Problem Solved
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Note:
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity between the characters in this
story and any actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
This story is copyright 2012 by Kyrie Hobson. Permission is hereby given
to share this story on the World Wide Web, provided that (a) no charge of
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the author. Contact: [email protected]
Problem Solved
By Kyrie Hobson
"In the name of the King, open your gates and face me, Wizard!" We stood
outside the keep of Orlon, son of Arlon, wizard, plenipotentiary, and
possibly the only person who could ignore the King's name with impunity.
His father had been advisor to the King, but a falling out over the
proper levying of taxes had resulted in Orlon's semi-exile to the family
estate.
Of course, when I say, "We stood," I mean I stood, next to my master's
horse, on which he sat. My master, Lord Gorem, third Earl of Nash,
Defender of the Realm, and thirty-somethingth in line of succession to
the throne, had issued the challenge.
I said nothing. As Lord Gorem's squire, I had neither the duty nor the
privilege of speaking at these moments, and, honestly, I'm not sure I
would have said anything had I the responsibility or right. Orlon was
notorious for not tolerating threats and impositions.
Slowly, the gate swung outward. Before we could step inside, however,
the door of the main bailey opened, and a tiny, wizened figure stepped
out, and proceeded down the long path toward us. As it approached, it
became clear by its red skin and misshapen features that this was some
unholy minion the Wizard kept. When it arrived at the gate, we saw that
it was, in fact, an imp. A tiny devil bound to the Wizard's service.
"I am Splutnose, doorward and gatekeeper for the Great Orlon, son of
Arlon. My master asks that you kindly fuck off and stop rattling his
gate, which is worth more than your entire vassalage."
Gorem's eyes flared. It was well known that Nash was one of the poorest
arlings in the kingdom and always had been. Despite its strategic
importance across the only pass of any size through the Spire Mountains,
Lord Gorem's land was notably lacking in fertile farmland or any useful
metals or minerals. Even the goats, that were the only animals that
could stand to live there, were of lesser quality, their wool fit only
for peasant rags, and their meat dry and tough even before salting. It
was not a fact that my master was fond of having quoted to him.
He quickly regained his composure, however, and responded, "Tell your
master that I do not have the option of fucking off, because it is known
that he has kidnapped the King's daughter, Princess Fiona, and I have
been assigned to retrieve her, the reward for success being her hand, and
the penalty for failure being my head."
Don't get the idea that Lord Gorem was a bad guy. Sure, he indulged in
arrogant bluster and he treated me like a walking storage cabinet, but I
had it no worse than other squires, and, as the younger son of a minor
holder, my only other career option would have been something in the
priesthood where I would have been treated exactly the same, except I
would have to learn to copy illuminated text and I would be forced to
wear a giant robe made of Nash wool. As for the posturing, I have been
told that this is an effective strategy for combat, as many fights end
before they've begun simply due to the fact that one of the participants
was so confident of his victory.
It was known that Orlon had kidnapped Princess Fiona simply because it
had long been known by all in the kingdom that Orlon had coveted the
Princess since they were children. My master had known both of them, of
course, having been raised in the castle as a ward of the crown since his
parents' death at the siege of Nash, but that was an irrelevancy. Royal
Knights were trained from a young age to ignore any emotion except
loyalty to the throne.
The imps eyes went foggy, and its head bobbed as if in conversation, then
it turned to my Lord. "My master bids you welcome, and asks that you
visit him within the keep to negotiate a settlement."
Of course, my lord would never stoop to negotiating with a wizard. Not
the hero of Andaac, who rode alone (by which I mean "accompanied by his
troop of light cavalry") into the flanks of the Wild Men of Damrov, who
singlehandedly (by which I mean, leading a cabal of heavy infantry)
struck down the rebellious Duke of Harmon at the Battle of Fallow Fields,
this man would never negotiate for the liberty of the Princess and the
honor of the Throne.
No one was more surprised than I, therefore, when my Lord, said, Fair
enough," dismounted his horse (with my assistance), and strode to the
gate. He stood and waited as I tied off the horse, selected his favored
weapons for the probable battle, and carefully stowed the rest of his
gear with the noble steed, and politely only tapped his foot in
impatience (other knights would have grumbled, or even entered without
me).
We entered, and my master strode down the long entry hall of the keep.
