pomona's mouth fell open. "You knew my mother?"

"Aha! So you ARE her daughter!"

"Curses!" hissed Pomona.

"Well, anyway, yes, I did know your mother. She was the bonniest lass I ever laid eyes on, and I swore I would have her one day. The day she died giving birth to you, I swore that I would have the next best thing. Now do you see?"

A little too well, to be perfectly honest, Pomona thought. She surveyed the gloating wizard with disgust, then examined disdainfully the clothes he had made her put on when she was first delivered to him via the dragon. It was a fine lace and satin gown, pink with tiny gold buttons, and nauseatingly proper. This man clearly had a very sick mind.

"But don't worry, my nymph," went on Bryan, whose constant bravado Pomona could no longer phase out. "I have already had my way with many, many fair maidens, so I shall not disappoint! And now--!"

"WAIT!" yelled Pomona, who had just come up with a desperate idea to stall for time. Sensing the ungainly desperate tone in her voice, she paused, collected herself, and started again. "Wait just one moment. You wanted the daughter of Katarina, and I am she. But did you also know that Katarina had another, older, even fairer daughter?"

Now it was Bryan;s turn to drop his jaw. "Fairer and more inviting than you? Impossible."

"Oh, no, it's quite true."

"But YOU must, my lady, are the fairest wench I have ever set eyes on!"

"Well, my sister has been said to be the exact spitting image of our mother."

Bryan threw his hands upward and uttered a joyful "Hallejuah!" Pomona took this to be a good sign. "Oh, joyous day! At last, the day is come when I shall have for my bed the maiden I thought gone from me forever! And I owe it all to you, my beautiful chained muse! How shall I ever express my gratitude?"

"Well, you could start by sending the dragon along to fetch her... AND letting me go."

"We'll see, my treasure. Now, does this divine perfection of a sister of your have a name?"

THAT was the final straw. Pomona glowered at him, livid, as she muttered aloud: "Imogene."
As Gretchen progressed down the road, she noted that it grew hotter and hotter as she neared the tower, probably caused by the inhabitance of a dragon of rather large and steamy proportions, though no one can say for SURE. Not being the brightest of wenches, she attributed this to a multitude of saunas and hot tubs. She grew even more impressed by the notion.



Meanwhile, just a mile or two from the tower itself, the band of merry men had enlisted a trio of giants to tear up trees and tie them together in such a way that they began to resemble...

"A huge jaw!" exclaimed Bob proudly, beaming at his invention. "With a tongue and the spituary gland and the glopherous hymenophene and the xamaronthusium and the - "

"Yes, Bob, we understand about the mechanism of spitting, thank you very much. No need to explain the physics of the gloffy-whatsitcalled." Alwyn had rather had enough of this babble, although what had originally been his plan was absolutely brilliant in every way possible.

Simply put, the giants would pull levers and load ammunition and press joints and other such things to trigger what would, in effect, result in a rather large crash triggered by a fast-moving rock hitting a still-standing, far older, hollow, and much more brittle rock. In other words, the catapult effect.

Bob was babbling on in bliss by the contraption, Archer and James and Robert and Alwyn and the three giants were rubbing their temples in frustration, and the birds were all flying in the opposite direction - and suddenly there was a resounding CRASH! The giants looked around - wasn't the crash supposed to come after they reached the big tower? - and their eyes fell upon what had once been their masterpiece, which now lay in wooden shambles on the ground.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!?!?!?!?!" shouted one or more masculine voices at pretty much the same time. They had lost track of whose was whose, so voices were floating around in the air without purpose but to make noise.

Suddenly, one of them found its owner as Alwyn turned to face the ruined catapult. It got caught in his throat, stuck somewhere in his bronchial tubes, lodged in a random passage, almost swallowed and digested, and managed to cough itself back out as Alwyn boggled in amazement.

"GRETCHEN?!"



After Gretchen was mended from her headlong crash, coming out with all sorts of bandages, she explained that she had been so impressed by the wizard lord's incredible array of hot tubs and such that the heat got to her head and she simply forgot to look where she was going. The voices still floating around the side of the pathway were shouting things such as "What on earth are you doing here?" and "Are you completely insane?!" and "No need to ask THAT."

