Hobbit 1. Rapunzel

RAPUNZEL

"Rapunzel! Rapunzel! Let down your hair!" A heavy mass of bright orange curls falls on the head of an astonished knight. He collapses on the ground with a loud clanking of the armour. His horse emits a derisive snort. The girl sticks her face out of a narrow tower window only to see the knight splayed on the ground like a starfish. The poor chap mumbles something from under the hair. She can only hear the "no one mentioned a ginger," and she scrunches her delicate nose.

"Alright there, mate?" Her tone is sarcastic.

"If I were you I would reconsider your previous answer to my proposal, princess." The dragon is reposing on the top of the tower, hidden from everyone's eyes by the tall battlements. "I highly doubt this is a knight for you." He slithers down the wall, his black scaly body glistening in the sun, icy blue eyes meet hers, and she jerks her chin up defiantly.

"My answer is still no, snake," she turns around and walks somewhere in the depth of her room. The dragon follows the copper strands sliding on the window sill with his eyes and smirks darkly.

"Aren't you bored there, princess? Same old room, same old books, and look! Yet another of them bolted," his tone is endlessly amused, the knight has indeed climbed on his horse again and is quickly disappearing in the distance, the comb on his helmet askew.

"You scared him off." The girl's voice is stubborn.

"We both know it is not true," the dragon's voice is low and velvet like, and he puts his heavy head on her window sill. "They always run. It has nothing to do with me." He can see the princess sitting on her bed, her back to him, straight and tense, and then he hears a sniffle. "Let me in, princess. Better me than nothing. One kiss, and you are out of this tower."

She sharply turns, and he sees her eyes are red and her lashes are wet. The bright red lips of her wide mouth are trembling, and she wipes her eyes with a heel of her palm.

"I'd rather stay here forever than be yours," she gives him a disdainful look, "Why do you even need a wife? You are a dragon! You are supposed to sleep on a pile of stolen gold and eat knights for breakfast." He warmly chuckles and cocks one scaly brow.

"I am bored, you seem like fun. Common, princess, one kiss, and I'll take you away from here."

"How exactly is it going to happen? You are going to put me on your neck and fly me out of here?" She asks venomously and crosses her arms. "You do know there is a spell on me, I can't leave the tower until I'm kissed by my one true love, yada yada yada…" She sniffs the last time and pulls her knees to her chin. The dragon smirks and closes his eyes. "Note the passive voice in this sentence, dragon. Kissed, not kiss. I can hardly see you kissing me with that muzzle of yours."

"I guess you'll just have to trust me, princess. Say yes and kiss me, and I promise to get you out of here." She makes a scornful noise and grabs a book from a shelf. In five minutes she is so absorbed in the algebra book that when the dragon speaks she jumps up as if having forgotten he is even there.

"Read to me, princess. Might as well entertain each other while we are waiting for the next knight."

"There won't be any next knight, if you are sitting right in front of my window! No wonder they all run!" The dragon opens one eye, and there is low rumbling in his enormous scaly body. It sounds like chuckling. Or perhaps like purring.

"The last three decided to leg it before I came out of my lovely hiding place, where I was crammed, by the way, only because you asked me, princess. It is not very comfortable..."

"Seriously, what's your problem?" The princess angrily snaps the book closed. "Are you actually enjoying my humiliation? Or you like their pathetic attempts to fight you?" He snortles.

"Statistically only one out of five of them even thought of it."

"It's because they are morons!" Her tone is exasperated. "Useless, imbecilic, superfluous, chauvinistic morons! They don't read, don't think, all they want is to joust and all they want from me is to cook and make babies! Damn, I'm so tired of this!" She falls back on the bed and furiously kicks a pillow.

The dragon is silent, his strange blue eyes are following the movement of the foot she is dangling off the edge of the bed. She puffs air out again and starts speaking, probably more to herself than him. It is a giant lizard after all. "Seriously, that's an aggro. If I stay here, I am at least free of some manky bloke whose only function in my life would be to drive me mad. If finally there shows up a knight brave enough to climb the stupid tower, the chances he'd be interested in me once he has a good look are close to zero..."

"How close to zero are we talking?" The dragon's voice is mischievous. "Like an integer close? Or the inverse of natural numbers?" She turns her head and stares at him. He chuckles and to her shock sticks his forked tongue at her. She opens her mouth and then shuts it with an audible clank of teeth. She climbs off the bed and comes up to him. The window is so narrow that only his head can fit in. Given he doesn't intrude and usually just puts his enormous muzzle on the window sill.

"I have two questions. Think about your answers hard, snake." One corner of his toothy gob goes up.

"I am listening."

"If I have 6 black socks, 4 blue socks, 8 brown socks, and 2 red socks in my sock drawer, what is the minimum number of socks that I need to pull out in the dark to be sure I have a matching pair?" The dragon is thinking and then smiles to her.

"Five, you need at least five, princess. And you don't wear socks." His blue eyes fall on her bare feet. She wiggles her toes on the floor. He then looks her in the eyes and licks his lips.

"Question number two. Why not eat me? That is what you are supposed to do with princesses. Based on the data on the flexibility and the length of your tongue I have calculated that I can't escape it if you decide to catch me. Unless I jump out of the window. Which I have also calculated will lead to my immediate death."

The dragon's tongue shoots out of his mouth and wraps around her waist. He pulls her closer and places in front of his scaly face. She yelps and stares at him aghast.

"Your calculations are right, your highness." He is giving out a low coarse laugh. "And answering your question, you are entertaining. Not like other princess, no girly and squealing, not running inside your tower in panic, no ringlets and pink lace. Different, strange, peculiar, odd… Choose any word you like."

"I don't like any of them," she frowns, and he barks another laughter. "I am not the acest of princesses, no blonde locks or rosy cheeks, I agree, but since you are so insistently proposing, you could have sugarcoated it somehow. I know I'm not the best looking princess, but still..."

"Do you want me to lie?" He is chuckling, and she sighs.

