Nixiesocean: You are all wonderful. Truly you are. Less people read this than my other story (The Fatal Mistake) Yet I have more reviews for this story. Thank you all for faithfully reviewing!

No Q's to answer… so… onto the story!

Chapter 9: Cyrun's Portrait

Cyrun found herself in a lavish room with gold-plated bedposts and gorgeous paintings of knights battling dragons. It seemed, in every picture, that the knight prevailed over the dragon. Which, by some freaky twist of fate was red. The woman, who seemed to stand in the background cheering, was always dressed in regal clothing normally in blues or purples. Cyrun was confused. How had dragons made such a terrible impression upon the humans, when there were kind and friendly dragons, like who she used to be, out there too? Why had the humans only chosen to depict the ruder, cruder and more lustful of all the dragons? She shook her head, silver hair moving back and forth like waves of a silver stream.

"My lady." A voice said behind her. She turned. A maid bowed low to her. Cyrun smiled and greeted the maid. "The king, at the knight's request, has ordered me to take measurements for your new dresses." She held out a piece of leather. Cyrun sighed. Take measurements? She nodded and the maid got to work wrapping the leather around certain parts of her female body, the marking it on a piece of parchment. "Does my lady request a certain color for her new dresses?"

She thought about it. "Yes." She spoke in a quiet tone. "I would like a red dress, a silver dress and a golden dress, if at all possible." The maid wrote quickly on her parchment and disappeared out the door. Cyrun turned back to the portraits. One in particular, out of all ten, caught her attention.

This time, a knight wearing blackened armor fought a silver-gold dragon. Cyrun stared intently at the picture, trying to reason what it was trying to say. To he surprise, the picture started to move. The dragon breathed, the knight was pushed back by the dragon's icicle-cold breath. The blackened knight turned his horse around and charged the dragon again, lance lowered to receive the blow. Before the dragon could react, the lance plunged into its chest plate and near the heart. The dragon bled heavily, trying in vain to stop the bleeding, all malicious thought toward the knight vanished, leaving the dragon on the ground, dying in its own pool of blood.

The blackened knight neared the dying dragon, beautiful he thought to himself. This is a beautiful dragon. He kneeled beside the once-proud dragon and touched the dragon's forehead.

"Who are you, to kill a silver dragon?" It said through dying breaths.

"I am the one Asnarinith! I have slain many dragons twice your size!" He bragged. Then, Ansarinith turned his head. "Ah, my little Cyrun is alive, is she?" He cackled. "Yes, my dear, now you see how I became a dragon!" He reached down and once again touched the dragon's forehead. This time, a single silver strand was pulled from the dragon's head, where there was no hair. Ansarninith took the string and gently set it on his head, feeling power course through his veins. Her eyes took in the whole scene; she was unable to break away. She felt herself being drawn inside the picture. Cyrun looked back at the dragon. The dragon's form shifted and in its place was a beautiful, silver-haired male. He was still middle aged. His well-built chest was covered in a layer of well-bled blood. "This is your demise, dragon!" Ansarninth yelled, driving the sword that appeared in his downward. It was a killing blow. The man on the ground closed his eyes. It would accept death this way. It would not be against him, but this false knight. Cyrun was nearly into the story herself. Tears ran down her cheeks. This man couldn't die! She shoved herself into the story. A silver-haired woman appeared above the man. He knew she was here to take him to the after-life where he could live with all other deceased dragons in peace.

"Make it quick," He said while trying not choke on his own blood. "Please." The man might of thought he was speaking to him, but in truth the dragon-gone-human was pleading to the angel who was going to take him from this horrid place. Take him from this ghastly pain. The man shoved the sword downward. It shattered on an invisible force three inches from the downed-man's chest. All three sets of eyes widened in surprise. Cyrun took this chance to reach down and grasp the dragon-gone-human. She wretched herself out of the portrait and into her room.

Both people were breathing very heavily. The other dragon looked at her with his stormy grey eyes. Recovered from such an odd encounter, Cyrun took action. She rolled him to his side, so he wouldn't choke. She was now glad she had insisted upon taking a small store of herbs with her when she had left her forest-dwelling a couple days ago. She reached in and pulled out a blood-clotting herb. She wrapped his chest would with strips from her old dress.

