Sir Michael's Dragon

     Michael Clifford owned a castle, the only one on the block. Not the usual castle made of chairs and blankets. Sir Michael scoffed at those. He called them ‘peasant tents.’ His castle had real walls, rough-cut, of velvety green and coarse shades of brown and gray.
     His castle even had a moat, at least when it rained, and a drawbridge that could be raised and lowered to keep out unwanted visitors. Visitors like the evil Dark Knight, Sir Luther, who lived on the peasant lands four doors down and was always challenging him to spar or joust. Or, the pesky fair maiden, Becky, next door. With her constant chattering, she could charm the fire out of the fiercest dragon. Worse, she showed Sir Michael no respect. She called him– Mikey.
     Sir Michael lived alone in his castle with only his dragon, Lancelot, for company. The two were always together. Not fully trained in the art of dragonning, Lancelot could not yet breathe fire and so far, that was fine with Sir Michael. Fire-breathing inside a castle can cause all sorts of problems, as the queen mother often told him.
     “No fires in your castle, Mikey–”
     “Mom, it’s Sir Michael!”
     “No fires in your castle, Sir Michael. You’ll burn it down.”
     “Aw, Mom.”

     Lancelot was a pitiful dragon. He was certainly not fierce, but what he lacked in dragon talent he made up for in sheer size. No other dragons on the block could stand up to him. Sir Luther also owned a dragon, but it was only a small one. Sir Luther called him Tiger the Fierce, but the other knights on the block called him ‘Ankle Biter.’ Tiger would not make more than a mouthful for Lancelot the Terrible.
     Most dragons, fire-breathing or not, are sung of in ballads as being wise, brave, and terrifying. In spite of the songs Sir Michael sang about him, Lancelot refused to cooperate. And he had one real weakness. He adored the beautiful maiden, Becky. Even though Sir Michael kept the drawbridge up, Becky would somehow find her way into the castle. Like a ghost, she would appear in the middle of the throne room, startling the lord of the castle.
     “Wench,” Sir Michael would shout. “How darest thou enter our presence unbidden.”
     “Why are you talking funny, Mikey? You sound like my Sunday School teacher. I came to visit Lancelot.”
     “Impudence! We have not recognized thee. Lancelot, thou worthless beast. Do thy duty. Eat the wench.”
     At this command, the dutiful dragon would advance on the maiden with his slobbering mouth agape and roll over onto his back for a tummy rub. This embarrassed his master to no end. “Varlet! How dare thee call thyself a dragon. A curse on thy mother who hatched thee.”

     The queen mother, on occasion, would ask a boon of Sir Michael, and send him on a valiant quest to the local grocer on the corner. He dreaded these crusades because he would have to cross the domain of the Dark Knight. But such was his errand on this particular day.
     “I fear this boon is more than I can bear, Mother Dearest. I needs must cross over the land-holdings of Sir Luther. He is a bully and will no doubt challenge me to mortal combat.”
     “Take Lancelot with you. The grocer is expecting you. He knows what I need. Now, begone, brave knight. And don’t dilly-dally. I need those things for dinner.”
     Sir Michael retired to his castle to strap on his sword and armor. Then he and his faithful Lancelot proceeded on their quest. But as they passed through the gate of the queen mother’s courtyard, they ran headlong into Becky. Lancelot immediately greeted her with a wet, sloppy dragon kiss.
     “Varlet,” Sir Michael scolded his dragon. “Have I not taught thee better manners?”
     “Oh, I don’t mind, Mikey. Where ya goin’?”
     “I am on a grand and dangerous quest for the queen mother. I go thither to the grocer’s on yonder corner. But first, I must cross the territory of Sir Luther the Dark Knight.”
     “You’re going to the store. Oh good. I’ll come with you. I have a quarter. We can get some gumballs.” She grasped Lancelot’s collar, and the knight knew it was useless to argue.
     Pesky girl, he thought. Now I shall be expected to protect thee. The work of a chivalrous knight is never finished.
     But as they crossed over the border of Sir Luther’s lands, the Dark Knight was waiting for them, along with his dragon, Tiger.
     Sir Luther issued his challenge. “Hey, twerp. Nice wooden sword. I should break it over your head.”
     Sir Michael, not wanting to appear a coward before the fair maiden, placed his hand on his sword hilt and stood his ground.
     “You know ya gotta pay a toll to cross my lands, Mikey. Come on, pay up.”
     “I am on a quest for the queen mother. I have no money.”
     “No money? Maybe you’d like to pay– with blood.” With that, the Dark Knight punched Sir Michael squarely in the nose.
     As Sir Michael dropped to the curb holding his bleeding nose, Lancelot sat next to Becky like a panting, drooling stone gargoyle, patiently watching the duel.
     Sir Luther laughed a dark, evil cackle and spit on the curb next to the bleeding Sir Michael. “If you don’t have money, twerp, maybe your girlfriend does.”
     He turned and began to advance on Becky.
     Becky screamed. It was then Lancelot remembered he was a dragon. He found his fire.
     “Harrooff!” He stepped in front of his maiden fair, planted his feet, and snarled.
     Tiger the Fierce yelped, tucked his tail between his legs and disappeared beneath a hedge. Without his trusty dragon to protect him, Sir Luther backed off to avoid the risk of single combat with Lancelot. Not watching where he was going, he stepped back off the curb and landed sprawled flat on his back in the mud of the gutter.
     “Harrooff!” The second ball of fire sent the bully knight fleeing in fear for his life.
     The fair damsel threw her arms around Lancelot’s thick neck and kissed him on his wet dragon nose. “Oh, thank thee, brave dragon, for protecting a damsel in distress. Someday I shall repay thy kindness with a juicy beef bone.”
     Lancelot wagged his fat dragon tail and gave her another sloppy dragon kiss.
     The maiden ran to her brave knight, who was still seated on the curb and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Mikey, are you Okay?”
     She reached into her pocket, pulled out a handkerchief, and began to minister her healing arts on her brave knight’s wounded nose. “Sir Michael, my brave knight. We sure scared off that bully, thanks to you and Lancelot.”
     The woozy knight gazed into the eyes of the maiden and gave her a goofy grin. She hugged his neck and kissed his cheek.
     I hope the guys didn’t see that, he thought.
     Lancelot stood guard while the maiden plied her healing crafts on Sir Michael’s nose. The wound was painful, but not fatal. She soon had the blood flow stopped. In the trauma of his great battle, the knight had completely forgotten his quest. Fortunately, his angel of mercy had not.
     “Come on, Sir Mikey. Let’s go get some gumballs.”