If I thought (ungracious as I was) that his pace was slightly rapid and
difficulty to match, the little imp was even worse off, trotting beside
us as fast has his little legs could carry him, trying to reach the inner
door ahead of us. He made it--barely--and the door opened on a wondrous
sight.
The wizard slouched casually in a chair at a table piled with food,
tearing bits off of a roll. At the other end of the table, the Princess
sat, shamelessly dressed in trousers and a cup-sleeved blouse. Her hair
was rudely tied behind her into along pony tail, and she picked at a
small salad of local greens and roots. A third place had been set at
this side, in the middle.
The princess looked up when the door opened, and waved. Orlon stood,
tossing the roll over his shoulder as he did (it disappeared in midair),
and strode toward us, extending his hand. "Harold!" he exclaimed, "I
thought you'd never get here."
I must admit that I found this reaction to his impending death rather
surprising, but my Lord took it in his stride. No doubt the Great Among
Us subscribe to a higher standard of courtesy, and casual greetings are
de rigueur before a combat of mortal foes.
"Yeah, well, I had to finish that stupid tournament, didn't I? Then it
took a while for them to get around to the triumphs, and they didn't even
notice that Fi had scarpered until she wasn't there to put that crown of
daisies on my head. Of course, none of them twigged she'd be here, so it
took me almost a day to spread a rumor that you'd been seen at the
tourney and had probably used your magic to spirit her away." He paused
and look at them both. "What's the big idea, anyway? What happened to
our deal?"
"Don't be such a giant tit, Harold," Princess Fiona said from her chair.
"The original deal was void as soon as Daddy banished Lonnie for
suggesting that increasing the tax assessment during a blight might be a
bad idea. We could hardly have carried on under those conditions."
"She's right, you know," Orlon said, sheepishly. "Even though your
marriage to Fi was to be a sham, there was no way we could have pulled it
off with the distance between the castle and here."
"I don't see why not. I'd have the crown and my dalliances with the
ladies of the court, and you'd have each other, at least when she could
slip out without being seen. And that would have just been until her
father died and I became King. Then I'd have invented some pretext to
have you brought back to the castle."
"Really Harold?" the Princess retorted. "You expected me to spend the
next few years sneaking out to a three days' journey, all the while
waiting for my own father to die? You don't see a problem with that
plan?"
"It's better than what we have now! Your idiot stunt means that Lonnie
and I will have to fight it out for real."
"What?" said Orlon, "Why?"
"Well, we're backed into a corner, aren't we?" my Lord responded. "I'm
instructed by the King to retrieve Fi or die trying, and, honestly, I
don't have room on my calendar for my own funeral for quite some time."
"I don't see why that's a problem," the wizard said, and his eyes fell on
me as he sat back down and summoned another roll. "We'll just have to
find you another Fiona to take back with you."
My Lord turned to me in wonder. "Really? Can you do that?"
"It's a simple spell, really, much like copying a picture from one page
to another. In fact, you have an excellent page right here."
"Squire," I corrected, somehow finding the courage to speak among my
betters.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I am my Lord's Squire, not his Page," I stuttered. "If I may say so."
All three of them laughed then. "There!" my Lord said. "He's ruined
your pun as aptly as any cutting remark that Fi might conjure. He will
make a good surrogate."
"Actually," Orlon said, drumming his fingers, "this complicates things."
He shared a significant glance with the Princess. "If he's willing to
loosen his lips now, at the risk of his life, what dangers might he pose
when he is Princess, not to mention, Queen?"
"Yes," my Lord responded thoughtfully, "I see your point. What about the
horse?"
"I could do it, but it would be much more difficult. Differences in
species and what-have you, you know." He considered me. "No, I think
this is workable. I'll just need to cast some extra spells." He stood
again and made a gesture. I felt myself surrounded in energy, then the
changes began. My waist cinched in and my ribs contracted, making me
lithe as a willow branch. Small, but excellently-formed breasts emerged
from my chest as long, voluminous blonde hair descended from my head. My
rough jerkin stretched and softened, becoming a pink chiffon dress with a
wide skirt; I couldn't see my trousers, but they seemed also to have
altered filling out the bell of the dress as petticoats. My mind filled
with the knowledge that could only come from a life in the palace. I
knew I wasn't the princess, but I knew all she had known. It was a
strange feeling indeed.
