A dragon came down from the sky. It was a large dragon, much larger than the average five foot man of the town. The dragon was cruel, the dragon was cunning, and the dragon was crimson-red colored. The dragon was the daughter of one that lived in the town, and the people had incapacitated its parent. And so, the dragon – vicious and vengeful – breathed fire on the small little town of Venninghelm a fortnight ago…

Someone needed to stop it.

 

~#~

Before you turn or flip or swipe or unravel or whatever it is you do, if you’d please: Set me down, ponder on me, and read of me again after thirty or more seconds.

~#~

Sir Jack Venning: Exceptionally tall in his community, only an inch below that of his lord and father, Lord Venning, who stood at six feet. His beard? There was no beard, only a blank creased page on the chin that could contain a whole life story. His eyes? Witness Moses’s staff in the Nile, turning the water carmine, and place within the center a dark and terrible storm. The knight reeked of mud and blood every week, but somehow he made you enjoy it. Never mind his short hair, which was usually capped with a helm of steel anyway. Hands rough as the reins, voice raspier than Rackel the old ratty stablehand, and his skill with the blade was no lackluster laughing matter either. No belligerent bandit belying as a buckler escaped his busy blade. No witty and wise woman’s heart was left unturned by his winsome and welcoming smile, save one. 

We’ll talk of her in due time.

This town? Why, ‘tis be only a couple generations old, freshly allotted to and established by the Vennings’ by the last late king of the kingdom (which shan’t be named). It was mostly established as an entertainment gateway between the highly fortified cities circled round and the royal palace of the king, lorded by a rich family and fitted most notably with a tavern, a stable, and a vagabond’s shop. Over it all stood the huge Venning mansion, in which sat Lord and Lady Venning. And when Lord Venning’s line is cut, though terribly tragic, Sir Jack’s place in it shall be next.

Yes, Sir Jack will become Lord Jack, soon enough, so long as he remains in good standing. And in good standing he was. Not only was the man the most valuable knight among the infantry, tales to have invented the cutlass by stabbing Satan with his own stabby arrow tail, he was highly renowned for his strategy. Albeit, it was usually flanking, but for the vile Viking brains of Venninghelm, it was pure genius. So long as he could keep with the ceremonies, military prowess was just about all he needed to succeed as a lord here in this defenseless alleyway they called a town. “If any dragon shall come, we’ve one of our own,” the townspeople used to say. 

And when that crimson dragon had come to this quaint and quiet town of Venninghelm, the people knew for sure that if any man were able to take it down, it must be Jack. And he could do it all by himself they say, which I don’t doubt when noted his wit and willpower.

Oh yes indeed, of all the swordsmen and swashbucklers of Venninghelm, he was that someone needed to stop it. But he wasn’t up to the task. He was a daring knight of a long noble lineage for sure, but it is tradition for one to opt more for love than to fight in his latter days. Day after day, night after night, the dragon pranced around the town of Venninghelm; one would assume it owned the place. The beast had the citizens at its fingertips, forcing them to do its bidding. Jack abandoned his town as a coward, and all the townspeople knew that he was the only one who could stop the crimson dragon. Sir Jack just had other plans.

He was in need of a companion. Oh, Jack was loved by all and charming, but Jack was lonely. Elizabeth York of Venninghelm was… different. Ruby-haired beauty of no noteworthy lineage, nearly six feet tall, flaming green eyes, caramel skin, and a dazzling presence about her that could capture most any man. And Jack… oh Jack… she had captured Jack. Although he hadn’t yet felt her hand, he could only imagine palms as silky spider webs without the spider and without the stick. The fragrance of cherry incense from the church and red roses from the morgue coalesced into a simultaneously faint and powerful aroma that pulsated from this angel and enveloped him. The few times he had the blissful opportunity to hear words, he heard a pitch that matched the scratch of his blade upon an enemy’s blood-stained leather hide. Even the breeze from the south that caressed her rump-length loosely braided red hair was enough to goose every bump on Jack’s back.

The knight, noble both in title and sometimes in trait, had loved her for quite some time. He saw her, he talked with her, and he but admired her beauty from afar (or at the very least tried). Every month, he sent her letters with scarlet stamps declaring his love for her. And every month she got them, to simply entertain him, she would send a simple Thank you. But curiously, one day, she sent him more. A servant presented an imprint of her pink lips on the bottom of a crisp page. 

And so, the fish he was after lured him in, and she was no catfish.

Yes, Elizabeth seemed quite a fine woman, truth be told. Jack had every reason to love her. She was kind to him, she listened to him, and her stern-cold coachman father – who Elizabeth found allegiance with and loved over the world to the point of pitiful infatuation – approved of him. And she had every reason to love him, too. He protected her, he spoiled her, and he was never too high on his horse to dirty his hands and do the work of a peasant for the love of one: in the form of lending his hand in his love’s demanding household chores. Although the outer rim of her cup was what initially led the knight to drink, the noble ostensibly discovered wine worth drinking in the inner part. Sir Jack Venning loved Elizabeth York of Venninghelm. And from all that she told him and all that he felt when he was with her, she loved him too. All his friends told him it was meant to be; all her friends told her how jealous they were that she belonged to such a noble man.

They were happy, like they’ve known forever, and it was after. After they met.

 

~#~

Again, set me down, and this time, wait two minutes minimum – though I could wish you wait sixty.

~#~

Pleased to be read by you again. See any intention? Any great moral? Any fancy foreseen twist? Don’t fret. I didn’t either, even when he told me. Just return to your natural state of reading, and so prepare to scan me now. Deep. Breath.