"Fair enough. Well, I guess, since there is no better option..." She suddenly steps ahead and presses her lips to his scaly nose. His brows jump, up and it is his turn to stare. She steps back and looks at him. "Well, do your best trick. How are you going to take me out of this tower?"

The scales melt off his skin, the face changes, there is a black beard, the eyes are still blue and the shape is the same, elongated and as if outlined with black, but this time those are fluffy lashes, and he smirks lopsidedly.

"Blimey..." The princess is giving him an appraising look. "I mean I expected something spectacular, but honestly… A naked bloke on my windowsill was not among my assumptions." He smiles wider. There are still scaly patches on his heavy muscular body, strange ridges on his forearms and on one side of the neck. She realizes she is staring and quickly turns away. The ridges form an interesting pattern. Down the neck, around the shoulder, around the narrow waist and below down to… She grabs the cover from the bed and blindly hurls it behind to him. She hears a rustle and cautiously turns. He wrapped it around his lower half and is studying her with one of his brows cocked sardonically.

"OK, I'll give you that. That was impressive, and this..." She gestures up and down around his body, "This is ace. But there is still a question of getting out of the tower."

He makes a few slow steps towards her, and she realized she is backing up from him. Her back bumps into the bedpost, and he looms over her. Her heart is drumming in her throat, and she gulps.

"I can change back and forth at will," the voice is the same, and he moves slightly closer. She instinctively presses her hand into his chest to keep him from approaching. His skin is scorching, but soft. Almost human. Coarse chest hair, and she gulps again. She wants to touch some more. "So you are scheduled for a flight on the dragon's neck. But first..." He leans into her, and his lips are an inch away from hers. She is holding her breath and sees his lashes flutter. Dragons are not supposed to have such lashes. He places one hand above her head on the bed post. He is huge, and his skin smells like black cardamom. "First we will take that spell off you."


	2. Snow White

SNOW WHITE

The house in the forest is old, unkempt, moss covering the walls, roof askew. There is some cozy air about it though, and the girl has been wandering for two days by now. She is cold, hungry, exhausted, and suspects her hair is full of pine needles and spider web. The first room she gets into is a dining room slash parlour. There is a fire place and seemingly a hundred armchairs. How many people live here, for Pete's sake? She quickly rummages through the house and finds the kitchen. Assorted bowls and cups, sparkly clean though, bread and an astonishing amount of cheese. By then all her decorum and palace manners are gone, and she quickly consumes an ostentatious amount of sarnies right at the kitchen table. Her princess scouts trainer used to say that one has to be careful and not eat too much after a long period of abstinence, but seriously, the bloke has never been hunted and his own stepmother probably never sent a killer after him to cut out his heart. Also, he was surprisingly cuter than the girl. Whatever they say about the current queen, no way in hell she is trying to end the girl in for the looks, and by the way the whole mirror thing? She is surely taking a piss! Throne succession rule on the other hand is a legit reason to have the girl's heart served to her in a mahogany box. A bit of an overkill, if you ask the princess, but horses to courses so to say.

In a small bedroom she finds seven beds, and later another five in separate rooms, and assumes that the inhabitants of the house are either children, or from some exotic country where everyone has been underfed for generations. She is 5'2'' and the beds are perfect. But she takes a li-lo in the parlour, because the inhabitants of the house are definitely blokes, and yuck. Just no.

Someone shakes her shoulder, and she wakes up with a shrieky scream. Yeah, the last few days seriously did a number on her nerves. The Dwarf who woke her up, and yeah, that's definitely a Dwarf, jumps away from her with an equally shrieky yelp. They are all standing around her, faces dirty and tired, and she rolls off the li-lo and dashes into the corner. She really should have stayed in the forest and let little animals nibble on her cold corpse. Anything is better than this!

"Chill, chill, we are not going to harm you…" Another of them approaches her, holding his hands in the air. The voice is soft, and damn, are Dwarves supposed to be fit? Because this one is as hot as fuck. She blinks, and he gives her a warm encouraging smile. "Hey… I am Kili, and you?" She starts shaking, and another fit Dwarf, seriously, what's with the hotness, puts his hand on the first one's shoulder.

"Hold your horses, brother, can't you see she is freaked out?" This one is blonde and sunny.

"What is she doing in our house?" The one who woke her up, straight fringe and freckles, asks another, older Dwarf. He sounds as scared as she feels.

"She is obviously lost, look how thinned she is. Poor wean," the older one with an ear trumpet smiles to her. "Are you hurt, child? I have herbs and bandages."

"Would you all step back! You are suffocating her!" The first dark-haired hottie turns to others.

"Enough," she hears the calm commanding tone from the corner, and all Dwarves step back and visibly shrink. Yeah, who is the boss here is quite obvious. He steps ahead, taller than the others, blue eyes cold and cantankerous, and she presses her back into the wall harder. "What is your name, my lady?" Perhaps, not the time for honesty. She has a bounty on her head.

"Snow… White..." God knows where that came from.

"Well, my lady, you owe us an explanation. Not every day we find a maiden in our parlour."

"I was lost in the forest, my family… they were eaten by… bears..." She is a lousy liar, and he cocks an eyebrow. But then she reaches the limit of her rope and starts bawling. "Please, don't kill me, please..."

"Mahal help me, someone give her a handkerchief," his voice is frightened. Men can't stand women's tears. Apparently Dwarves neither. She sobs louder. "We are not to harm you. Please, stop crying..." She adds howling into her weeping. Half of her bays is not sincere anymore, but men are simple. They all start fussing around her, offering her chair, food, water, fanning her with cushions hastily picked up from armchairs and sofas, and she realizes her situation is looking up.