The wizard addressed me. "What's your name?"
"Roderick" I answered, still in a daze from the changes that had
occurred.
"First, I have to place a geis on her so she can never speak of this day
or of the life of Roderick the Page."
"Squire," my Lord corrected.
"Yes, yes, thank you." He made a different gesture and...well, nothing.
I felt that something had been blocked, but was unable to tell what it
was.
"The other spell that is necessary may be a bit of a bother."
"Why do you say that?"
"It occurs to me that Princess Fiona the second should be completely
devoted to you. That way, she will not rebel in any meaningful way. Now
the spell that does that normally requires an exchange of fluid."
"Exchange of fluid?" Lord Gorem asked. Orlon turned a significant look
to him. "Oh! Oh, I see."
"Yes, the usual method in which that is accomplished is problematical.
If she arrives home and isn't a virgin (and they will check), then she'll
be summarily executed for slatternly behavior, you'll be disgraced for
failing to defend her honor, and I'll be hunted for sullying her pristine
condition (even though she sullied my pristine condition a long time
ago)." He exchanged a glance with the Princess and they both blushed.
My master rolled his eyes. "Nobody needs to know what you two were up to
while you were "tutoring" her. Anyway, there are other ways to--exchange
fluids--that don't sully the virgin bride."
"I agree," the wizard remarked, "but I doubt she'll do any of them
willingly." He glanced at me. "Fiona," he said, "your twin seems
overwhelmed by her predicament. Perhaps she could use some tea--the
special tea in the red jar." The Princess smirked for some reason, then
nodded and stepped into the kitchen.
"The other problem is that the spell works both ways," he continued,
addressing Lord Gorem again. "You'll be just as devoted to her as she is
to you. I only mention it, because it sort of violates the letter of our
old agreement."
"But I'll be getting my wick trimmed just as often, won't I?"
"More, I would think. At least until she becomes heavy with child."
"I suppose if a gardener may tend and train a single perfect rose, he
won't likely miss the violets."
"Nicely put."
The Princess touched my shoulder. "Drink this, my dear," she said,
pressing a cup into my hands. "You'll feel better." I took the cup and
drained it. The tea was warm, and had an odd flavor of lilac and orange
blossoms.
Suddenly, I was filled with a desire, no a demand. I fell to my knees
and crawled under the table, emerging between my Lord's thighs.
Desperately, I clawed at the ties that held his codpiece in place.
Loosening it, I flipped it open, reached in, and retrieved my prize. I
flung my mouth over my master's wonderful cock. Even soft, it filled me,
and it hardened quickly. Now both hands slid up and down the shaft as I
manipulated the head with my lips and tongue, starving for my reward, the
compulsion I could not deny. Finally, it came, and I drank it greedily,
swallowing without shame.
I looked up to find my Harold smiling down at me. "My apologies, my
lord," I said. "I couldn't help myself."
He cupped my face in his hands. "No need, my beloved. It was
wonderful."
I put the medium of my transformation away, and re-tied his armor. My
Lord stood up, then helped me to rise. "I believe we're done here," he
said, and led me out. Outside, he helped me onto his horse, and mounted
behind me.
We rode home to the castle, stopping each night at an Inn or some lord's
keep, making a show of our chastity by sleeping in separate rooms, each
with a chaperon. Finally, we arrived. As I was cleaned and dressed (and
checked for my continued maidenhood) my betrothed told the King of the
desperate battle wherein Roderick the Squire was unfortunately slain. He
chose not to take the wizard's life, he explained, in order to save the
kingdom the burden of suffering the curses of a wizard's vengeful spirit.
I never gainsaid him. Even if I could have spoken about the events,
doing so would have meant my lord husband's death, and probably my own.
We were married as soon as it was acceptable, and we took to the art of
providing heirs for the kingdom with a will. The King died, and my
husband was crowned king. Now, even he has died. I am old and my love
is gone, and in no further danger from the truth. These past thirty
years, I have taught myself to read and write in secret, so that I could
relate what happened to me that fateful night.
I know your brother the King has ordered you to visit Lord Orlin, and
receive the wizard's predictions and advice for the coming year, and you
must go. Your brother is jealous of your popularity among the citizenry,
young Roderick, and I feel you should be wary. Go to the wizard, as you
must.
But do not drink the tea.
Fawn
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