"What were you doing coming this way, Gretchen?" asked Alwyn.

"I was on my way to save Pomona by taking her place."

"But the wizard - you know what he captures women for! Perhaps it's best if you just - "

"Please shut up; I know what I'm doing."

Alwyn was rather puzzled as she assumed a dreamy look, but shook it off as sheer heat and dragon-flame fumes. Indeed, it was so bad that hardly anything grew in this area.

"If you're sure you wish to do this, Gretchen, then you'll be the 'compromise or annihilate' portion of our plan. That is, after we construct another catapult."

"But you'll destroy the hot tubs!" wailed Gretchen.

"Not to mention the giants are gone," pointed out a stray voice.

Hence the enormous humanoid footprints running away to where they came from.

Alwyn sighed. "I suppose we shall have to allow the reinforcements to do the 'breaking and entering' part, then..."



At the tower of Bryan, the necromancer himself was arranging a runner to go out with the white flag of truce, to carry a message that Pomona would be surrendered if Imogene were to take her place. Little did he know that Alwyn and the voiceless Merry Men would slay him, misaking him as hostile (white flags can hardly stay clean when you're surrounded by sulfurous, dirty mountains and ashy wastelands.) And that Imogene, pretty as she was, would not be coming to his tower after all.
A whole day had passed and no sign of the messenger. Bryan paced angrily across the tiled floor of his kitchen. "He definitely should have been able to at least send a message by now," Bryan muttered. "He wouldn't dare be late... not again! Especially considering the penalty I inflict on messengers who are late three times."

It was indeed a well-known and well-feared punishment: the messenger had their hands and feet bound and left for a whole day in a waist-deep river. Every morning three goat farmers would take their flocks to bathe and drink from this lake, every afternoon the Sisterhood of the Fattest Girls in all the Land (or SFGL) came to bathe there, and every evening it would become the dumping place for chamber pots, diseased livestock and a nearby spice mill. There was nothing Bryan hated more than tardy messengers.

"Sir," said his chef, Tango, as he hacked into a whole side of beef with his cleaver. "Surely if you sent your dragon to retrieve the princess Imogene, she'd be here by twilight."

Of course, Bryan had thought of this already. He scowled and told Tango to think less about his master's affairs and more about that stew he was making for his master. Then he stormed off to order the dragon released from its bonds and sent to capture the lady Imogene. But he knew in his heart that it wasn't fair to yell at Tango for that, and he would make amends that night by, for once, not throwing the stew in his face after it was brought to the table a minute late.

Meanwhile, after 24 hours, Alwyn and the voiceless Merry Men were nearing victory. After resolving not to waste time pondering how a slender girl like Gretchen could destroy such a mighty wooden contraption just by accidentally running into it, they had decided to rebuild the catapult after all. This time they had made all sorts of altercations to ensure that it couldn't be destroyed by the same means again.

They gazed upon the finished catapult now; it was a beauty. Twice as thick and strong as before, on top of enormous wooden wheels capable of rolling into forwards into battle, and equipped with precision aiming and a person-sized firing compartment to fling people into the tower, thus allowing a more effective invasion.

Without the aid of the giants, it had taken a full twenty-four hours since they killed that hostile messenger yesterday. They had toiled all night, watched by Gretchen and the floating, disembodied voices. But now the work was finished.

Alwyn surveyed the result with pride. "We can't go wrong this time, fellows!" he assured his voiceless companions. "I'd like to see THIS miracle of modern engineering get destroyed so quickly!"

Suddenly a shadow fell over them, accompanied by a fresh new blast of sulfur and a rush of wind. The dragon! Barely noticing any of them, he beat his mighty wings again and surged forwards in the sky.

WOOOOOOSSHH! The resulting gust of wind blew all the disembodied voices down the hill. They called out to their owners as they fell headlong into a crevasse which led to an impressive cave system (it was a popular tourist attraction in the winter, the only time when the heat wasn't unbearable in the underground part of Bryan's realm). The Merry Men gaped (since they couldn't scream) and dashed off to retrieve their voices.

