A freeform commission from  jwargod in which I was given a prompt about a knight saving a princess from a dragon. I decided to go in the direction of something akin to Tales From The Crypt, where nothing will end as the protagonist expects. I call this tale of counterfeit chivalry...

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A Knight In The Keep
By: DankeDonuts
https://www.furaffinity.net/user/dankedonuts/

Sir Padimus removed his plumed helm in order to take in the fullness of his surroundings. He stood at the bank of a lake, bordered by shores of small rounded stone, and trees of evergreen pine. In the center of the water, an island. Atop the island, a keep. It was tall and wide and sleek. The outer wall, some two stories high, was quite bereft of adornments. Marked only by the occasional window or archer’s hole. The main keep, which appeared at least six stories in height and at least four times as much wide, featured larger windows to mark the spaces between murderholes. But aside from a few towers and one very large balcony, bore the same spartan countenance as the outer. The stone was a dead grey that seemed to greedily suck the light of day and give nothing back to the world. 

The place was seemingly satisfied with the isolation provided by the lake it stood at the center of, and felt no need of attendance. There were no men on watch before or atop any of the parapets. And the gate stood wide open. Black iron teeth held to the upper jaw of a tall passageway. Though nothing beyond it could be made out through the shadows cast by a long corridor. The door to the balcony above was shut, with no trace of light coming from the glinting glass that crowned it.

Padimus pulled a pouch from his belt and tossed it to the man riding beside him. “You should clear out. I can find the way back on my own.” The woodsman opened the bag and ran the coins through his fingers. Circles of gold that shone not as brightly as the knight’s gilded armor. Satisfied that he’d been paid in full, he turned his horse towards the trail that led back down the side of the plateau.

The knight led his steed to the safest-looking cluster of trees he could spot before dismounting. Mieldrye was already grazing by the time he tied her reins to one tree. Then removed his blue satin cape to hang from a cape from another. He found the boat where he’d been told to expect it: a little left of the clearing where they’d parted ways, turned upside down upon the shore under a leafy canvas. He found it seaworthy, and returned to the water. He lay his longsword and shield down within for ease of drawing should the journey to the keep prove more treacherous than it looked. And placed his helm back over his head, the top of which was shorn very short. Black stubble glistened with sweat.

As the knight rowed, he considered his reasons for the upcoming battle. He’d come across several tales about how a Dragon had come to take up residence there. But they all agreed on one thing: the monster had stolen a princess into his horde. The daughter of King Berengett III, a man whose favor was on sale to the warrior who could bring back his kin and destroy the one who’d stolen her away. Visions of the future his victory would provide brought a thin smile to Padimus’ chiseled face. Riches! Land! A court position! Perhaps even the hand of a duke or count’s daughter! All the better to secure long and profitable life!

“Hells, I might as well ask for this very fortress! It will be in need of new stewardship soon enough!” Padimus’ laugh echoed across the open sky, and was not replied to otherwise.

From the isle’s shore, it was plain to see the stone of the keep wall was fitted with an artisan’s care to detail. Every piece perfectly partners to its neighbors, to such a degree of closeness that there would be by scaling it by even the nimblest of hands. But the gate was still open. 

The knight pulled the boat in as far as needed to keep it from floating off, retrieved his shield and sword, and made for the gate. Every step an act of confidence. He was, after all, introducing himself to his new home. ‘The matter of exchanging a princess for a deed is just a formality.’

At the gate itself, Padimus’ assurance found reason to take its leave of him -- though only for a moment! For there, in the dark tunnel he could not see his way through before, illuminated by torchlight, were two lines of mercenary knights. Each man wearing their own distinct sort of armor, every face hidden within a helm of unique make. Each yielding a weapon or two in an honor guard’s stance. A greatsword held hilt-up by a man in green and yellow plate. A pair of axes crossed under a rounded helm that spoke of very distant lands. A very unpleasant looking mace, held to the side of a broad-chested man in glistening scale. And more and more lining the rounded walls. None turned to face him.

“So, a thief needs sellswords to fight his battles, eh? Very well, I shall introduce myself. I am Sir Padimus Mahault, on mission from the King of these lands to return that which has been taken from him. The Princess Annatol Berengett. Produce her forthwith, and I shall depart in peace.” 

No one moved in heed of his call. 

Padimus counted out the fair measure of a time-keeping candle in his head.

