I am sure that few have felt more uncomfortably out of place than I did when I entered the stereotypical tavern in the town of Ardenvale, which lay in the heart of the Fantastic Realms. Despite the fact that I was decked out in full armor and carrying an enormous sword, that I didn't belong seemed very evident to the host and the other patrons, and my now having a cold, thanks to my ill-advised attempt at heroism, did not help. It might seem strange that a man who was never known for being particularly muscular would be able to carry all this weight, but I assure you that no one was more surprised than I when, upon declaring myself to be a fantasy hero, I suddenly doubled in strength and mysteriously gained fighting abilities! I can give no explanation for this other than to say that I must have been thought too easy to kill, and so the authorial powers that be decided to do something about it, rather than risk having such a short and tragic tale.
As I sat at a table having something to refresh myself, a young, buxom barmaid came up to me and asked if there was anything else I wanted. She was as handsome as barmaids usually are, but I paid little attention to her personal charms and asked what there was to eat.
She told me with a very simpering look, and after taking my order suggested that if I were interested, she would be more than happy to meet me upstairs at the time of my choosing.
"Madam, I am a married man!" said I with a blush of indignation.
"Married?" snapped the barmaid. "What kind of adventurer is married, I'd like to know? Don't you know the standards of Kirk-ing?"
"I've heard them as much as anyone, but that doesn't mean I can break my marriage vows!"
After this she quickly lost her pleasant manner, and remained surly for the rest of the length of my stay.
It seems very odd to me that a tradition has been established of a hero's trying to seduce almost every young and lovely female that he meets- scarcely a heroic act, I would think! In the literature of my day, such a fellow would be condemned as a heartless libertine, but now it is quite the norm, and an apparent test of a protagonist's manhood!
While I mused on this fascinating and profound subject, I was interrupted by the arrival of a royal messenger.
"The Princess Cassmanissima has been kidnapped!" he cried, rushing into the room. This was a very convenient plot hook, but still to this day I cannot fathom why he felt the need to tell this to the patrons of a tavern.
"Who was she kidnapped by?" I asked.
"By a dragon so terrible that none has ever survived to tell its name!" he groaned.
Well, was there really anything I could do besides volunteer to rescue her? He thanked me profusely, and promised to procure a guide directly to lead me to the dragon's lair, which he eventually did, after a long speech on my being her only hope and other flatteries.
Within a few hours, I was near the entrance of the den, where the guide had left me and swiftly ran off to save himself, muttering under his breath that I was a dead man, and other things he thought I couldn't hear. Surprisingly, it was by no means a desolate place- there were carefully landscaped beds of flowers and a long avenue of stately oaks that would do credit to any country house in England.
"May I help you?" said a voice behind me.
I turned around and to my astonishment beheld a large dragon with iridescent pink scales, my astonishment being caused mainly by its speaking to me in such a polite fashion.
"Um…Are you the dragon that lives in this den- The one who is reputed to be so terrible that none has ever survived to tell its name?"
"I do live in this den, young man, but I think that my reputation is for the most part quite undeserved. I would be more than happy to let my visitors survive if they did not insist on laughing at me when I tell it to them!"
"May I ask what it is?" I said, with a little trepidation. "I promise I won't laugh."
She paused for a moment, deliberating.
"It's… Fanny."
"I don't know why I would laugh at that." I said with some relief. "It happens to be the same name as my wife's, and far be it from me to find it amusing."
"I was named after a character in one of my mother's favourite novels." she continued, a little disappointed that she did not now have the pleasure of devouring me. "Perhaps you have read Mansfield Park?"
"Good Heavens!" I cried. "Why, that is the very novel that I am originally from, and whose heroine (your namesake) is my wife!"
"Are you Edmund Bertram!?" asked the dragon with some surprise. "What an honour it is to meet such a distinguished literary character!"
We discussed various aspects of my novel at some length, and I rejoiced to find such an unexpected and ardent fan, though gradually I was obliged to bring myself back to the cause of my visit.
"I'm very sorry to turn the subject, but I was wondering if you might have the Princess Cassmanissima in your possession- her parents are very concerned for her, I'm told."
She looked at me guiltily, and I almost discerned a blush come over her scales.
"I am very sorry Mr. Bertram, but I had her for lunch about ten minutes before you arrived. She was very tasty, though." she added.
"With all due respect, Madam, that isn't much of a consolation." I sighed and politely took my leave.
After acquainting the messenger with this melancholy turn of events, I returned to the inn and soon retired to my room.
"Maybe I'm not meant to be a fantasy hero." I said with despondence. "After all, I did everything I was supposed to do- except have an affair with the barmaid- and it still went wrong!"
Exhausted by the long journey I had made, I went to sleep soon afterwards and began to have a very pleasant dream. I dreamt that my wife and I were stargazing on our front lawn, and enjoying the peacefulness of the evening together, when she leaned over to (as I thought) give me a kiss. Imagine my surprise when she bit me instead! I cried out and tossed a little in my sleep, but since the pain went away directly, I did not wake.
The next morning when I awoke, I noticed that my skin was much paler than usual, which I naturally attributed to the cold that I mentioned earlier. It was only when I went to the mirror to shave that I received the shock- for when I turned my head to the side, I noticed that there were two good-sized puncture wounds in my neck that were still dark and somewhat fresh, though no longer bleeding.
"Well," I thought, with less panic than you might expect. "I must be attempting horror next!"