Disclaimer: Not mine. JKR's. Yup.
Much thanks to Itsu, Wonder Beta Extraordinaire. *schnugs her into oblivion* And to the Good Ship for keeping me wacky. And to everyone who's read and reviewed, because it makes me feel so squishy to think of people reading this. Le sigh. :) Without further ado (well.maybe a little ado), Chapter Five!
* * *
While Ron Weasley had never actually taken a visit to a Muggle zoo, he'd often wondered what one would be like-he'd heard about them, of course, through his father's fascination with everything Muggle, and after hearing about how Harry had set that snake on his cousin Dudley the summer before their first year, he'd wondered about it even more. During his childhood at the Burrow, his brothers and sisters had always kept pets; chickens and pigs were common, they'd had a horse for several years, and he and Ginny had kept a puffskein once, before the unfortunate Quidditch incident when Fred had used it for a bludger. But Ron had always been amazed that Muggles could manage to keep powerful beasts such as lions and tigers and the like locked up; he had always been stuck between thinking that it was amazing and thinking that it was horrible.
As Ron looked out through the bars of his cage, he decided that being ogled, fed scraps, and provoked without reason and without the ability to retaliate was resoundingly horrible.
When Ron initially regained consciousness after his run-in with the blunt end of a sword, he had a lot to accept in a very little amount of time. The first thing he was confronted with was most devastating: his crew, the men he had been traveling with were gone. The Queen's Pride had been sacked and looted by the infamous Dread Pirate Roberts' ship Revenge.
That man in black. Roberts. He wasn't that impressive of a figure, really. He had the paunch of a middle aged man, and his mask didn't seem to fit as nicely as the man would have liked, as he fiddled with it quite often.
It didn't take long for Roberts to take a liking to Ron.
"Grab him," the man in black said with a bored flick of the wrist.
Two pirates, each twice Ron's size, came at his cage. He put up a brave fight, but a couple of swift punches to his gut managed to calm him. The men dragged him to see the not-so-imposing man in black.
Roberts drew his wand. Ron couldn't help himself. "Yo-you have a wand!"
He had thrown the man in black off his game. "Uh.yes, I do. What did you expect, an anvil?" His two goons laughed. "But-how can you." In a moment, it was all clear to Ron. This is my subconscious-this may be a charmed sleep, but it's still my brain filling in all the parts. Of course they're all wizards! Ron furrowed his brow. But why didn't Herm-Buttercup's family have wands or potions or anything-oh! Ron, had he been in a less precarious position, would have laughed at his own stupidity. In this weirdo parallel dimension dream sequence thing, everyone still matches up! Hermione.he couldn't help but blush-what would Hermione think of this whole thing? He could just imagine the look on her face when she heard that he, Ron "You ARE a girl!" Weasley was playing the romantic hero. She'd die. Hermione is Buttercup.and her parents wouldn't have wands on their farm, would they? They're Muggles! It makes sense, now. But I haven't a wand.and that's.not.good.
The man in black looked at him. "You should make your peace with whoever you think is up there," he said, gesturing with his wand to the ceiling of the small cabin. The walls were wood paneled and smelled of cedar.
Ron felt a twinge of anger but suppressed it. "Please-don't kill me." The words themselves almost killed him as they struggled out of his proud mouth, but they had to be said. He didn't beg, he didn't plead-he merely looked into the eyes of a man capable and willing to kill him, and politely asked him not to, in quite the same manner as he might have said, "Please- pass the custard."
Roberts stopped. "What?"
Ron continued staring into his eyes. "I asked you not to kill me. Please." The goons were looking quite confused at this point.
Roberts lowered his wand. He seemed intrigued. "Why should I make an exception of you?"
Ron spoke before he knew it. "I think I love a girl," he said, as he flushed. He could feel his cheeks on fire, even as his eyes watered, preparing to blink for a last time.
The pirate laughed. "Yes, I believe the line is 'I have a wife and eight children'. I'm sorry, but I am not swayed by such clichés." He raised his wand again.