CRASH! The dragon's tail, flailing behind its soaring body, struck the catapult and smashed it, quite literally, to toothpicks. Then, with a roar, it was gone, flying off to who knows where.

Alwyn took one look at the pile of tiny splinters that lay before him, one look at the rapidly-disappearing Merry Men and one look at Gretchen (who looked back at him with concern). Then he smiled, said something softly—which sounded to Gretchen like it could have been, "Excuse me, I'll be right back,"—and fell into a dead faint.

Meanwhile, Operation: Get Sister, as Bryan had named it, was complete success. The dragon plucked Imogene right out of her bedroom, ironically at the exact moment as she was admiring herself in the mirror, dressed only in undergarments so as to examine her new corset. The King, of course, had been furious, and had sent out his fastest riders to follow the dragon and retrieve Imogene, and, on the off-chance that Alwyn was somehow connected—as the king thought for sure he was—he had gone too far, and was to be sent off to spend the rest of his life in service to the SFGL. And riding with them was none other than the maid Trisha, who had been made to serve Imogene in Pomona’s absence.

The dragon sat Imogene down neatly on the tallest tower of Bryan Harg's castle. "Here you are, Lord Harg," the dragon roared. "I have fetched the wench. Now where is my rack of baby back ribs?"

Of course, by 'rack' the dragon meant a whole cow, so Bryan Harg pointed at his herd down in the valley and said, "Take your pick. Meanwhile, I shall take my pick." And he looked at Imogene with his gleaming lustful eyes.

"Ewww, your eyes!" Imogene said.

"What about my eyes, little lovely darling? Do they make you grow warm and tremble with desire?"

"Not really. I think you got crazy eyes. Is you some kind of psycho?"

"Ha, ha, haaa. Of course not. I am a lover man. Perhaps in your sheltered existence you have not come into contact with a real man before. Do you like to have... contact... my sweet little pumpkin flower?"

"Pumpkin flower? Pumpkins have flowers?"

"They're a fruit aren't they? Of course they have a flowering stage. But enough botanical babbling. Let's get on to the main course - hot pumpkin pie!"

Imogene screamed as loud as she could.

Bryan put his hands over his ears. "Stop that! You're ruining the moment!"

"I'm sorry. Your eyes were so gleaming and lustful they frightened me. Look, you're right. I've never been in... contact... with a real man. Can't you please be gentle out of respect for my lack of... contact... experience?"

"Ahhhh, a contactless maiden, eh? Perfect! Your little pumpkin flower shall be mine! MWAHAHAHAHA!"

"Aiiieeeee! Your eyes!"

"Okay, okay, I'll try to control my eyes. Were you in the choir or something? How did you get such a loud voice?"
"Hello? Excuse me?" called Pomona from the floor right below. "I can hear Imogene. Doesn't that mean you should be letting me go... like now?"

Of course, Bryan hardly pretended to be listening to this, but Imogene's eyes narrowed as she recognized her own sister's voice. "Pomona, is that you?" she hollered. How could you betray your own sister to this creepy-eyed scoundrel?"

"Well, maybe you shouldn't have told on me and Alwyn!" the voice called back. "Don't mess with a princess!"

"Oh yeah? Well, I'm a princess, too!" countered Imogene. "And I was in a princess choir! As soon as I get down there, I'll teach you a lesson you'll never forget!"

And get down she would have, if she wasn't securely fastened with ropes. "Now, now, darling," said Bryan sternly, making sure to keep his eyes closed. "We mustn't let any distractions ruin our time together. It grow late, and I hunger... for my pumpkin pie! AHAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

"AAIIIII!"

Bryan groaned. "Dammit, why did you do it that time? I was keeping my eyes closed!"

"I know! It was the pumpkin metaphors that did it. Could you stop comparing me to a giant vegetable? It's weird."

"Didn't you just hear me? A pumpkin is a fruit!"

"Whatever. Don't mention pumpkins again!"

"Fine, fine. How about... banana? My little banana flower? Eh?"

"Why don't you just say 'Imogene'?"

"Are you always this disagreeable?"

"When I'm held captive by randy psychos with weird eyes? What do you think?"

Before Bryan could debate the matter further, a servant appeared. "Excuse me, my Lord, but a delivery has arrived for you."