“No? Then the master of the place shall now consider his possessions and his life forfeit. Should any of those under his fealty wish to meet the end of this day with their lives intact, servant or champion, you are all welcome to crawl away in like honor as he has shown with his vile theft, and to leave him to his fate. But take a path other than the one I stand before. For those who catch my eye shall meet my blade.”

The knights stationed along the corridor did not move towards or away from him.

In fact, they did not move at all.

In further fact, they did not even breathe.

“Empty shells!” Padimus laughed, and strode forward. In addition to torches, he found doors here and there along the hall. Barred by heavy chain. The lighted room ahead waiting for him. Along the way, he spied a particularly elegant suit armor, enameled scale. Affixed to one of its belts, a short dagger with a jeweled pommel. He took the belt, and its dirk, for his own.

Not long after, steeped forth into the keep proper. The grand hall was grand indeed. Two stories high, and wide enough for a procession of soldiers -- or perhaps a Dragon -- to parade through in comfort. Well furnished, and spit-spot clean. The carpet beneath his feet was red silk, and there were pots of flowers hanging from every fire sconce. Hand-carved pillars spaced ever door, up to the wide stairway at the back, which rose up spiral left and right and out of sight.

Padimus heard a clatter coming from the right of the stair, and charged. What he saw was a cloaked figure struggling with the handle to a door that buried was off to the side and around a corner, almost out of sight. The man turned to him and screamed, his hands held high. Something bright and metal gleamed in one of them. Schlink! A knightly longsword cut the shining thing away. A set of keys clattered fell to the floor, clutched within a severed hand. Not quite a human one; there were glittering scales along the back, iridescent shades of brown, and the nails had gone black. Its owner scurried away to take shelter under a table, for all the good it would do him.

“So, Dragon cultists after all.” One of the stirred the knight had heard tell of the place had been of a lonely and foolhardy warlord, who’d allowed himself to be taken in by an advisor who was in truth a devotee of Dragonkind. Once the castle staff had been fully infiltrated with the cult, they did away with the keep’s lord, to replace him with their own. He turned to the table, and knocked everything atop it down. Each crash was followed by another scream from the bleeder under the desk. “I don't kneel down to your kind. Face me.”

The man leaned forward just enough to show his face. It was covered in scales as well, though his eyes retained their humanity. His stump was pressed firmly under his other armpit. “I was only trying to take my leave, as you requested, sire.”

The coward had lost his chance at clemency, so far as the knight was concerned. “Tell me where the princess is, and you may keep the rest of your parts.”

“She be upstairs, my lord. In the master chamber.” Was he shivering? Was his skin paling beneath those ugly scales? “Follow the stairs to the third floor, and follow the hall back to the front of the keep!”

Padimus swatted the hand under the table in an act of thanks, and made to take his leave. Only to stop and turn back. He pointed his weapon to the door. “If she’s up there, what were you trying to get to in there?”

The cringing one mewed, “It’s just the staff’s hiding place, sire! Keeping out of sight as you requested!”

Padimus gave the minion a hard look. “Where are your warriors?”

He shuddered anew. “We don’t have any! My lord does his own fighting! It’s only the staff in there! And the children, sire! If you want the lady of the house, she be upstairs!”

Padimus saw no lie in the sinking eyes. He left the pathetic creature to die in his own stead. At the landing atop the first flight of stairs, between the pair of stairs that curled round to either side, there was a statue of a nameless man cast in bronze. Tall and proud, resplendent of dress. The knight imagined his own countenance upon the patinaed shoulders. ‘Yes, I will enjoy living here.’

The leftward stairway led up and around to a hall that was less tall than the one he’d just left, but no less fanciful. Tables along every wall, each covered in vases full of flowers, and fanciful trinkets of all sorts. Music boxes. Small statues. Crystalline mosaics. Framed circles of embroidery. And more. At the end of the hall, a shorter end than down below, was a double door, cracked slightly open. There was a gentle whisper of voices coming from the other side. One voice high and guarded. The other very deep and very low.

The whispers stopped as he drew close.

Unsure what advantage he had left, Padimus kicked a door open and marched inside. There to see an expansive master bedroom. The place might have been divided into multiple apartments and rooms once, if the scars on the ceiling had any tales to tell. But now, it was as much a den as a domicile. On the wall before him, the closed balcony doors were secured against outside intrusion by a thick wooden bar.