"No! I do love a girl. The most wonderful girl on the planet, actually." Ron couldn't believe he was still alive.
The man in black laughed again. "I doubt that she is as wonderful as you imagine, my friend."
"But she is. She's the smartest witch I've ever met, and if I lived a million years, I doubt I'd ever meet one so clever. The way her brain works is amazing.she always seems to know what I'm going to say a second before I say it, and even when I'm being a certifiable prat, she understands me." Ron paused, and allowed himself a chuckle. He supposed he would die in a couple minutes, but in that instant, his thoughts on Hermione, Buttercup, it didn't matter what she was called, he was glad. "Well, most of the time she understands me. And she's brave-Lord, she's brave. She's survived things and done things that wizards three times her age couldn't handle. Things she's done and said.sometimes I think she's even braver than Harry. And she's funny-she always laughs at her own jokes, but it's all right, because most of the time, they're quite clever. And she's pretty. Yeah, she's pretty.she's got this hair that's always all over the place, you know? I poke fun at her about it, say that it's attacking her head, but I just like looking at it sometimes, when she's reading one of her books and not paying attention to me. It's wild and a dark brown color, like coffee with a bit of cream in it-it's sort of long, but all bouncy and curly and frizzy, like she just came out of the rain. And her eyes are always so big and brown.so full of caring, all the time, and when they well up with tears, I just." Ron stopped. "But yes, that's why I don't want to die. I'd really like to see her again."
The Dread Pirate Roberts looked at the slender redhead on his knees before him. He looked interested. "Brown eyes, eh?" he said. Ron nodded with the ghost of a grin on his face. The pirate sighed deeply.
"I'll tell you-wait, what did you say your name was?"
"Ro-er, Westley, sir."
"I'll tell you, Westley, I feel genuinely sorry about this, but can you see it from my perspective a moment?"
Ron thought for a second. "Um, not really."
"If I make an exception in your case, then the news will get out that the Dread Pirate Roberts has gone soft." Roberts put his wand back in his pants and began to pace the room. He seemed sincerely disturbed by the happenings in his cabin that night. "They'll stop fearing me if they think I've gone soft, and piracy, you know, becomes nothing but tedious work, work, work, all the time. Pillaging and looting, looting and pillaging-I'd never get any painting done, honestly. And I'm far too old for such a life. I hope you can understand."
Ron looked at the man. "But.but, I won't tell anyone! Really, not even my girl. I swear it."
Roberts sighed heavily. "That's not good enough."
"But.what if I stay on the Revenge with you? I can be your-whatitcalled, your guy? The guy who does stuff for you?" Roberts raised his eyebrows. Ron quickly went on. "No no no, your.your valet! I can be your personal valet and work for you until I can earn enough to get to America and pick up my girl. And if I ever once complain or anger you in any way, you can Avada my arse off the planet. How does that sound?" Ron looked pleased with himself.
The man in black paused a moment. "Get below," he said. "Go get some sleep, I'll think about it. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."
Every night ended that way for a year; each day, Ron roamed the Revenge, learning all he could and taking in all he was able to-he decided that he could learn what he could about piracy in the time he had left, as it helped him to put thoughts of his coming slaughter out of his mind. He helped the cook and learned how to filet the perfect fish; he learned to clean the hold and kept things tidy and rat-free; generally, he did whatever was asked of him, hoping always that his pleasant disposition, quick hands and ready mind might be favorably noted by the Dread Pirate Roberts.
Every night, as moonlight peeked through the porthole in Ron's cabin, Roberts lumbered down the steps and tapped on his bunk with his wand. "Good work today, Westley. Sleep well, I'll probably kill you in the morning." Ron only took the threat seriously for the first eight months, for after that, the two were less valet and master and more like student and teacher, but more importantly, comrades.
At the end of that first year, Roberts came to Ron's cabin with a proposition.
"Enough of this valet business, Westley-from this time on, you are to be my second-in-command."
Ron's jaw dropped. "Me, sir? A pirate?"
