sword and sorcery (and sweets)
Prince Hermes watched on in awe as the knight brandished her sword. It gleamed in the cool spring sunlight, as did her polished armor. Her blue eyes flashed from within her steel visor.
"Let him go," she intoned grimly.
The dragon guarding him from the knight's rescue threw its head back, letting out a cackling roar.
"Never!"
The knight's eyes narrowed, and the fight commenced. She leapt out of the way of the dragon's fearsome tongues of flame, which scorched the earth where the knight stood seconds before. In return, the knight swung at the dragon, hoping to slay the beast, but the blade bounced right off the dragon's impenetrable hide. They darted and danced and it was impossible to tell who had the upper hand.
Then--a misstep from the knight. Her sword was knocked away.
Just as the dragon crouched to pounce upon the defenseless knight and turn her to mincemeat in front of the Prince's very eyes, a voice called out:
"Victorie, it's time for cake!"
"Cake!" the dragon shrieked delightedly, abandoning the game at once.
Without even bothering to remove the paper-mache dragon helmet covering up her blonde hair or the costume dress to enchanted protect her during the game, six-year-old Victorie ran off towards the large picnic table that had been summoned into the yard of Shell Cottage for her birthday. Hermes watched Bill scoop her daughter up, then turned to Ron, his valiant knight.
"I'd like a refund on my knight services," he said. "I seem to have been given a very poor one, no finesse at all. Victorie almost got you with the flames just then."
Ron snorted as she yanked her knight helmet off, her red hair spilling down her back like a rather tangled banner. "Fred's a devil for that stupid fire candy. Don't see why she couldn't have been a non-fire breathing dragon. They exist."
"But they're no fun," he said.
He stood up from the old wooden crate that had been designated his 'tower' with a groan, stretching his back and wincing when it popped. That didn't seem right. Maybe he needed to stretch in the mornings.
Ron was too busy fetching her sword and looking it over anxiously to make fun of his developing old-man back. She turned it about, studying the gems embedded in the handle and the runes carved lovingly into the blade. It wouldn't do to have nicked it with a stray rock or something. The cost of fixing it would be enormous.
"Fuckin' Bill," she muttered to herself. "Can't believe he had me using a real damn goblin sword for this. If it's cursed, I'm killing him."
"I told you it's not cursed," Hermes said, adjusting his crown. "I checked."
Ron cast a dubious look at the sword again, but sheathed it with a sigh. "We'll see in the next few days, won't we? If I am going to be cursed, I want to get some cake in me before it sets in."