Grimdark but Neither Grim
nor Dark

Story by Ryan Cheng

| WHAT IF? CONTEST

Once upon a time, there was a princess. A fair princess, pure as a dove and gentle as a lamb. Being as fair, pure, and gentle as she was, it was only natural that all the mighty in the kingdom, the wicked and the brave, wanted her for their own. So each of them, one by one, went and kidnapped the fair princess, with the intent to marry her. But each and every time, the greatest knight in the kingdom, one with a stout heart and a stouter body, faithfully retrieved her and brought her back to the palace. And tales of the knight’s adventures spread throughout the land, so that every man and woman and child knew of him and the mighty deeds he did for the princess.

“A DRAGON?” the honorable knight roared, his haggard face twisted into an indescribably incredulous expression. The majestic King and Queen cringed away slightly.

“Sir Knight, we know the trek will be long and arduous, and the opponent more fearsome than any you have faced,” said the Queen in a voice like a weeping flower. She was beautiful, although the details of how exactly she was beautiful were missing from the knight’s mind (a common sign of magical tampering, a product designed for the ugly rich).

“But the princess needs you! The country needs you! Will you not take up arms once more to protect us?” she asked. It was quiet for a brief moment, as if the building itself was moved to the point of silence. Then a long, drawn out sigh filled the hall.

“Imagine, if you will, that you breed hamsters. You select hamsters to mate with each other, and sell their offspring to noble brats for a price as outrageous as our kingdom’s tax laws,” the knight said, wearing a face somehow disappointed, tired, and condescending at the same time. “Now, imagine if one day, a baby hamster denounced your tyranny and declared war from within its cage. On a scale of one to ten, how threatened would you feel?” The knight’s voice wove into the air like a slow, fat python above the buzzing murmurs of the courtiers in the hall. But the queen stood once more, arms stretched out towards the knight like slender winter branches (although some viewers would later note that her despairing expression was slightly more strained than before).

“Sir Knight,” she cried. “I and all the kingdom have witnessed your strength and power when you fight for the sake of the princess! Have you not defeated dozens of the mightiest warriors in the land? Are you not the greatest knight in our nation? If you cannot defeat this enemy, who can?” The courtiers’ murmuring grew in volume, and the footsteps of newcomers streaming in to watch the spectacle echoed off the gilded arches and white marble walls. 

The King laid a weathered hand on the Queen’s. His craggy face seemed to radiate dignity, though the details of how exactly his face was dignified seemed to be missing from the knight’s mind.

“My Queen,” he said, in a voice as deep and slow as the fog rolling through the mountain valleys. “Perhaps it would be best to speak to our honorable knight in private.” The Queen looked back at him for a second, and they seemed to trade a conversation in a single silent glance. Then she turned back and gave an enigmatic smile to the court.

“Everyone but the honorable Sir Knight, please leave,” she said musically. She remained standing as the nobles trickled out of the hall, maintaining her graceful expression and posture. As the last of them passed through the entryway and the great oak doors boomed shut, the Queen plopped back down onto her throne and her face twisted into an expression appropriate for being offered a bowl of wet, squirming leeches. The King slumped back into his chair as something like a heat wave rolled off of him.

“Alright you old snake, what do you want?” the majestic Queen said in a tone reeking with murderous intent, rapidly tapping her armrest with her fingers. “How much more gold are you planning to squeeze out of me this time?” The King rolled his head to the side and slid down until he was just barely still sitting on the chair. The honorable knight let out an exhale like the creaking of a gnarled tree, angling his bearded chin up and scratching the back of his head.

“Didn’t you hear anything I said?” he asked drily. “Much like your husband’s lack of consciousness and your daughter’s eternal rebellious phase, this is not an issue money can solve. It’s completely impossible for modern technology to kill a dragon.”

“If George did it, so can you,” the Queen retorted. “And he hasn’t spent an hour sober since the day he turned thirteen!” The honorable knight sighed again, with an odd tone rarely heard from men below sixty-five.

“George killed a little kid’s pet newt. Which was also intoxicated at the time, might I add,” he replied, grey hairs falling to the ground like a waterfall as he continued to scratch the back of his head. 

“Anyways,” he said, stretching his arms up high and leaning back,  “I think I’ll be taking some time off. A mental health break, if you will. You can have Hector do it.” He turned to walk out. The Queen shot up, stretching out a hand as if to grab him.

“Wait! I’ll get you royalties from the Theatre Guild for productions about you! The best retirement package in the kingdom! A duchy!” she shouted at his receding form. 

“No amount of gold can help a corpse,” he called back without turning around, only raising a hand in farewell. The great oak doors boomed shut.

“Blast!” the Queen exclaimed as she fell back onto her throne. “Ew, gross, Charles. Did you drool on my armrest again?”