…

Now, walk with me for a moment. Do you, too, love Elizabeth? Do you love Sir Jack? Can you truly believe that a man like him would ever turn his back on his people? That he would ever watch a dragon eat all he ever worked for? What if you had all that he had? Would it be enough? Would it satisfy your greed? Have you ever read the red letters in Matthew, that pesky parable of talents? Sir Jack used to hear those mysterious Latin words from all the clergy, not even thirteen years old when he learned those tortuous theological truths. Turn your attention now to an intimate moment of his and Elizabeth’s brief courtship.

Jack’s father, being a lord, had for himself a lady. This lady was, discernibly, the mother of Jack. 

And as for the lady, during her son’s romantic affairs, her lungs had taken on a stylish, inky shade of black. The youthful noble, even laying aside the time he spent with Goody York, had far too many duties and commitments to be able to care for his bed-ridden begetter, and the lord was far too shielding to let one of his servants, strangers to him, tend to her needs. Elizabeth, being the sweetheart of Sir Jack, volunteered her servitude. Goodwife York, on top of her own daily dedications to her father, took on the burden of caring for her foreseen mother-in-law. She prescribed liquorice and comfrey for the black lung, convinced her father to take the sickly lady on coach rides, and told the lady lovely stories about how oft her son sings praises of her to others; Lady Venning recovered within months. How could Sir Jack ever doubt Elizabeth’s love? How could you ever doubt Elizabeth’s love? Dare I say that she was amazing?

…

I dare not. Up to this point, there were some details about Elizabeth and her life that she opted to keep to herself (excepting me, for all place me as confidante), save until now. Goodman York was a much more powerful sirrah than his daughter had let on, just not in legal nor social sense. Elizabeth’s father was a coachman in the sense that he did commandeer coaches, but only after he had first robbed them, taken all goods, and repurposed the carriage to transport various “spices” which the lordship would rather not have in Venninghelm. And coaches were among the least of the victims of the hackman/highwayman. Peasants? Royals? An old widowed hag with no more than a penny? The one thing the dirty dog had going for him was that he was indiscriminate. Arson, theft, treason, trafficking, and even a few bad deeds which have yet to be named, the man had various other men to ensure his hands were clean – mostly. And Elizabeth, the daughter who confided nearly all in him after he took her in as a young orphan – orphaned by the man himself, beside her knowledge – would do anything for him.

Anything for him. Anything. Any… thing… for… him.

Jack, being both a noble and a knight with more social power in his finger than their whole family, was of much use to a family like Elizabeth’s. It was the reason she ever entertained his affections in the first place. Her father insisted she give her hand. And she agreed, lacking love for Jack. But she knew him not then. What before appeared a lustful shell of a man whose wit came from the groin became to her the pinnacle of self-sacrifice and undying servitude to his loved ones. Elizabeth, even in her ulterior motives, was still observant. Even the supplementary spawn of scum can still love, yes?

Well, if she had any, the price of her love rose higher and higher, and the supply of what he could give plummeted lower and lower. Her father demanded that her relationship bear fruit for the family, and by the time she had shown her red hands, her sir was too infatuated to catch them. Upon request, Jack secretly stole gold and food from the lord’s supply, and she stole his heart. She disposed of commonmen over the slightest of offenses against her father, and Jack had disposed of the footprints. Sir Jack had royal attorneys and loopholes to save poor Elizabeth of Venninghelm from every crime, and the few times he couldn’t, he bailed her out. How much longer would the poor not-so-noble have to live two lives before one prevails? Jack loved for and cared for Elizabeth deeply, and I may not be telling the truth to say that Elizabeth didn’t care and didn’t love Jack too. But if Elizabeth was innocent and caring at heart, you mustn’t trust that which is deceitful above all things, as she too twas barbaric and wild like her father. And her “father” already won her over.

One warm evening, before a beautiful sunset that blushed pale red as the lips of the woman he was soon to kiss, Sir Jack asked Goodwife York to prove her term of address and become Mistress Venning. And what should have been a “Yes” became a “Yes but…” Elizabeth was given the same powers as the noble Jack when they became one. Not a week later, her father was caught and sentenced to death for his crimes against humanity. With her newfound noble power, she pardoned him of it all.

…

Jack couldn’t take it anymore. He knew Goodman York was not a good man. Using the last shred of humanity his wife hadn’t stolen from him, he begged her to put him back for the sake of Venninghelm. Surely he didn’t lie with a woman that would let his hometown become a hellscape of crime, yes? Yes?

…

She threatened to expose him for all that he did with her, shaming his lineage were he ever to reverse the decision. He wouldn’t dare put the reputation of his father, of his father’s father, of all that believed in him on the chopping block. The visage of glory would fall to a hole. He could never take his lord’s place in succession after this. But, how else would Sir Jack free the town from her father’s terror… even if it meant his legacy is tarnished with another color? With the highwayman on the loose, his slate wiped clean, he could latch his criminal claws into all the establishments. And before the very future of it all stood Sir Jack, who needed but to say a few quick words in court with his dried and salty tongue; he simply had to make one last sacrifice.

…

 

~#~

You needn’t walk away now. Linger. All I ask is that you take one deep breath, nostrils first, and out through the hole you people bless and curse with.

~#~

In the midst of the chaos of crime, Lord Venning’s heart gave way for his son to take over, and his wife soon followed. His son – Lord Jack – lived all his days with the six-foot fairest crimson dragon that breathed fire, hoping to God that she would change back to the innocent young beauty he had once loved, but most of all hoping that someone would save.