Disclaimer: I do not own the Discworld, or any part thereof. Nor am I head of a world-wide publishing conglomerate, siphoning money and rights from the publication of every book published on the world. Unfortunately. However, of the little that I do own, Magatha, Thaddeus and Nikephoros are part, as well as anyone you don't recognize. Unless I stole them from someone else.

Mild-Mannered

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A Story of Bravery, Damsels and Strange Clingy Fabrics

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Dramatis Personae:

Magatha Gammins, or The Distressed Lady Grapeseed, A Damsel

Nikephoros Lothario Theophilus Dobroslav Kristofin (&c.), A Hero

Thaddeus Tent, A Filing Assistant

Et alia

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Episode The First:

Foiled!

In which the Lady Grapeseed has a Guest; Thaddeus Townsend hurts his head; and Nikephoros does not appear

Part One

The dawn broke clear and bright- albeit rather slowly, due to the slothful nature of Discworld sunlight- over the Ramtops. It flowed like golden syrup over Lancre Castle, some of it dripping down into Lancre Gorge, never to be seen again; it oozed through the township and slunk past the residence of Mistress Weatherwax. Onwards it went for what would equate to several long, dull pages of description until, deep within the mountains, it reached the base of a tall stone tower.

It stopped to catch its metaphorical breath. This was going to be tough.

The sunlight gathered at the bottom of the tower. This was a very interesting sight, and caused the flowers growing there to, in quick succession, bloom flourishingly and die, baked to a crisp by concentrated UV. Finally, in an epic struggle that would take a further ten pages to do justice, it began to make its way up the tower.

And up.

And up.

The most lovely and glorious Lady Grapeseed watched its progress with rabid interest, willing its many photons upwards. It really was distressing, how slowly the light traveled up her tower in comparison to the surrounding mountainside- after all, a fair damsel's tower really should be as bright and as, well, fair as the damsel within, shouldn't it? Not dark and ominously shadowy against the sunlit crags. She was sure of it. It was in the Book.

The sunlight had finally reached the sill of the tower's one window. Lady Grapeseed finished pulling on her shoes, hurried over and leant out just in time for the rising light to be caught and reflected by the glittering bodice of her dress. Thus ambushed, shards of sunlight were mercilessly snatched from their intended ascension and cast out into the atmosphere. The whole thing gave the impression that the young lady had transformed into a small, tower-dwelling sun.

Lady Grapeseed waited for her eyes to stop watering, then cautiously dabbed at them with a silk handkerchief. Effective as the dawn show was, it always rendered her completely blind for a few minutes- quite a nuisance, really. She stood calmly until the blotches in front of her eyes faded away. It didn't take long.

What took a little longer was for the mail-clad gentleman trudging up the treacherously steep mountain path below to reach the tower.

The mail probably wasn't helping much. Nor the gale-force winds that whipped constantly through the valleys and peaks of the mountains above Lancre.

Lady Grapeseed retreated from the window, but not so far that she lost sight of the intrepid man winding his way up the mountain. Sunlight lingered on the fine threads of her shimmering gown, casting ethereal sparkles around the tower room. It was all very atmospheric.

After a few minutes had passed, the Lady checked that her hair was still pinned firmly and safely in place, and then ventured back to the window. The intrepid climber had discarded his mail and was now making somewhat quicker time. He was still a long way away, though. Struck suddenly with nerves, Lady Grapeseed retreated and sat down at her tastefully pink vanity table, upon which lay an open book.

Yes- that was the right page. Upon Making One's Acquaintance With Eligible Men, the much-thumbed eighteenth chapter of The Damsel's Guide to Etiquette, Presentation and Twoo Wuv. She skimmed the tightly packed text with slightly squinted eyes, wishing not for the first time that the Witch hadn't had such small writing.

Presentation! Of course! Happiness positively radiated from Lady Grapeseed's smile as she realised what had been niggling at her. Settling herself down, she drew her instruments of art towards her. Hair- definitely below par, she decided, but there wasn't enough time to redo it. only to drape a lattice of seed pearls and crystal over the worst bits- oh, that was much better! Now, forehead- would any poet call that alabaster? As for those eyes. . .

Perfection takes a great deal of effort and time. So it was that, by the time the mysterious gentleman arrived at the base of the tower, the Lady Grapeseed had only barely finished her detailed toilet.

The great tower knocker sounded one, two, three times: Lady Grapeseed excitedly noted the guest's strict attention to numerical convention and glided with all haste and more beauty down the stairs. A Hero! It had to be! Who else would venture so far, brave such dangers, wear such shiny armour?

But- this wasn't right. There was still something. What could it be? What did not fit? What-

Of course. Lady Grapeseed put one white hand to her head and, in a single movement, undid her hair. As her many and glorious locks fell like a golden waterfall reflecting the flames of a raging fire to the floor, the Lady opened the tower door.

"My prince!" she cried, and fell in a swoon at Thaddeus's feet.

Thaddeus stood in shock, one hand still poised to knock.

Well, perhaps it was a hallucination. He had been walking uphill- upcliff, in fact, at some stages- all day, with what had quite probably been insufficient food and water and which was now no food or water, and had been since ten o'clock. That could cause hallucinations. He'd read it in a book.

His head swam. His body tried to copy it, which was a bad idea given the basic aridity of Thaddeus's surroundings.

Ouch. The stone doorstep was hard.

Lady Grapeseed opened one limpid eye, then another. Having run out of eyes to open, she proceeded to use the two she had to see what had happened.

She was still just inside the door, exactly where she had fallen into an aesthetically pleasing heap minutes earlier. The Hero had not taken her into his arms and attempted to revive her from her swoon? That was most tardy of him! At the very least he should have moistened her pale brow with a piece of fabric torn from his shirt, moistened with wine or water from his flask-

Oh my! Was that him? Sprawled so ungainly upon the entrance to her cruel prison? Oh, it was! Lady Grapeseed put a hand to her mouth in horror as she realised what had happened. Her Hero, her Prince, had so exhausted himself on his arduous journey to rescue her that he had lost all his strength- had, quite literally, collapsed with fatigue at her door!

The Book was most adamant about what to do in this situation. Lady Grapeseed ran back up the stairs to her room and threw open the doors of her wardrobe. One could hardly nurse a man back to health wearing white silk- why, he might have wounds that she would have to tend!

Aquamarine evening gown- no.

Powder-blue riding suit- no.

Vermillion lace- no, indeed! Not yet, anyway.

A simple shift the colour of a cloudless evening sky- perfect. It even had little gems sewn into the fabric to represent early stars. Lady Grapeseed donned her chosen garb and rushed back down to her patient.