Roberts looked pleased. "You'll make a fine pirate. Just get some leather incorporated into your wardrobe and you'll cut a fine figure. Piracy is a very respectable profession these days."
Ron shook his head. "Thanks, sir, but I don't want to be a pirate. I just want to-"
"Go back to your girl, I know, I know; but think of how much better would it be to return after a good year or three of piracy. You'll be rich and powerful, and then back to her you'll go."
Ron scratched his head. "But your men have been with you for a long time, right? And they're not rich."
"Don't sass me, boy, I could still kill you," he said with a teasing smile. "None of my men are captain. Westley, I'm going to be retiring soon, and when I do, the Revenge will be yours."
Naturally, Ron couldn't refuse. Roberts allowed Ron to assist him in the next few captures to get a feel for it and see how much he liked it. As it turned out, Ron had quite the knack for piracy. Such a knack, that Roberts came to him one April morning, "Westley, the next ship is yours; let's see you put your money where your bragging mouth is, eh?" Ron was ready. At least, he'd thought he was ready.
That next day, with Ron at the head of the Revenge, they spotted a gorgeous Spanish ship, all loaded with booty for Madrid. Ron steered the Revenge up close to the craft, whose sailors were in a panic. "Who is it?" their captain cried in fear.
"The Dread Pirate Westley! Hand over your money and valuables and stuff!" Ron yelled back.
"Never heard of you!" the Spanish captain replied as he and his crew opened fire-a barrage of hexes and curses flew towards the Revenge.
Complete disaster. After narrowly escaping being hexed into oblivion, Ron returned to Roberts, ashamed. "I'm a failure as a pirate," he said gloomily, fingering his hat.
"Buck up, son," Roberts said. "What I am about to tell you I have never told anyone before, and I trust that you will guard it closely." Ron looked at the man curiously and nodded.
"I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts," he said. "My name is Ryan. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited from was not Roberts, either-his name was." The older man sucked on a knuckle. "Cucumber? Cumberland? Something like that. Anyway, the real, original Dread Pirate Roberts has been retired for fifteen years now and has been living like a king on an island off the coast of Florida."
"What?"
"It's really quite simple," the man called Ryan explained. "After several years, the original Roberts was so rich he wanted to retire. Clooney was his friend and first mate, so he gave the ship to Clooney, who had an identical experience to yours: the first ship he attempted to board nearly cursed him out of the water. So Roberts, realizing that it was the name that inspired fear and bred success, sailed the Revenge to port, changed crews, and Clooney went about saying that he was the Dread Pirate Roberts, and with a new crew, who was there to dispute him? A brilliant plan, I'd say. So, these last fifteen years, the name of Roberts has been passed down from pirate to pirate, and today, I, Felix Raymond Ryan of Boodle, Liverpool, now name thee, Westley, the Dread Pirate Roberts." He then handed Ron an insignia ring, with a golden flourish of an "R" standing proudly in a green stone.
The years passed quickly, as they are known to, and it was four years before the lanky but imposing, redheaded Dread Pirate Roberts heard any whisperings of the forgotten farm boy Westley's homeland.
Apparently, the prince had selected a bride.
* * *
The Prince loved to hunt. In fact, it was his first love. He made sure that no thing would come between himself and his killing-not eating, not sleeping, not even his vanity, which, it could be observed, was his second love.
Both of his loves were quite justified; he was an outstanding hunter and outstandingly handsome man-one could even say he was beautiful. His hair was a silver color of blond, and he kept it long, trailing past his collarbone, and always perfectly coifed. His eyes were slate gray and as chilly as the man hidden beneath the surface and never gave any indication of what he was thinking-a valuable thing in a huntsman and political figure. His face was pale and flawless, like porcelain, and his chin came to a point that gave him a very misleading, very delicate look.
At first, he traveled the world to sate his hunger for opposition, and the people of his country worried for him. There always had to be a male heir to the throne, and as long as his feeble father, the king, was alive, there was no problem with his travels. But someday soon, his father would die and then Prince Humperdinck would have to be the king and select a queen to supply an heir for the day of his own death. But, along with being shrewd and handsome, the Prince was very apt at planning.