Muttering, Bryan went to the door. "I'll be back in a minute, my... flower!"

"Sign here, Sire," said the delivery man.

"What's in the box?" Bryan asked as he signed the parchment with his pen.

"I don't know, Sire. We're not allowed to peek."

Bryan Harg scratched his chin after the delivery man left. "Hmmm... What could this be? I cancelled that LLBean order. I know I didn't buy anything on eBay this month. Perhaps this is some sort of trick... maybe even a bomb!"

Just then he heard horses and remembered Willy the Stableboy. "That's it. I'll get Willy to open the box... Oh, Willy? Could you come here please?"

"Yes, m'Lord?"

"Take this box to the courtyard and open it. Make sure no one is within 50 feet of you. Then report to me at the North Tower."

"Yes, m'Lord."

Bryan Harg rubbed his hands together. "Now... back to my little garden of pumpkin flowers..."
          Alwyn stirred up from his fiant.

          "Oh man....." He said as he looked at the shattered remains of his catepult.

          "Could this get any worse?"

          Gretchen replied "Well, all the rest of the merry men are looking for their voices, Bryan is going to make.....contact....with Pomona, and most likely the king has sent out his fastest riders and if they find you, you will by forever a servent to the SFGL."

          "Can anything get better?" Alwyn saddenly asked? Gretchen would of answered his question, had it not been for the loud wirring sound and brillient flashing lights.

          "What the...." Alwyn said the lights started to flicker off. A strange machine was in the place of the light. It wasen't really big or small, sort of plain. It was about the size of a stagehorse to be prisice. It seamed to be made out of a silvery, metal substance. Alwyn causiously tapped it, and to his surprise, a door flung open. A strange looking man, with strange clothes stepped out.

          "Good lord, THIS Certaintly isn't the triassic period!" He excliamed, looking around wildly. He then saw Alwyn and Gretchen. "Oh my, PRIMITIVES!" He exlcaimed rushing over to Alwyn. "Greetings......... Primitives,........ my........ name.......... is............ Francis.........., I....... come....... from......... the....... future!" Francis said slowly and sounding out each sylable.

          "Excuse me, but I'm not an idiot!" Alwyn shouted.

          "My word, these primitives are so advanced....what is this mangled thing?" Francis said pointing over to Alwyn's catepult.

          "Oh that was my uh...catepult." "It kinda got destriod by some evil wizard's dragon." Alwyn replied.

          "Wizards...Dragons?" "Oh please, those are just myths!" Francis chuckled. Almost intstantly, Bryan's Dragon flew overhead, quickly going to it's feast of cows. "My....god...." Francis said dumbstruck. As the Dragon passed, it's tail wacked Francis's machine, smashing it into a thousand pieces. "NOOOOOOOO!!!" "My time machine!!!" Francis exclaimed as he kneeled on the ground and started to weep.

          "So uh Sir Francis....Why did you come here?" Gretchen harmlessly asked.

          "I *sniffle* am from the assosiation of Really Smart People, or RSP." "I was sent *Sniffle* through time to find out everything about everytime ever." "But now.....wahhhhh!!!!" Francis cried. "All my hard work...GONE!!!!" "It'll take years to rebuild it...even with all my highly advanced technology and extreamly advanced weaponry to fight off any potential threat to my research!!" Francis cried as he pulled an advanced tissue from his pouch."

          "Wait, what was the last thing?" Alwyn said.

          "Highly advanced weaponry?" Francis said. "Why would aprimitive like you want my weaponry?"

          "Well, the love of my life was imprisioned in this tower over here, and I need to get in and save her before the wizard of the tower makes.....contact with her." "And since you have nothing better to do except spend years rebuilding your machine, will you join my group of merry men?" Alwyn said.

          "Hmm." "Well, I do have nothing better to do, and helping you may allow me to discover ancient contact moves haha!" Francis shouted.

          "Isn't this remarkably convient?" Gretchen wispered to Alwyn.

          "Why yes it is!" Alwyn excidedly wispered back.