Five months later she is nicely settled in the Dwarven house. There are mines in the nearby mountain, they work there all day. She cleans, cooks, packs them lunches, reads books, they have an astonishingly large library in the attic. They have a strange language, with throaty consonants, and she gives them nicknames in her head. Oin is Doc, Bofur is Happy, Ori is Bashful, Bifur is Dopey, Gloin is Sneezy, he has hayfever, which makes him even more of a grouch, but he adores her raspberry pies, so he is a putty in her hands, Bombur is Sleepy, he always is especially after food, Kili is Adorbs, Fili is Sunny, Balin and Dwalin don't get any, but out of all of them the brothers are her best mates… As for the leader of our company… Well, one doesn't get anymore grumpy than this. He allows her to stay but he doesn't seem happy about it. He is courteous though, and cold, and has the best table manners out of them. She is also head over heels with him, but that's a lost case. Altogether, if not for the inappropriate dreams that torture her almost every night in her narrow bed in the tiny cozy room they allocated for her, her life is ace.

Until the apple incident… Yeah, that sucked. Honestly, she was as much as dead to the Kingdom, what was the point? But wait, no, the apple wasn't the first aggro. The prince was. Gee, can a bloke be more puffed up? She is picking up mushrooms for Grumpy's favourite soup, and no, she hasn't learnt all his habits, and the prince saunters to her, all chestnut locks, white teeth and a cloak flailing in the wind.

The problem with immediate declarations of love and proposals is that she is not the best looking princess out of them. She is not a minger, but she is a ginger, skinny as a twig, no tits, and all together… Well, odd. The prick's passionate panting and lashes battering, and his are better than hers, can be explained only by her parentage and a cozy little throne waiting for her in the palace. He is standing on one knee in front of her, pouring some soppy nonsense at her, and she slowly backs up from him.

"What in the Mahal's name is this?" Grumpy's voice behind her is enraged, and she twirls on her heels.

"It's a prince. He is proposing. They always do. The disadvantages of being a princess." Is her jealous? He looks jealous. Oh, please let him be jealous.

"Get in the house, Snow." Grumpy twirls his pickax on his hand, and she swoons. Seriously, hot!

"Are you standing in the way of the true love, shorty?" The prince is outraged, they always are. Either exuberant, or outraged. They are never slightly dischuffed or intermediately entertained. Tossers.

The girl quickly heads home and throws over her shoulder, "You are not, by the way. I'm perfectly fine without that kind of loving, thank you very much." The last thing she sees is a small lopsided smirk from her favourite Dwarf, and he squares his shoulders. The prince looks alarmed.

Yeah, and then the apple… It tasted good by the way, but then someone turned off the light. The darkness she is floating in is grotty. Maybe dying wouldn't have been that bad. This is disgusting. She is gutted. Mostly, it would be nice to be sitting in the dining room, after a nice supper, and be mending a shirt or something, Dwarves quietly fixing their tools, some humming, some playing instruments quietly, and of course him, in his chair, pages of his book rustling. But alas. And then again, there is a possibility of being woken up with some daft prince's face hovering over you, all proud of himself and expecting you to be grateful and trembling with admiration. Wankers.

The dark world inside her head explodes with all colours of the rainbow, and she opens her eyes. Her lips are tingling, and warmth spreads into her hands and feet. Bugger, she's been snogged. She quickly closes her eyes again. She refuses, they can't make her.

"Snow, I can see your eyes moving under your lids," Grumpy's voice is sarcastic. Underneath his usual grouchy tone he sounds relieved too, and her eyes fly open. He is leaning over a glass coffin she is in. She will have to investigate it later. What a barmy arrangement. At the moment she is too preoccupied with exuberant happiness flooding her. And yes, she fucking has the right to be exuberant. She squeals, sit up and throws her arms around his neck. He guffaws.

"Oh, thank goodness!" She presses into him, and he cups the back of her head. Other Dwarves are beaming with happiness in a distance. She moves away from him a bit and looks into the blue eyes. "My name is Wren." He smiles to her and pulls her into a nice, long snog. Ace!


	3. Sleeping Beauty

**A/N: This one is a sort sequel to #1 "Repunzel." Enjoy :)**

**A/N#2: Since pretty much everyone who suggested other fairy tales mentioned that they would like to see "The Princess and the Pea," it will be the next one :)**

SLEEPING BEAUTY

Far to the East, over ranges and rivers, beyond woodlands and wastelands, lies a single solitary peak. Surrounded by dark forest, the Lonesome Mountain stands tall and menacing, and at its base, near the entrance to the endless, perilous caves, one can find an enchanted castle. No one knows when and by whom it was built, but dark rumours surround it.

Prince August is riding his glorious stallion, his armour shining in the sunlight, his sword loyal and unbeatable. After all, he has aced all his tests in the Prince Academy. He enters the dark forest, strange howls echoing around him, no light or life seem to surround him, but he perseveres. After all, he is on a quest to find an enchanted princess. He is slightly smug about it, this one is a double trouble. Not only there is a spell on her, as they say, she is asleep and obviously awaiting a true love's kiss, but additionally she is guarded by a terrifying dragon. Prince August is in anticipation. After all, he was a valedictorian in his year in the Prince Academy, he will do well.

The castle is tall, with white walls, towers charred and semi-destroyed. It has obviously been repeatedly attacked by a dragon. August inspects the ruins, his loyal stallion also trained as a detection horse. August deducts that the last dragon attack took place five months ago, and that currently there is at least one occupant in the castle, judging by the scraping around the keyhole and the fact that the pipes with hot water are warm. Whoever lives here these days takes baths. And a lot of them judging by the state of the sewerage. There is a small herb and vegetable garden behind the castle, and judging by the plants in it, it has been established the same five months ago.

August opens the back door and leaving his loyal stallion on the lookout he silently sneaks in. He carefully walks by the spiral stairs, up into the tallest tower, and finds the door that has been obviously open last. After all, August had the top marks for Princess Detection in the Academy. He pushes the door and enters a room that is quite obviously a bedroom.