The bed itself lay unoccupied to a far wall. To one side of it, a pile of gold, upon which the present master of the keep was laying. This Dragon was a small one indeed! Much less of a threat than the legends had made him out to be! From shoulder to rump, he was barely larger than the warhorse grazing on the far shore. Though his neck and tail gave length beyond, and his wings added considerable girth as well. His scales were glittering bronze. His eyes were dark brown and thin.  On a plush velvet chair beside the beast sat the target of his quest. Busy with some book which lay open atop her lap. Her hair was a vivid black, and she wore not the tattered clothes of a prisoner, but a freshly-tailored gown of rich greens.

“Please, stay your sword, Sir Knight,” the Dragon said. “I have no desire to fall to your blade. Nor fell you to fang and claw.”

“Then you should have returned that which you have taken wrongful possession of.” Padimus took up an offensive stance. “Back when I was still at your gate.”

The Dragon responded in kind. Slinking off of his bed to claw at the floor and set his back legs for a charge. “You were permitted to come this far, that we might talk peaceably as reasonable beings. Not bark at one another from across a courtyard. Surely you know that?”

“As surely as you feel the magics woven into this sword, this shield, these vestments.” Padimus smiled was a mockery of chivalry. “I came here ready to kill something larger than you.”

“Wait!” The Princess Annatol moved to place herself between the two combatants. “You are here for me, yes?” she asked. “Me and me alone? To rescue me?”

“I am,” Padimus nodded. Noticing then the very wide, very distinct roundness of her belly. She was not only with child, she must have been carrying a whole pack of offspring! ‘She’s been gone from her father’s castle near five years… She couldn’t have… They didn’t… They did!’ He tried very hard not to show his surprise. He failed.

The woman pouted, and looked back to the Dragon. “I am no prisoner here. This beautiful being took me into his home for love. To free me from a life I hated. A life of waiting in my tower to be carted up and married off, merely to seal some alliance or sate one of my father’s enemies. Like a prized cow roped to a bull. I came freely and gladly.” The Dragon smiled back at her. A hideous sight to behold.

“I don’t care.” Padimus answered. “Your fate was never yours to decide.”

The Dragon snarled and moved to put himself between the knight and his harlot. The Knight’s sword traced his head’s location.

But the Princess blocked them again. Moving with deliberate and heavy steps. “If I surrender myself to your charge now, without fuss, will you spare my Enzaiondrisp his life?”

“Your...?” Padimus repeated, refusing to voice the beast’s name.

She held her very swollen belly. Gave a somber smile. “I can hardly deny our love, now can I? I’ll be carrying its proof for a few weeks yet.”

Love? Bah! There was no profit in it! “Nor can you deny your sire’s rightful claim upon you.”

“I will endure that claim, on the terms I have stated. In the name of leaving Enzaiondrisp to the peace he has given me, so long as it lasted. But mark me, brigand, I will fight for my love if I must. Before you run him through, you will have already killed me.” There was no lie in her hazel eyes.

‘No good winning the battle to lose the prize’ Padimus was starting to dislike the woman. But she was only valuable to him until the moment she crossed the threshold of Castle Berengett. And he could always return to finish the job, when she wouldn't be around to complain. “Very well, I accept your terms. That one’s life for your complete cooperation.”

“No!” The beast bellowed, 

“My love, you know what must be,” she told him. 

“But what of the eggs you carry inside of you?” the Dragon asked. A whiff of smoke exited his nostrils.

The Princess turned from the beast to Padimus. “I expect my father will have me killed, for daring to bring such creature into the world as a mix of Human and Draconic bloods.”

“Not my problem,” the Knight shrugged. “My charge is to return you to your rightful lord and master. What is done with you then on is none of my concern. Now, do you want ‘your Dragon’ to live, or don’t you.”

“I do,” she said, and walked slowly to the Knight’s side. She blew the beast a kiss.

“I wish it didn’t have to be this way,” The Dragon said to them both.

“This isn’t your world anymore,” Padimus told him. He did not turn his back on the Dragon as he stepped back and out of the room. The Princess closed the door behind them. The possibility of the Dragon flying out the balcony was not lost to him.

“I need take nothing with me,” she informed the Knight. “However, may I ask a small favor? One no doubt my father will be willing to recompense you for?”