"Now then, my little--er, flower," Bryan's eyes flickered excitedly as he approached Imogene, "Since that distraction has been swiftly taken care of, it's time for--"

KAAABLAAAAAAAAMMMM!!! Both of them turned around just in time to see Willy go flying through into the air and punch a hole clean through the roof of the stable as he came through.

"Dammit!" Bryan spun around on his heel and strode out the door. He found Willy lying on his side in a bed of freshly-pitched hay, still clutching the opened box. "What the hell was in there?"

Willy sat up weakly and handed him the box. "Sir... this box... very bad..."

"What's that? What do you mean 'bad'?"

"It had... an evil... mark... on it..."

"Oh no! What kind of evil mark? The mark of Cain? The mark of the afflicted? The Black Spot?"

"No... 'Return to Sender'."

Gasping, Bryan grabbed the box and peered inside. There was no mistaking it--the return address was his. And there was a letter inside. He picked it up and read it out loud:

"Dear Mr. Harg,

Although we appreciate your generous offer, we regret to inform you that we are no longer able to accept your pots, pans and dead chickens as legal tender (I mean, it may be the middle ages, but seriously, man, come on! get with it!). Hence, we are suspending our services until such time as you can make adequate payment.

Sincerely,
The Guild of the Chainsmiths"

Bryan dropped the letter. "And this is what knocked you through the roof?!"

"No," murmured Willy. "As I was coming back in... through... the stables... a horse kicked me... in the... heeeeaaaad..." And with that, poor Willy lay limply back and was dead--

--asleep.

Bryan's mind raced furiously, as realization slowly set in, and with it, panic. "So, that means that the Guild of Chainsmiths never came by to make those improvements on the chains... which means every chain in my castle is still a second-rate piece of crap... which means..."

Suddenly his ears picked up the loud ringing sound of chains being yanked apart and young feminine voices crowing with joy.

Bryan was so angry he yanked the box down over his head, pots, pans, dead chickens and all. "CRAAAPP!!"

With Imogene close behind, Pomona went sprinting for the nearest window. Goodness, she thought to herself smugly, I never realized I was so strong! This changes everything!


Alwyn, Francis, and Gretchen rested in a small grove of nookberry trees where they could see Bryan Harg's castle in the distance sitting high on it's mountain peak.

"So that's where your girlfriend is being held captive?" Francis said.

"Yep!" Alwyn replied. "That's the place. The walls are solid stone 30 feet thick."

"That's thick!" Francis said. "An atomic bomb would be useful, but I don't have one with me."

"What do you have?"

"Uhhhh.. let's see..." Francis dumped out his pockets. "I know this Silly String won't be too useful..."

Gretchen stared at the castle. "Look! Isn't that some girls hanging out of a window in the tower?"
"Oh, my goodness!" yelled Alwyn excitedly, peering closer to the spot where Gretchen was pointing, "it's Pomona! POMONA!"

An echo, then silence. "No good," said Alwyn disappointedly. "We're too far away--she can't hear me. But she's free! What are we waiting for? Let's go!"

Francis, Alwyn and Gretchen came charging out the grove as fast as they could, to find...

A giant shadow overhead! It was the dragon! Muzzle still bloody with cow meat, it had obviously been summoned by Bryan to recapture the girls in the middle of its feast, which seemed to have a profound effect on its disposition. In fact, the dragon wore a look now which could only be interpreted as saying, "Anyone who gets in my way will be flash-fried!"

Quickly, Alwyn yanked on the shoulders of his two companions and they withdrew to the clump of nookberry trees before the dragon could spy them.

"Crap," said Alwyn. "How do we deal with the dragon? Does anybody have a good idea?"

Gretchen grabbed the front of her shirt. "Aren't dragons supposed to be tamed by the sight of a naked young virgin?"

Alwyn quickly slapped the hand away. "That's unicorns, stupid."

"Really?" asked Gretchen. "Well, nice to know."

"Hmm," Alwyn thought for a minute. "Well, an older, senior minstrel who was pretty much my mentor once told me a rhyme about the way to stop a dragon," said Alwyn. "Let's see if I can remember it..." He cleared his throat and began to recite:

"There once was a dragon of Ickles,
Who captured a maiden so fickle.
Since her slutty behavior
Ensured no knight would save her,
So she slew it herself with some... some..."