So, to avoid the eventuality of him becoming king and his sport being ruined, the Prince built the Zoo of Death. He designed it himself with his close friend Count Rugen's help, and he sent his minions the world over to stock it for him. It was always kept brimming with nasty things that flew, slithered, crawled and hopped. The only people that knew of it were the Prince, the Count, and the albino keeper, who made sure that the beasts were properly fed and never fell ill-if there was one thing the Prince hated, it was weakness.
The Zoo was underground. The Prince picked the spot himself, in the quietest and most remote corner of the castle grounds. He decreed there were to be five levels, all with the specific needs for his individual enemies. On the first level, he put enemies of elusiveness and speed, like demiguises, erklings, and kappa. On the second level belonged enemies of great strength, like graphorns, erumpents, occamies, and re'ems. The third level was home to poisoners: basilisks, doxies, and lethifolds. The fourth floor was reserved for the most dangerous and most legendary creatures: the quintapeds, the manticores, and even a chimaera.
The fifth floor was empty.
Prince Humperdinck constructed it in hopes of someday finding something as worth, dangerous, fierce and powerful as himself.
Most unlikely. Still, being the eternal optimist, he kept the great cage in the fifth level always ready.
One particularly dank day in the Zoo, while the Prince was hunting an erkling, the business of the King's health made its ultimate intrusion. From above the pit in which he stalked his pray, Count Rugen's voice interrupted. "There is news," the Count said.
The Prince sighed. "Can it not wait?"
"I'm sorry sir, but it cannot."
The Prince sighed again, much deeper this time, and threw a quick spell at the erkling, which fell down dead in an instant.
"Now, what is it?" he replied, stepping over the dead beast and beginning to climb the ladder.
"Your father has had his annual physical," said the Count. "I have the report."
"And?" the Prince replied icily.
"He's dying."
The Prince threw his gloves to the floor. "Oh, bother, now I shall have to be married."
* * *
It was dawn when the two horsemen reined in at the hilltop. Count Rugen rode a splendid black horse, large, perfect, and powerful, but the Prince had opted for a sleeker, silvery white to match his white robes.
"And you're sure she's beautiful? I want a woman who, when my people look at her, they think, 'Wow, that Prince has to be a great man to marry such a beautiful woman'."
"She was something of a mess when I saw her," the Count admitted. "But the potential was astonishing."
"A milkmaid." The words tasted bitter. "Perhaps I'd better not-I might be laughed at."
"That is true. We can ride back to the castle if you'd like."
Humperdinck thought a moment. "No, we've come this far. We might as we-" His voice gave out. "Yes. I'll take her," he squeaked when he saw the girl riding slowly below them. "I will speak to her."
He urged his white horse to meet her. Buttercup had never seen such a horse or a rider.
"I am your Prince and you will marry me," Humperdinck said.
Buttercup looked at him. "Are you quite mad?" The Prince merely looked at her. She cleared her voice. "I refuse, of course."
"I am your Prince and you may not refuse."
"I just did, and I shall again. I won't marry you."
"Refusal means death."
"Then by all means, your highness, kill me."
The Prince dismounted his horse and walked over to the lovely girl atop her chestnut mare. "I am your Prince and I am not that bad. How can you wish for death instead of marry me?"
"Because," she said. "marriage involves love, and that would be one of the few pastimes at which I do not excel. I tried once, and it went badly. I must never love another."
"Love?" said Prince Humperdinck. "I said nothing of love. I just need a queen who will give me a male heir when my father dies. So, you can either marry me and be the richest, most powerful woman in a thousand miles (not to mention one-half of the best-looking couple in a century) and provide me with a son, or you can die in a very painful manner in the very near future. Decide now."
"I'll never love you, you know. And your hair is doing an odd flippy thing. Does it do that often?"
"I wouldn't want it any other way." Buttercup could decide if he meant the loveless marriage or the flippy hair thing. She supposed it didn't manner.
"Then by all means, let us marry."