There is a large bed in its center, luscious bedding and multiple pillows. There is gauzy canopy, and August can guess the sleeping form on it. He is not rushing to the princess right away. After all, one should always evaluate the situation before leaping in. And August praises himself for this decision. Because this is definitely not a room of an enchanted princess. This is a room inhabited by quite obviously a very active, very much awake princess. There are books littering every possible surface in the bedroom. August has never seen that many books, and that is amazing. After all, he was the Library Volunteer of the Year three years in a row in the Academy. There is a big wardrobe, half open, the dresses still in the seamstress' bags though, apparently the princess isn't fond of dressing up. There are three chest of drawers of lingerie though, drawers half open, lacy pieces and ribbons sticking out, and August bashfully looks away. There is a very enticing peignoir thrown on the floor at the foot of the bed, and August carefully steps over it. He has a very uneasy feeling in his stomach. This certainly is an unusual situation. A princess living in an enchanted castle and seemingly thriving in it. Such scenario hasn't been covered in his training.

He cautiously moves the curtain aside and finally has a good look at the princess. The view is rather disappointing. She is a redhead, freckles peppering the nose and cheekbones, wide mouth with bright red lips. She is odd to say the least, very angular, he can see her rather clearly. She is dressed in a semi-transparent nightdress of delicate peach tinge, complimenting the pale skin. August quickly composes a ninety line poem in his head about the porcelain of her skin and the feathery black lashes. He cannot help it, such is his training. After all, he was the best in his class of Spontaneous Wooing Poem Composing. He feels rather uncomfortable, the princess is as much as bare. The covers are tangled around her lower half but her bosom is very much visible through the lacy bodice of the nightdress. Certainly such attire is not chosen for modesty or warmth preservation.

She is sleeping, breathing evenly, a content face, corners of her lips curled up. One bent arm is on the pillow near her face, relaxed, small fingers of a slightly fisted hand, and August thinks that though from the first look the princess is a bit lacking there is a certain charm in her. There is grace in her jawline, and even the copper hair, not in fashion this season, is rather adorable. It is cut unusually short, probably hardly reaching her chin, currently scattered on the pillow around her face. The colour is distinct, warm, and the curls look very soft. He leans in and catches the delicate fragrance of lilac coming from the princess's hair. She sighs in her sleep, and his training kicks in. He bends closer and softly presses his lips to hers.

The princess purrs. There is no other way of putting it. There is a soft purring noise in her chest, a slender arm is suddenly thrown around his neck, but as soon as he can feel her fresh taste, her eyes fly open, and she pushes him away. If August didn't know better, he would assume she was expecting someone else. He knows that'd be a nonsense. All princesses are registered through the Prince Database, this one hasn't been claimed by any other prince. She is staring at him, taking short breaths in, and when he opens his mouth to proclaim his undying love and announce her being saved, she sucks in full lungs of air and emits a deafening scream.

"Thoooooooooooooorin!"

There is a clanking sound in the next room, August has noticed it upon entering. After all, he scored the highest in Attention to Details and Scouting tests. He assumed it was a kitchen and thus unused. Princesses don't cook. The door opens, pushed by a male figure entering the room backwards. It becomes clear why in a moment. The male's hands are busy. He is carrying a tray with breakfast. There is a tea pot, toasts, eggs, a bowl of fresh raspberries, and a small bouquet of daisies in a clay mug. The man finally turns around with a pleasant smile on his face and then notices August.

August also gets a chance to see the stranger better, and he is not very happy with what he sees. The person in front of him is definitely a dragon. August immediately remembers Dragon Studies, first year, very first class. The legend goes that in the ancient days, before the dawn of times, there lived the Supreme Dragons, capable of taking human form. Though not fully disguised in it, they could be confused for men, despite patches of scaly skin they could hide under their clothes. This one isn't wearing much. There is a sheet wrapped around his hips, but the rest is visible. He is as tall as August, which is an accomplishment. After all, August has been awarded the title of Prince Hottie of his class five years in a row. He has been the tallest and had the badge of the Sexiest of Them All. The dragon is also twice as wide, massive arms, all muscles, strange ridges going on one side of his neck, on the left shoulder blade, around his waist and somewhere down under the sheet. His hair is long, braided on his back, two thinner braids on the sides of his face, ear cuff. All that August catalogues in his brain in 2.8 seconds. Together with a lovebite on the dragon's neck, a thick chain on his neck with what is obviously a portrait pendant, and the fact that there are two tea cups on the tray tells August he just interrupted a lovers' breakfast. Also he has just kissed a mistress of a Supreme Dragon, supposedly extinct centuries ago. A mistress of a Supreme Dragon who was not enchanted but enjoying her post-coital slumber.

"And what sort of nonsense is this?" The dragon cocks one brow and looks at the princess. He doesn't look enraged, just slightly amused.

"You are asking me? I wake up and instead of the promised breakfast I find this in my bedroom!" She point at August with one of her delicate little fingers and scrunches her nose. "Have you forgotten to close the back door again?"

"It's not my fault, you don't let me land on the roof. And once I enter the castle in the human form, I immediately have other matters to attend," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, and the princess blushes adorably. But then she realizes she is as much as bare and pulls the cover to her chin.

"Well, now we have princes." August feels undignified, she speaks of him as if of a pest. The dragon rolls his eyes and carefully places the tray on the bed near the princess. To do so he passes August as if an inanimate object, and the prince feels the wave of heat coming off from the dragon. August tries not to stare at the pattern of scales on the man's shoulder blade. He is unsuccessful.

"Oh raspberries! You remembered!" The princess claps her hands in excitement, and the dragon looks very pleased with himself. The princess picks up a berry and puts it in her mouth. She licks the juice off her finger and squints her eyes in pleasure. "Mmmm, I love raspberries..." She softly moans, and August sees the dragon's throat bob. The princess pops another berry in her mouth and moans louder. The dragon can't seem to tear his eyes off her lips, but then he shakes his head, as if clearing his thoughts, and turns to the prince. And that's when August understands it's time for him to go.

"Well, have a nice day!" He takes a step backwards towards the door. "I'd better go."

"You better have," the dragon's tone is pleasant and absentminded. He is busy unwrapping the sheet from his hips.

August tumbles down the spiral stairs, very keen on not hearing what is to happen in the bedroom, but he cannot help but overhear a happy squeal of a quite obviously toppled on the bed princess. She is squeaking, the dragon is guffawing.