The man watched her from his spot of his side. She spoke in a soothing tone that lulled him into a much-needed sleep. Cyrun smiled. Healing people always seemed to alleviate any stress she had bottled up. When she looked down, the man was fast asleep, deep in his mind.

She continued rubbing and de-stressing his body. When he rolled on his back, she would turn him back on his side. Cyrun propped his back up with her extra pillows. She then took her torn and tattered to the door and wrapped herself in her overly fluffy bathrobe.

Hours later, the man awoke. Cyrun smiled. "Welcome to the lands of the living." She said kindly. Lands of the living? He wasn't dead?

"Where am I?" He croaked. Cyrun smiled.

"You're in the castle of King Clem," She spoke in a quiet tone.

"Oh good. I need to talk to him about sending knights to slay dragons. One of his almost killed me…" He tried to sit up, but Cyrun gently applied pressure and kept him on the bed. "What? King Clem, right? Well, I need to…" Every time he would try to get up, the woman would keep him on the bed.

"First, introductions. I am Cyrun." She said pointing to herself.

"I'm Bamien." He whispered. His head still reeled from the attack.

"Good." Cyrun cheered. "Now, you are in the castle of King Clem IV. Got it?"

"The fourth? Goddamnit!" He cursed. Where was he? Well, he knew he castle of King Clem IV… but when? "What's the year?"

"1503."

"Oh my god." He said, eyes wide. "I'm a millennia ahead of my time…"

"Well, at least you aren't dead." Cyrhun said through a smile. "That has to be a good point."

"It is, believe me. If you hadn't come…" He trailed off.

"Bamien, promise me one thing." She said.

"What?"

"Don't leave until I explain this to my friend. My friend is a knight-"

"No!" He shouted. "I will not be 'explained' to a knight!"

"Bamien, she's a lady. She will understand. Please." Her wide sea-blue eyes made his resistance crumble. He took her hand. No man had touched her so closely, it made her blush and she had to quickly turn away, wrenching her hand from his. She quickly left the room; not realizing all she wore was a bathrobe. But then again, she had never felt the burn of embarrassment. Halfway down the hall, she realized she didn't even know where she was going. Or where Katharine was. She took a maid aside who did her best not to laugh at the half-dressed Cyrun.

"No, my lady, I do not know where Sir Eric is. He was taken by the king with Prince Lance." The maid replied, bowing deeply. "If I may…?" Cyrun let her leave, and tried to find her way back to her room. Which, at the moment, was inhabited by Bamien. She entered and quietly shut the door. She picked up a spare blanket from the foot of the bed and curled up on the floor; much in the way she did back… she didn't want to think about then. She was living in the now, not the then.

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"Oh my god." I said, my eyes tearing up. I had thought I was going to my funeral. I wasn't. I ran, dropping all appearances of being a lady and ran to embrace my fiancée. We kissed and held each other so tightly, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to breathe. We kept kissing, not wanting to let either go. This was better than anything in the world. When my father finally coughed, we let each other go.

"King Clem, if you would…?" My father said.

"Ah yes. I, King Clem, officially recognize the betrothal of Lady Katharine," My fiancée stared at me when the king said my name. I cuddled closer. "To Crown Prince Lance." I grinned, hugging Lance like nobody's business. I cried. I was not normally so happy. This had to be the best day of my life. Engaged to marry someone she loved so deeply as Lance was rare. She was expecting to have to marry some old man with three wives.

"You're my stick." I whispered to him. He still had his hands around my back. I loved Lance.

"You're my knight-in-shining-armor." He whispered back. "And you were worried about your fiancée being angry about you kissing me. I think he is quite happy you did." Lance said, laughing aloud. Lord Nett and King Clem along with everyone that had been present left, leaving us alone.

"I love you, Lance." I said, moving up into the space between his arm and his body. Her dress was crumpled, but she didn't care.

"I love you, Katharine." He said, using my name for the first time. I would always remember the way he said it, so tender and loving. Like he was caressing the use of my name, not a fake one. He leaned down and kissed me.

Nixiesocean: yay for fluff (wow, I didn't mean it to have that much fluff… lol.) But hey, who cares, I don't! Now, I bet you area all happy for Katharine… but beware! This couple has a few more bumps in the road to everlasting happiness!