Much thanks to Itsu, Wonder Beta Extraordinaire. *schnugs her into oblivion* And to the Good Ship for keeping me wacky. And to everyone who's read and reviewed, because it makes me feel so squishy to think of people reading this. Le sigh. :) Without further ado (well.maybe a little ado), Chapter Five!
* * *
While Ron Weasley had never actually taken a visit to a Muggle zoo, he'd often wondered what one would be like-he'd heard about them, of course, through his father's fascination with everything Muggle, and after hearing about how Harry had set that snake on his cousin Dudley the summer before their first year, he'd wondered about it even more. During his childhood at the Burrow, his brothers and sisters had always kept pets; chickens and pigs were common, they'd had a horse for several years, and he and Ginny had kept a puffskein once, before the unfortunate Quidditch incident when Fred had used it for a bludger. But Ron had always been amazed that Muggles could manage to keep powerful beasts such as lions and tigers and the like locked up; he had always been stuck between thinking that it was amazing and thinking that it was horrible.
As Ron looked out through the bars of his cage, he decided that being ogled, fed scraps, and provoked without reason and without the ability to retaliate was resoundingly horrible.
When Ron initially regained consciousness after his run-in with the blunt end of a sword, he had a lot to accept in a very little amount of time. The first thing he was confronted with was most devastating: his crew, the men he had been traveling with were gone. The Queen's Pride had been sacked and looted by the infamous Dread Pirate Roberts' ship Revenge.
That man in black. Roberts. He wasn't that impressive of a figure, really. He had the paunch of a middle aged man, and his mask didn't seem to fit as nicely as the man would have liked, as he fiddled with it quite often.
It didn't take long for Roberts to take a liking to Ron.
"Grab him," the man in black said with a bored flick of the wrist.
Two pirates, each twice Ron's size, came at his cage. He put up a brave fight, but a couple of swift punches to his gut managed to calm him. The men dragged him to see the not-so-imposing man in black.
Roberts drew his wand. Ron couldn't help himself. "Yo-you have a wand!"
He had thrown the man in black off his game. "Uh.yes, I do. What did you expect, an anvil?" His two goons laughed. "But-how can you." In a moment, it was all clear to Ron. This is my subconscious-this may be a charmed sleep, but it's still my brain filling in all the parts. Of course they're all wizards! Ron furrowed his brow. But why didn't Herm-Buttercup's family have wands or potions or anything-oh! Ron, had he been in a less precarious position, would have laughed at his own stupidity. In this weirdo parallel dimension dream sequence thing, everyone still matches up! Hermione.he couldn't help but blush-what would Hermione think of this whole thing? He could just imagine the look on her face when she heard that he, Ron "You ARE a girl!" Weasley was playing the romantic hero. She'd die. Hermione is Buttercup.and her parents wouldn't have wands on their farm, would they? They're Muggles! It makes sense, now. But I haven't a wand.and that's.not.good.
The man in black looked at him. "You should make your peace with whoever you think is up there," he said, gesturing with his wand to the ceiling of the small cabin. The walls were wood paneled and smelled of cedar.
Ron felt a twinge of anger but suppressed it. "Please-don't kill me." The words themselves almost killed him as they struggled out of his proud mouth, but they had to be said. He didn't beg, he didn't plead-he merely looked into the eyes of a man capable and willing to kill him, and politely asked him not to, in quite the same manner as he might have said, "Please- pass the custard."
Roberts stopped. "What?"
Ron continued staring into his eyes. "I asked you not to kill me. Please." The goons were looking quite confused at this point.
Roberts lowered his wand. He seemed intrigued. "Why should I make an exception of you?"
Ron spoke before he knew it. "I think I love a girl," he said, as he flushed. He could feel his cheeks on fire, even as his eyes watered, preparing to blink for a last time.
The pirate laughed. "Yes, I believe the line is 'I have a wife and eight children'. I'm sorry, but I am not swayed by such clichés." He raised his wand again.
"No! I do love a girl. The most wonderful girl on the planet, actually." Ron couldn't believe he was still alive.