"Careful you, duffus! You'll burn yourself on the kettle! We don't want our majestic scales to hurt afterwards, do we?" Her tone is very suggestive. "Who's a good dragon? Who's a sexy beast?" There is loud growling, and she laughs. "Oh no, none of that! Human form in the morning, please!"


	4. The Princess and the Pea

THE PRINCESS AND THE PEA

Once upon a time in a kingdom far far away there lived a King. He was grumpy and cantankerous and very difficult to deal with. He seemed to hardly care about everyone's opinion on his temper and his life, including his marital status, but his sister and counsellors were pressuring him to marry. He had very little desire to invite a whiny demanding princess into his life though, and to his relief most princesses were much more interested in his two beautiful nephews.

And so it went on for a few years until one autumn evening the King, his sister and his nephews were returning to their castle from yet another ball where the King's sister once again tried to excite the King by introducing to him not one but fifteen princesses at once. She was unsuccessful, which made her rather snappy that evening. The atmosphere in the carriage was tense, when it suddenly came to halt, making all the royal family grab the nearest handles and family members not to tumble on the floor. The King opened the door to inquire of the reason for the stop and saw that they were already by the drawbridge to the castle. Their coachman and the servants were gathered on the edge of the moat, shouting and gesticulating. The King and his nephews looked down, and in the dim light of autumn twilight they saw a small figure flouncing in the cold dirty water. While the servants were flailing their arms and running around uselessly, the King and his nephews exchanged silent looks, and the older prince grabbed the handle on the carriage, the younger one clasped his hand with him, the King clasped his with the younger nephew's other hand, and forming a human chain they lowered the King into the moat.

The girl, and the King could indeed see it was a young woman, grabbed his hand, and they pulled her out. She was wearing a long hooded cape that soaked so much water that she would surely have drowned had they not come to her help.

"The clasp… The clasp wouldn't open…" She was mumbling and coughing out water, when the King dragged her out on the muddy side of the road. She pushes the wet hood off her face, and he could see she was small, red haired, with a turned up freckled nose and strange slanted eyes. She lifted her face, and he was prepared to hear words of gratitude when she suddenly yelled into his face, "Are you a complete moron? Didn't you see me walking? You and your preposterous overpriced carriage! Pillock!" The King's jaw slacked, and the girl jumped on her feet. "Wait till I tell your master that you are not looking where you are driving!" She looked around and emitted a frustrated sound. "And you sank my healer's sack! How am I now to support myself now?! I can't afford buying new instruments!" The King closed his mouth, and at that moment servants and other courtiers finally reached them.

"What is going on?" The King's sister finally climbed out of the carriage, disdain on her face, her skirt's side picked up with two fingers. The road was indeed muddy, the year was rainy.

"Our idiot of a coachman pushed this lovely princess into the moat," the King proclaimed, and the girl looked at him aghast.

"What? I am not..." She started, but the King wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her into him, muffling her by pressing her to his chest.

"She is in shock, poor child. Swallowed so much cold water." He shook his head mournfully.

"Oh my goodness!" The King's sister pressed her hands to her mouth. "Why are we still standing here?! We need to take care of her! Kili, Fili, where are you? Quickly run inside, make them prepare a bath and a fresh clothes for our guest! How horrible! How unfortunate! Darling, what size are you?" The girl tried to mumble something from the bear hug of the King but she could hardly be heard. The King's sister didn't care though, already throwing around more and more orders, servants dashing about, and the King realized that the girl wasn't trying to free herself. He looked down at her, and she peeked at him, the crown of her head hardly reaching his chin. Her eyes were laughing and as if asking _What exactly do you think you are doing? _The King winked to her and was rewarded with a small giggle.

The fake princess was escorted inside and spent the next two hours in the most luxurious bath she had ever taken in her life. She played with suds, scrubbed every inch of her body with sea sponge, rubbed essential oils into her pale skin and mentally agreed that a short swim in the stale dirty water of the moat was worth it. She came out of the bathtub and found an ostentatious velvet dress on her bed and a maid ready to help her into it for dinner.

During the dinner the girl kept her mouth shut and listened to the endless chatter from the King's sister. Having spent all these years in the company of her brother and her sons the King's sister was starved for women's presence, and she just kept on talking not requiring any answers. The girl just provided some polite and sympathizing hums from time to time, especially considering that her mouth was full most of the time. She had always had a healthy appetite, and the dinner in front of her was the best she had even seen in her life. At the beginning she had a bit of a trouble with numerous forks and knives near her plate and blanched understanding that a proper princess would have known which one was to be used, when she saw the King looking at her from under a slightly lifted brow. She bit into her bottom lip when he almost unnoticeably pointed at the right one with his eyes. She hid a smile and picked up the cutlery. After that quite often through the dinner she would catch the King's eyes on her again. She would blush and avoid meeting his eyes as much as possible. After dessert that to the King's surprise somehow still fit into her small body, they moved into the sitting room with a fireplace. The princes engaged their guest, the King and their mother into a game of riddles, and in half an hour everyone was laughing loudly. The girl showed herself smart, sarcastic and very lively as soon as she would forget where she was. Over the last cup of tea she had a very interesting conversation with one of the princes on the hunting and fishing in the forests and lakes of the kingdom, and then it was time for everyone to repose.

The King's sister dragged her brother aside and hissed, "Please, darling, tell me we can at least test this one. I know you never like any of them, but you seemed to at least talk with this one. Please, let's do the test." The King feigned grouchiness and as if reluctantly nodded.

"Alright, if you insist. The chances she'll pass are very low, you know that. Our father had to test hundreds of them before he finally found the right one. No one ever notices the pea, Dis." His sister sighed and nodded.

The girl was escorted into her room, and she froze at the threshold. In front of her eyes there stood the strangest bed. It was covered by 20 mattresses and 20 feather-beds, and thus was so tall that the girl would need a ladder to climb on it. The fake princess felt it would be impolite to actually question her hosts strange gift, so she just complimented the bedding, and the King's sister left full of hope.