Alwyn couldn't remember the last line. "Damn. Tickles? Were we supposed to stop the dragon by tickling it?"

"Pickles?" suggested Gretchen.

"Maybe he meant nickels?" asked Francis. Alwyn and Gretchen looked at him. "Oh, sorry. Nickels are currency we use in my future. 'Fact, I think I have some..." He reached into his pocket and dug out a sack of coins. "Yes! I was keeping them for my time machine's clothes washer and dryer."

"Well, all three of these rhyme," said Alwyn. "But if it's pickles, well, where are we going to find pickles around here? And if it's tickles, who's going to tickle the dragon?"

"Not me!" said Francis.

"Not me," said Gretchen.

Alwyn sighed. "And which one do we try first?"

"We already have the nickels," Gretchen said. "We should use them. And as for pickels, what about yours?"

"Ours?" Alwyn said.

"You know... your 'pickel'?"

Francis blushed. "Maiden, are you referring to our anatomy?"

Gretchen stood firm. "If anatomy means body parts, then yes. Have you never called it a pickel before?"

"Not really," Francis said. "And seems a far-fetched idea to me that that's the pickel the poem refers to."

"Well, unless you have a quart jar of kosher dills on you it's the only pickels we've got."

"I suppose so.." Alwyn mused. "Then I guess that leaves YOU to do the tickling, Gretchen."

"What! Me? I'm not going to tickle that monster."

Francis had been scratching his chin. "No, wait... I see how this could work. We throw the nickels at him to get his attention, then Alwyn and I show him our pickels. That will surprise him. And while he is surprised, Gretchen will run up and tickle him in that vulnerable area right behind his ear."

Alwyn and Gretchen looked at Francis. "How do you know dragons have a vulnerable area right behind their ear?"

Francis shrugged. "I'm from the future. We know lots of things."

"Do you have dragons in the future?"

"Nooo.... but that's why we don't have them. We learned all their weak spots."

"Oh," Alwyn said. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. Is everybody ready? Should I throw the nickels?"

"Yes," Francis said, "but not the whole bag. Just one at a time until you get his attention."

"I really think we already have his attention," Gretchen said. "He's looking right at this clump of nookberry trees while he circles overhead."

"But we need him to land. Alwyn, see if you can annoy him enough to get him to land."

Alwyn threw a nickle as hard as he could at the dragon, aiming for his eye.
The nickel bounced off the dragon's scaly brow. "DAMN! cried Alwyn. "So close!"

The beast reared its enormous head back, sucking up a tremendous breath. Alwyn grabbed Francis ad yanked him backwards just in time to dodge the fiery blast that followed.

"Shoot, I almost had him--right in the eye! Just one more inch to the left..." moaned the minstrel. "That was the closest I ever came to hitting something I was aiming at! How am I going to be able to throw that well again? Especially since we can't even get near him anymore without being burned to a crisp!"

"Here--let me try these!" Quickly, Francis produced a pair of shiny chrome goggles from one of his many pockets, pulled them over his head and grabbed the bag of nickels.

"Oh good!" said Alwyn, jumping out of the way to avoid a burning tree's fall. "Will it give you the far sight of an eagle?"

"No, these are X-ray goggles!" said Francis. "They allow me to see through things!"

Alwyn was puzzled. "How will seeing through the dragon allow you to aim better?"

"It won't," conceded Francis, "but I've always wanted to try them out. We in the future don't get as many chances to use these as you may think!" He drew back his arm back-- "Make a wish!" --and threw the nickel with all his might.

The tiny little coin sailed through the air, getting smaller and smaller in the distance until Alwyn couldn't see it any more. Then there was a slight smack!, and the dragon grabbed its face with both clawed hands.

"OW! MY EYE! MY EYE! OUCH!" In his confusion and rage, he momentarily forgot to flap his wings and crashed to the ground, throwing up a cloud of dust and crushing several more nookberry trees. Unfortunately, he didn't die.

"Damn, scratch 'nickels' off the list," muttered Alwyn. "You know what we have to do, Francis. Are you ready?"