The man in black laughed again. "I doubt that she is as wonderful as you imagine, my friend."
"But she is. She's the smartest witch I've ever met, and if I lived a million years, I doubt I'd ever meet one so clever. The way her brain works is amazing.she always seems to know what I'm going to say a second before I say it, and even when I'm being a certifiable prat, she understands me." Ron paused, and allowed himself a chuckle. He supposed he would die in a couple minutes, but in that instant, his thoughts on Hermione, Buttercup, it didn't matter what she was called, he was glad. "Well, most of the time she understands me. And she's brave-Lord, she's brave. She's survived things and done things that wizards three times her age couldn't handle. Things she's done and said.sometimes I think she's even braver than Harry. And she's funny-she always laughs at her own jokes, but it's all right, because most of the time, they're quite clever. And she's pretty. Yeah, she's pretty.she's got this hair that's always all over the place, you know? I poke fun at her about it, say that it's attacking her head, but I just like looking at it sometimes, when she's reading one of her books and not paying attention to me. It's wild and a dark brown color, like coffee with a bit of cream in it-it's sort of long, but all bouncy and curly and frizzy, like she just came out of the rain. And her eyes are always so big and brown.so full of caring, all the time, and when they well up with tears, I just." Ron stopped. "But yes, that's why I don't want to die. I'd really like to see her again."
The Dread Pirate Roberts looked at the slender redhead on his knees before him. He looked interested. "Brown eyes, eh?" he said. Ron nodded with the ghost of a grin on his face. The pirate sighed deeply.
"I'll tell you-wait, what did you say your name was?"
"Ro-er, Westley, sir."
"I'll tell you, Westley, I feel genuinely sorry about this, but can you see it from my perspective a moment?"
Ron thought for a second. "Um, not really."
"If I make an exception in your case, then the news will get out that the Dread Pirate Roberts has gone soft." Roberts put his wand back in his pants and began to pace the room. He seemed sincerely disturbed by the happenings in his cabin that night. "They'll stop fearing me if they think I've gone soft, and piracy, you know, becomes nothing but tedious work, work, work, all the time. Pillaging and looting, looting and pillaging-I'd never get any painting done, honestly. And I'm far too old for such a life. I hope you can understand."
Ron looked at the man. "But.but, I won't tell anyone! Really, not even my girl. I swear it."
Roberts sighed heavily. "That's not good enough."
"But.what if I stay on the Revenge with you? I can be your-whatitcalled, your guy? The guy who does stuff for you?" Roberts raised his eyebrows. Ron quickly went on. "No no no, your.your valet! I can be your personal valet and work for you until I can earn enough to get to America and pick up my girl. And if I ever once complain or anger you in any way, you can Avada my arse off the planet. How does that sound?" Ron looked pleased with himself.
The man in black paused a moment. "Get below," he said. "Go get some sleep, I'll think about it. I'll most likely kill you in the morning."
Every night ended that way for a year; each day, Ron roamed the Revenge, learning all he could and taking in all he was able to-he decided that he could learn what he could about piracy in the time he had left, as it helped him to put thoughts of his coming slaughter out of his mind. He helped the cook and learned how to filet the perfect fish; he learned to clean the hold and kept things tidy and rat-free; generally, he did whatever was asked of him, hoping always that his pleasant disposition, quick hands and ready mind might be favorably noted by the Dread Pirate Roberts.
Every night, as moonlight peeked through the porthole in Ron's cabin, Roberts lumbered down the steps and tapped on his bunk with his wand. "Good work today, Westley. Sleep well, I'll probably kill you in the morning." Ron only took the threat seriously for the first eight months, for after that, the two were less valet and master and more like student and teacher, but more importantly, comrades.
At the end of that first year, Roberts came to Ron's cabin with a proposition.
"Enough of this valet business, Westley-from this time on, you are to be my second-in-command."
Ron's jaw dropped. "Me, sir? A pirate?"
Roberts looked pleased. "You'll make a fine pirate. Just get some leather incorporated into your wardrobe and you'll cut a fine figure. Piracy is a very respectable profession these days."