When the servants were gone, the King was still lingering in the doors, and the girl turned to him to say her goodnights, when he suddenly stepped to her, and cupping the back of her head he pulled her into a deep passionate kiss. He was prepared to move away as soon as she would express a slightest displeasure, but she sighed and arched into his embrace. Her slender arms flew up, and one lay on his shoulder, and another of her small strong hands slid in his hair at the back of his head. He felt goosebumps run down his spine, and she moaned into his mouth. He grabbed her tighter and for a few moments they were enjoying each other's lips and soft caresses of the hands. He released her and chuckled at her dazed look. She blinked a few times and smiled to him shakily. He leaned in again and quickly pecked her lips one more time.

"Have a good night," he murmured and saw her slightly lean towards him as if seeking his mouth again. He smirked and quickly walked out of the room.

When asked the next morning whether she had a good sleep at night the fake princess suddenly blushed furiously and said that she tossed and turned all night and could hardly get a half an hour of proper sleep. The King guffawed, and his sister emitted an unseeming exuberant squeal.

Having passed the test the fake princess married the grumpy King, and the kingdom finally got a reasonable, smart Queen, who established free medical care system in the kingdom, passed laws regulating taxes and improved school education. The royal couple had four healthy children and lived happily ever after.


	5. Little Red Riding Hood

**A/N: My lovely ****dearreader****, every time I think about "****a fully sustainable fish hatchery to supply the kingdom with fresh trout" I start laughing outloud! :D You are hilarious!**

**My glorious lovelie****s, I am indeed having so much fun with these and your feedback is so bloody amazing that I think my crisis is over! To the madness of FF and beyond! :D**

LITTLE RED RIDING HOOD

The girl steps out of deep shadows between the trees, into the circle of dim liquid light around the campfire, and the man sitting on a fallen tree lifts his eyes. She is small, wrapped in a bright red cloak, hood covering the upper half of her face.

"Do you mind if I join you, kind sir?" She has a confident voice, with a sarcastic lilt, and he invites her with a wide gesture of his hand. She sits down and throws the hood off her face. It is angular, freckled, high cheekboned. Her lively green eyes study his face, and she smiles. There is a bow and a quiver on her back, and a long narrow sword in a scabbard on her belt. "They say it is a dangerous forest, I think it would be wise to share the campfire."

Her eyes run over his armour, a heavy two handed sword on the ground near his foot, dark blue cloak wrapped around his shoulders. He smirks darkly.

"What makes you think that whatever is lurking in these forests is more dangerous than a complete stranger you ran into at night?" He turns the metal skewer with a deer leg suspended over his fire and offers her a wine skin. She accepts and takes a big swig. She doesn't answer his question, her eyes glued to the fire. He is quiet as well, turning the meat over the fire.

Suddenly a loud howl carried by the wind makes them both jolt and put their hands on the handles of the swords.

"A wolf?" He asks, and she shakes her head.

"That is no wolf," her voice is hollow, and she fixes the quiver on her back. "They say there are monsters living in these forests. They have different names but most say they are half-wolves, half-people, changing into blood-thirsty beasts with the phases of the moon. Some say that with age they learn to shapeshift at will. They also say there were a lot of them, a whole clan, but now there are but a few. But again, that is just villagers telling fairy tales perhaps," she relaxes and stretches her legs to the fire. He notices that she has tiny feet in very comfortable, worn down boots. These boots have seen a lot of road. Just as the bow and the sword in the scabbard have seen a lot of fight.

"And what are you doing in the forests supposedly inhabited by monsters, my lady?" He pokes the meat with a knife to check it for blood.

"I am visiting my grandmother." She looks at him askew and takes another swig from his wine skin.

"In the village?"

"Not exactly," she pulls the cloak tighter around her shoulders. There is a light chainmail on her, hugging her slender body. "And you? What are you doing in the forests?"

"Visiting relatives in the village," they both know he is lying, and she nods.

"I wouldn't expect any other answer from you," she smiles coldly and turns to him. Her eyes are suddenly sharp, and she chuckles. "You do realize you shouldn't wear the buckle with your family crest if you want to preserve anonymity? There are none of your kin in the village." He smirks.

"I like this belt. You are not so discreet yourself, with your red cloak typical for your craft and the hunter's sword." She gently strokes the handle.

"It was my father's."

"So that grandmother of yours? Is she a huntress too?"

"Are you suddenly worried you might have met her in your travels, my lord?" Her tone is sarcastic. "Worry not, she is not a huntress. She lives beyond the forest, in a small house."

"The blind witch?!" His eyebrows jump up. "So which one are you, a hunter or a healer?" His eyes run over her body.

"I don't like to be put in a box, my lord. One doesn't have to be limited and determined by one's vocation."

"Yes, but these two are rather the opposites. Healers tend to the wounded no matter the cause, and… no matter the race, while hunters kill anyone and anything they are properly paid for." She narrows her eyes at him.

"Hunters kill those who are dangerous. We do have a code, you know." He makes a derisive noise.

"Tell it to the innocent children of those you called monsters just a few minutes ago." She clenches her jaws, and he sees her hand slide on the handle of the sword.

"Tell that to the village children torn apart in their sleep." Their eyes are locked, and he smirks.

"How did you know? Of what I am?" His hands are relaxed on his knees, his sword beyond his reach, but she knows he wouldn't be using his sword if he decides to attack her. "No one knew about my family, and the crest wouldn't have told you anything."

"The deer." She points at the meat above the fire with her eyes. He questioningly cocks a brow. "You don't have a bow. I can hardly imagine you catching it on foot and killing it with your sword. The teeth marks on the skin though are quite obvious." She throws a look at the deer skin lying near his feet, and that's when he jumps at her. She is ready for him though, her small swift body shifts, and he lands on an empty spot. He quickly turns, but she is already pressing her knife to his throat.

"Aren't you too slow for a lycanthrope?" She is looking into his blue eyes, and he suddenly smiles widely.