“You may ask.”

“I would speak with the castle servants once more. Send them my goodbyes in person. In the interest of making this transition as painless as possible. I expect I know the room they fled to.”

Padimus gave her a wry smile. “You’ll be disappointed as to the second part of your request, My Lady. But you may have the first.” The paling of her face was most satisfactory. “You will not step past the door, however.”

“I won't need to.” She answered. There was a pause, and then she started walking. Pointing out several of the little art pieces on the table. “I made most of what you see here. The evidences of a happy heart.” There was a melancholy in her voice. A regal bearing in the way she carried herself, and her brood. “You look at me so strangely, Sir Knight. Tell me, is it the nature of what grows in my belly that intrigues you, or the number?”

The knight blushed, and stammered out a denial.

She gave a small laugh. “You don’t have to hide it. I’ve seen that look before. That curiosity that doesn’t want to admit itself.”

“To be a mother of many is a fine thing for a woman.” Yes, he could admit to himself that the Princess’s rotundness was pleasing to his eye. He could only do so well as to sire such a brood with the woman he’d eventually claim! “To be a mother of monsters, is another.”

A sigh from the Princess. “So many things you do not know, tied as you are to the world of Men. There are a few things I should tell you before our time together is ended. The first is that is not Draconic pride that corrupts a babe of joined Dragon and Human blood, but Human selfishness. It takes years to wean them off of its influence, so I’m told.”

So much talk had brought them across the hall and down the stairs to the door. The servant and his hand were missing. The blood had already been cleaned up. Padimus, who had yet to relieve himself of his shield, held it up to bar the Princess’ path to it. He moved to the space where the door would open out to, and placed an armored foot at as spot which would profuse it from opening up wide enough to admit her, or allow another servant to warrior to come through. He then gave her a nod of permission. “You may speak.”

The Princess gave him her thanks, and rapped upon the door three times in succession followed by a single strike. She spoke gently, “It is I. Come on up.”

Through the space in the door came the pitter-patter of a dozen clawed feet. Six small, winged children. Dressed in fancy little dresses, or vests and breeches. Every bit of their exposed bodies were covered in scales of shining bronze. Their eyes were large and bright and curious, and locked right in on the Knight.

Who turned to the woman with confusion and shock in his eyes. “These abominations are not servants!”

She calmly explained, “The next thing you should know is that when my Dragon carried me away from my father’s home, I was already pregnant with our first clutch.”

As she spoke, the little dragonlings approached the knight. Curious, fearless, hands reached out to him. To his armor. His shield. Anything they could get their hands on. He stepped away. Disturbed by the sight of the offspring, but unwilling to strike targets so young. He was many things, had done many cruel things in his adventuring career, all in the name of rising in glory and profit. But he was not a murderer of innocents.  There was, however, only so far he could go before being buffeted by a stone wall. “What are they doing? Call them off so help me or I’ll…”

“The last thing you should know is why my Dragon gifted his servants with scales near unto his own.” The Princesses wistful gaze faltered. Replaced with a something darker. “It protects them from the teeth and claws.”
 
Padimus sneered back, “What does that have to do with-?”

“Is it supper time, Mommy?” one of the children asked.

“Yes, my son. Eat up, all of you.”

Tiny claws found every flaw and strap of his leg armor. In seconds, they had it off of him. Seconds more, and they were under his sword arm, under his shields. They swarmed, and he cried out in fear. With unfathomable strength for their size, they pulled him down to the ground and stripped him of all steel. “Nooo! Nooo! Stop! Please! I beg you!”

As he struggled and screamed, the Princess offered her parting words: “I’m still Human, you know. Greedy like one. Greedy for love and happiness. And I’ll never let anyone take me away from my family.”

Six sets of fangs tore into Padimus’ flesh. “Aiiiiiiieeeeeeeeee!” 

. . .

The Princess Annatol smiled as she regarded her latest work of art. The latest intruder’s armor restored and mounted to its man-shaped frame. Shield and sword both at the ready. Waiting in honor guard for the next marauder who came to do her father’s bidding. She gave the display an approving nod, and turned back to the keep’s main door. Waiting for her there were her mate, their sons and daughters, and a happily two-handed steward. 

“Let the next thief come as they please,” she told herself, rubbing her big belly. “We’ll be ready for them.”