Ron shook his head. "Thanks, sir, but I don't want to be a pirate. I just want to-"
"Go back to your girl, I know, I know; but think of how much better would it be to return after a good year or three of piracy. You'll be rich and powerful, and then back to her you'll go."
Ron scratched his head. "But your men have been with you for a long time, right? And they're not rich."
"Don't sass me, boy, I could still kill you," he said with a teasing smile. "None of my men are captain. Westley, I'm going to be retiring soon, and when I do, the Revenge will be yours."
Naturally, Ron couldn't refuse. Roberts allowed Ron to assist him in the next few captures to get a feel for it and see how much he liked it. As it turned out, Ron had quite the knack for piracy. Such a knack, that Roberts came to him one April morning, "Westley, the next ship is yours; let's see you put your money where your bragging mouth is, eh?" Ron was ready. At least, he'd thought he was ready.
That next day, with Ron at the head of the Revenge, they spotted a gorgeous Spanish ship, all loaded with booty for Madrid. Ron steered the Revenge up close to the craft, whose sailors were in a panic. "Who is it?" their captain cried in fear.
"The Dread Pirate Westley! Hand over your money and valuables and stuff!" Ron yelled back.
"Never heard of you!" the Spanish captain replied as he and his crew opened fire-a barrage of hexes and curses flew towards the Revenge.
Complete disaster. After narrowly escaping being hexed into oblivion, Ron returned to Roberts, ashamed. "I'm a failure as a pirate," he said gloomily, fingering his hat.
"Buck up, son," Roberts said. "What I am about to tell you I have never told anyone before, and I trust that you will guard it closely." Ron looked at the man curiously and nodded.
"I am not the Dread Pirate Roberts," he said. "My name is Ryan. I inherited this ship from the previous Dread Pirate Roberts just as you will inherit it from me. The man I inherited from was not Roberts, either-his name was." The older man sucked on a knuckle. "Cucumber? Cumberland? Something like that. Anyway, the real, original Dread Pirate Roberts has been retired for fifteen years now and has been living like a king on an island off the coast of Florida."
"What?"
"It's really quite simple," the man called Ryan explained. "After several years, the original Roberts was so rich he wanted to retire. Clooney was his friend and first mate, so he gave the ship to Clooney, who had an identical experience to yours: the first ship he attempted to board nearly cursed him out of the water. So Roberts, realizing that it was the name that inspired fear and bred success, sailed the Revenge to port, changed crews, and Clooney went about saying that he was the Dread Pirate Roberts, and with a new crew, who was there to dispute him? A brilliant plan, I'd say. So, these last fifteen years, the name of Roberts has been passed down from pirate to pirate, and today, I, Felix Raymond Ryan of Boodle, Liverpool, now name thee, Westley, the Dread Pirate Roberts." He then handed Ron an insignia ring, with a golden flourish of an "R" standing proudly in a green stone.
The years passed quickly, as they are known to, and it was four years before the lanky but imposing, redheaded Dread Pirate Roberts heard any whisperings of the forgotten farm boy Westley's homeland.
Apparently, the prince had selected a bride.
* * *
The Prince loved to hunt. In fact, it was his first love. He made sure that no thing would come between himself and his killing-not eating, not sleeping, not even his vanity, which, it could be observed, was his second love.
Both of his loves were quite justified; he was an outstanding hunter and outstandingly handsome man-one could even say he was beautiful. His hair was a silver color of blond, and he kept it long, trailing past his collarbone, and always perfectly coifed. His eyes were slate gray and as chilly as the man hidden beneath the surface and never gave any indication of what he was thinking-a valuable thing in a huntsman and political figure. His face was pale and flawless, like porcelain, and his chin came to a point that gave him a very misleading, very delicate look.
At first, he traveled the world to sate his hunger for opposition, and the people of his country worried for him. There always had to be a male heir to the throne, and as long as his feeble father, the king, was alive, there was no problem with his travels. But someday soon, his father would die and then Prince Humperdinck would have to be the king and select a queen to supply an heir for the day of his own death. But, along with being shrewd and handsome, the Prince was very apt at planning.