"Out of practice. I haven't shifted in ten years. Only managed to catch the deer from the third attempt, and it drained me." She presses the blade to his Adam's apple, and he swallows with difficulty. "I guess I am getting old."

"What are you doing in the forest, wolf? Your people haven't been seen here for more than twelve years." He doesn't answer, his eyes roaming her face.

"I remember your father, Wren from Leary. He was an honourable man." The blade in her hands doesn't jerk, but she clasps it harder, her knuckles now white.

"He died hunting your family, and you call him honourable?"

"He never touched an innocent. Will you?" He looks directly into her eyes. Her hands aren't shaking.

"Who is in the forests, wolf?"

"My nephews. They are young, that is one of their firsts shifts, they know nothing of the beast inside. I am looking after them." He can see she is pondering whether to believe him. "Put your knife down, huntress. You have no work here."

"You know that I have a way to check it, right?" He nods solemnly. She moves the blade slightly away from his throat, and they simultaneously realize the position they are in. She is straddling him, their faces close, her orange curls scattered on his shoulders. He is splayed on the ground under her, one of his hands on her thigh, on the thin linen of her trousers.

"Do your trick, huntress," his voice is low and velvet, and for the first time she notices what he looks like. Before she was looking trying to guess the clan and the age, now she notices the noble profile, prominent nose, and the sensual line of lips. He has beautiful eyes, elongated and bright, like most of his kind, but blue and not light brown other wolf people have. There is silver in his hair on the temples and above his brow, the strands long and silky, splayed on the ground, and she realizes her other hand is pressed to his chest. She can feel his heart beating frantically even through the tunic and the brigandine. Heat is coming off in waves from him, his kind is always hotter than men from the village.

She sits up straighter on him, trying not to think of how her pelvis presses into his, and he lifts one of his hands to her. She picks it up and quickly slices his palm with the hunter's knife. The blood on his palm is red, not black. He is innocent. She nods and climbs off him. He is still lying on the ground, when she comes up to her sack and pulls out a jar of balm and bandages. He chuckles.

"A healer as well after all?" She turns to him and gives him a dark look.

She comes back to him but he doesn't get up. She lifts a brow questioningly, and he gives her a pointedly innocent look. With a sigh she straddles him again and starts attending to the cut. It isn't deep, she held back. He is studying her face.

"And I thought all huntresses are supposedly very enticing, their beauty yet another defense against wolves. Since we are supposedly more libidinous than ordinary men." She is wrapping a bandage around his large hand and ties its ends, her face unreadable.

"It is all old wives' tales, wolf. We are women like all other, and as you can see some of us are even less alluring than the ugly daughter of the smith all village laughs at." She lowers her face to the knot on the bandage and bites one of the ends. She pulls at it, tying it tighter, when he sharply sits up and suddenly his eyes are right in front of hers.

"What they tell about the wolves isn't an old wives' tale though," his voice is lower, raspy, and she slowly releases the end of the bandage from between her teeth. He is staring at her red lips. There is a moment of silence between them, and then she chuckles.

"Indeed?" She releases his hand, and he slowly put it on her waist. She has plenty of time to stop him, but she doesn't. "Should you not be watching your nephews, wolf?" He slightly tilts his head and gives her a lopsided smirk.

"They will be fine. They are slightly reckless, but good lads." She nods satisfied with his answer and catches his mouth. His hands slide under her red cloak, arms wrap around her small body, and she closes her eyes. It has been a while since she's been held by a man, and she thinks it seems perhaps never have felt this good. He closes his eyes and sighs into the kiss. It has been a while since he has held a woman in his arms, and he is certain it never felt that good.


	6. Cinderella

CINDERELLA

Breathe, Cinderella, breathe! It is going to be alright! Just keep your back straight, smile and look good. The dress is ace, white and sparkly, a tinge of golden in the lace compliments your hair, which is actually styled nicely for once. You'll be fine. Repeat after yourself, it'll be fine. Yes, your barmy Fairy Godmother could have fixed your clock as well, even in this brill clobber you are a wee bit of a minger, but at least you are well-dressed and they won't throw you out of the knees-up. It's all you want, just a wee bit of dancing and may be a cupcake or two. Gee, those cupcakes in the bakery window looked awesome! You've never tried any, they look so fluffy! Maybe at the ball they'll have something like that. What are you talking about, of course the grub there will be hundred times more smashing!

There is a loud crack, and your carriage, well, it's a former pumpkin, starts keeling on one side. Seriously, today?! One day in your life when you could have had a bit of fun and adventure, and this is going to happen today?! The carriage stops, and the former rat, and now a very stuffed up coachman, knocks on your window.

"Madame, we seem to have lost a wheel," his narrow rat like face is appropriately gutted. Bugger. Seriously?! So your once in a lifetime adventure that doesn't involve toiling like a slave and being thrown shoes at is going to end before it even started. Should you even be surprised? You definitely shouldn't. When did you ever get anything you wanted? Deep exhale, Cinderella. We breathe and persevere. What else is there to do? "Perhaps we have to acquire the service of a blacksmith," the coachman offers, and you drop your head and purposefully bang it into the carriage wall several times. That's when you understand that your adventure is bloody done. Because you know the smith. He is a tosser. Grouchy, angry, grotty tosser. He won't bother helping you in the middle of a night. Coachman Ratty pats your hand comfortingly and leaves towards the forge. You guess he knows all the streets in the town. Well, he was a rat just a few hours ago.

The smith shows up a few minutes later, and you are really hoping he won't recognize you. Most of the time your face is covered in dirt and soot, there is a mental amount of fireplaces in your house, and your hair is usually braided and hidden under a scarf. You don't look that bad right now, and usually people just see expensive clothes and the carriage, and that's all they bloody care about. He throws one look at you from under his frowned brows, mumbles something that you assume was a hello, and starts inspecting the wheel.