Francis clapped him hard on the back. "Ready as I'll ever be, my primitive pal! Let's do this!"

Alwyn closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then he waited until both the dragon's eyes had opened again, counted 1... 2... 3! and dropped his brightly-colored silken minstrel pants. The dragon's eyes went wide, released a giant gasp through those clenched fangs, and toppled forwards.

BOOOOOOOOOOM! His head smacked against a tree trunk and one of his horns broke off. This, however, didn't seem to phase him; he was already fast asleep. There was a slight rustling of foliage and Gretchen emerged from the last clump of intact nookberry trees.

"Well, I guess it's safe to say that the answer was 'pickles'", said Gretchen, trying her best not to stare.

"Yeah," said Alwyn, frozen with shock from the whole experience. "I guess so."

As it turned out, only Alwyn had dropped his pants. Francis had, at the last moment, gotten too nervous and was unable to perform. The nookberry trees had now almost all been either burnt to a crisp or flattened, making the three of them much more visible from the nearby mountain peak. And by this time, Pomona and Imogene had discovered that it was possible to climb down the castle wall via the cracks in between the stones.

"I'm down!" called Imogene up to her sister as she released the wall and dropped the final foot to the ground.

"Quick," said Pomona, who was taking longer to descend. "Do you see that awful Bryan anyway, or any soldiers, or troops, or guards, or a crocodile moat?"

"No," said Imogene, looking around. "We're alone up here on the peak--but a little down the mountain I can see a big flock of sheep. Ooh, and even further down the dragon is sleeping. And there are some people around him. And one of them is-- what's he doing?--AUUUUGGHH!"

"What?" asked Pomona.

"Um... you have to come see this. I can't really say it aloud. But--but--holy mother of mercy!"

"Relax, Imogene," said Pomona as she dropped to the ground and turned around. "Whatever that person may be doing, I'm sure there's a rational explanation for OH MY ."

The two princesses were struck dumb by the sight of the tiny figure in the former groove of nookberry trees, with his pants deliberately pulled down for all to see. Pomona craned her neck and squinted, and gasped. "Holy mother of uncles! Is that... Alwyn?"



"Wow, Pomona!" Imogene said. "I can see why you wanted him for a boyfriend now. Even though he's just a lowly minstrel boy, he plays a big lute."

"Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Pomoma said, her eyes glittering. "Say, is there anything to stop us from skipping on down there and rejoining the group?"

"I don't think so, unless there is to be some last-minute attempt by evil people to foil our plans."

"You mean Bryan Harg?"

"Him or one of the unknown evil others that haunt the fringes of our lives."

"Gosh, Imogene, You sure have a dismal outlook on life."

"Yes, well... I don't have a boyfrind with a big lute."

Pomona smiled. "You can borrow Ivan."

"Are you serious?"

"Of course not! I'm the only girl that will ever pluck those strings."

"This is going to be one of those happy endings, isn't it?"

Pomona laughed. "I think so! I think so! Of course, it's still not too late for one of your 'unknown others' to screw it up..."

"Oh stop it! I'll be happy, too! Let's run the rest of the way!"

Down below, Gretchen had her hand to her eyes. "Look! Here they come a-running! Pomona and Imogene! Alwyn! Pull your pants up!"

"Huh?" Alwyn said. "Oh, right. This is wonderful! Pomona at last!"

Francis frowned. "Wonderful for you, perhaps, but I'm still stuck here in the past."

"Oh, cheer up, Francis!" Gretchen said, taking his arm. "Who knows? Maybe you'll meet a maiden and settle down here and have a great life!"

Francis eyed Gretchen's fresh face and ripe bosom. "Hmmm... I like your philosophy."

"And I like yours, Francis!"

And everybody laughed. Not that fake "sit-com ending" laugh. This was the real thing. Alwyn even peed his pants a little, just a few drops.

THE END
Thanks for participating by writing (or reading), in this campfire. This was the best bunch of writers I ever did a campfire with!!!

I am always open to new campfire ideas! Email me!

Steve

The End!

© Copyright 2004 Steev the Friction Wizurd, destinydances, Mistress Dragonslayer, Dhoc-li Llama, JoeStrong, TSC, (known as GROUP).
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