So, to avoid the eventuality of him becoming king and his sport being ruined, the Prince built the Zoo of Death. He designed it himself with his close friend Count Rugen's help, and he sent his minions the world over to stock it for him. It was always kept brimming with nasty things that flew, slithered, crawled and hopped. The only people that knew of it were the Prince, the Count, and the albino keeper, who made sure that the beasts were properly fed and never fell ill-if there was one thing the Prince hated, it was weakness.
The Zoo was underground. The Prince picked the spot himself, in the quietest and most remote corner of the castle grounds. He decreed there were to be five levels, all with the specific needs for his individual enemies. On the first level, he put enemies of elusiveness and speed, like demiguises, erklings, and kappa. On the second level belonged enemies of great strength, like graphorns, erumpents, occamies, and re'ems. The third level was home to poisoners: basilisks, doxies, and lethifolds. The fourth floor was reserved for the most dangerous and most legendary creatures: the quintapeds, the manticores, and even a chimaera.
The fifth floor was empty.
Prince Humperdinck constructed it in hopes of someday finding something as worth, dangerous, fierce and powerful as himself.
Most unlikely. Still, being the eternal optimist, he kept the great cage in the fifth level always ready.
One particularly dank day in the Zoo, while the Prince was hunting an erkling, the business of the King's health made its ultimate intrusion. From above the pit in which he stalked his pray, Count Rugen's voice interrupted. "There is news," the Count said.
The Prince sighed. "Can it not wait?"
"I'm sorry sir, but it cannot."
The Prince sighed again, much deeper this time, and threw a quick spell at the erkling, which fell down dead in an instant.
"Now, what is it?" he replied, stepping over the dead beast and beginning to climb the ladder.
"Your father has had his annual physical," said the Count. "I have the report."
"And?" the Prince replied icily.
"He's dying."
The Prince threw his gloves to the floor. "Oh, bother, now I shall have to be married."
* * *
It was dawn when the two horsemen reined in at the hilltop. Count Rugen rode a splendid black horse, large, perfect, and powerful, but the Prince had opted for a sleeker, silvery white to match his white robes.
"And you're sure she's beautiful? I want a woman who, when my people look at her, they think, 'Wow, that Prince has to be a great man to marry such a beautiful woman'."
"She was something of a mess when I saw her," the Count admitted. "But the potential was astonishing."
"A milkmaid." The words tasted bitter. "Perhaps I'd better not-I might be laughed at."
"That is true. We can ride back to the castle if you'd like."
Humperdinck thought a moment. "No, we've come this far. We might as we-" His voice gave out. "Yes. I'll take her," he squeaked when he saw the girl riding slowly below them. "I will speak to her."
He urged his white horse to meet her. Buttercup had never seen such a horse or a rider.
"I am your Prince and you will marry me," Humperdinck said.
Buttercup looked at him. "Are you quite mad?" The Prince merely looked at her. She cleared her voice. "I refuse, of course."
"I am your Prince and you may not refuse."
"I just did, and I shall again. I won't marry you."
"Refusal means death."
"Then by all means, your highness, kill me."
The Prince dismounted his horse and walked over to the lovely girl atop her chestnut mare. "I am your Prince and I am not that bad. How can you wish for death instead of marry me?"
"Because," she said. "marriage involves love, and that would be one of the few pastimes at which I do not excel. I tried once, and it went badly. I must never love another."
"Love?" said Prince Humperdinck. "I said nothing of love. I just need a queen who will give me a male heir when my father dies. So, you can either marry me and be the richest, most powerful woman in a thousand miles (not to mention one-half of the best-looking couple in a century) and provide me with a son, or you can die in a very painful manner in the very near future. Decide now."
"I'll never love you, you know. And your hair is doing an odd flippy thing. Does it do that often?"
"I wouldn't want it any other way." Buttercup could decide if he meant the loveless marriage or the flippy hair thing. She supposed it didn't manner.
"Then by all means, let us marry."