It turns out he needs to fix the hub rivets something and flange something or other, meaning it is an hour of work, and without even asking you he picks up the wheel and disappears towards his forge. Firstly, how the hell did he pick up the bloody wheel?! It is as tall as you! Given you are ickle, but still... And secondly, how are you going to pay him? You don't even have pockets in this dress to say nothing of any money whatsoever. You can't even give him any of the jewellery you are wearing, it'll all be gone at midnight, you can't rip him off like that. You of all people know how it feels to not get paid for your hard work.

You jump out of the carriage and dash after him. The last thing you need is to be in debt to him. You are running after him and throw a look at the town tower clock. It's half past ten. Bugger.

"Wait, wait..." And that's when you lose your shoe. The problem is that you have size five, and you suspect your Fairy Godmother might have been slightly pissed, seriously, she did look slightly cross-eyed, so the shoes are half size too big. You flail your arms, make a clumsy step and with a yelp fall into a ditch. The smith turns around. Oh, now he heard you! You are sitting in the cold dirty water, up to your tits, well, the area where tits are supposed to be on a woman, and that's your limit. You start bawling. You are entitled, OK? For twenty five years you haven't complained, worked your arse off, kept cheery attitude, helped everyone who asked and even managed to not kill your stepmother and her bitches of the daughters. And believe it when you say it, it took a lot of willpower. They were seriously asking for it. A dash of rat poison in their breakfasts you are supposed to bring them to bed every morning, and voila, Cinderella's life has significantly improved!

The smith puts the wheel down, comes up to you and pulls you out of the water. You have no energy to do anything anymore, that's it. You sag in his arms, sobbing and hiccuping, and he picks you up bridal style and carries to his forge. You can't see anything, from the water dripping from your hair on your face, it splashed there when your stupid crinoline sank into the ditch, and all you can do is just wish for a quick and painless death. He puts you down supposedly in the parlour connecting his house and the forge and disappears somewhere. Then there is a towel pushed into your hands.

"You should take the dress off, you'll catch cold. I'll get you a shirt or something," he mutters somewhere above your head. The only answer you can master is a hiccup. He leaves and comes back with a shirt. Suddenly he scoots in front of you, and you jerk back from him. You have never in your life seen eyes that bright blue. Has he always had such eyes? Tears are running down your clock, but you are just so gutted!

"I just wanted to try a cupcake!" You are howling, though rather quietly. You have mastered the art of quiet crying when you were five. "Just once… One cupcake..." You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand and realize that you are swearing dirt all over your face. Oh sod it. "Like I asked for too much… They looked so good in the bakery..." He is studying your face, and you finally have a good look at his. You have talked to him many times over the years, but he is such a berk. Just barks something back and never meets your eyes. He is a good smith, he patched your pans and pots many times, but he just grabs the payment and disappears. You are not a looker, but you are friendly, and vendors tend to chat with you at least a bit. That's what people do, you know, chat. The butcher even winks at you. It's nice, you all live in the same town, might as well be chummy. This one hasn't even looked at you once.

"I'll get you something warm to drink," he grouches and gets up. Gee, he is huge. You've seen it before but now you are confined in a small parlour with him, and it's even more noticeable. He leaves, and you drag the cold dress off yourself. It is sticking to your skin, absolutely disgusting, like some sort of a sea monster with tentacles, and you shudder. The smith's shirt is so long that can serve as a chemise for you, it's soft, clean and smells nice, like juniper soap and like any linen dried outside, and you pull your knees to your chin.

"So where did you get the dress and the carriage, Cinderella?" The smith's grumpy voice from the door makes you jump up. You didn't expect him to know your name. You look up, and he is standing in the door frame, his arms folded on his chest.

"I didn't steal them! It was a gift." You look at the dress on the floor. At midnight it will turn back into your old, worn out dress you made yourself out of old curtains. It wasn't that bad to be honest, you are good with needle. It might even look better than the wet dirty monstrosity currently pooling water on the smith's floor. Poor Ratty though, he seemed to like to be a man. You sniff, and suddenly the smith wraps the blanket around your shoulder and rubs your upper arms. He sits near you on the bench and looks at your hair from the corner of his eyes.

"I thought you were a ginger… But you always cover the braids. Sometimes some curls stick out though… On the sides..." You see his hand twitch on his knee, as if he wants to lift it and touch your hair. His eyes shift and meet yours. And suddenly you see him, really see him for the first time. The long noble nose, masculine jawline, luscious black beard, soft line of lips… Wait, did you just stare at his lips? You suppose so, considering he is staring at yours and starts rather obviously leaning in. You hold your breath and might be slightly leaning in yourself. And then the kettle starts whistling hysterically somewhere in the house, and the smith shies away. He quickly gets up and flees inside his house.

He reappears after a strangely long time with the tea tray containing a large chipped mug, a sugar bowl, milk in an old milk saucer, and one pink cupcake. You are staring at it, and he shifts between his feet. Who knew he can look so uncertain... He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly and gulps. You tear your eyes off the cupcake and lift them at him.

"Well, I'll go… Fix your carriage..." You throw the blanket off your shoulders and jump up, throwing your arms around his neck, and hang on him.

"Sod the carriage!"

He picks you up under your arse and guffaws. Then he twirls and sits on the bench. It turns out to be a very comfy position, you push your fingers in his mane at the back of his head, and he purrs like a big cat. You are kissing for a while, you've never done it before, but it seems rather simple. You seem to be doing well actually, considering that with every minute he is breathing heavier and his chest is heaving under your hand more and more, and then he tears his mouth off yours and presses his forehead to yours.

"I need to talk to your father… We need his blessing..." You slide your lips on his cheek, where did this bloody boldness even come from? And then you gently bite into his jaw. He growls, grabs you tighter and catches your mouth again. He tastes like some exotic spices, like tea that he was probably drinking when Ratty found him and like something else. You've never tasted it before. Oh yeah, that's called happiness.


	7. Frog Prince

THE FROG PRINCE

The Kingdom is in panic, the Princess has fallen ill. Her Uncle, the current King, his wife, all counsellors and the court are in mourning. Everyone walks on the eggshells, talks in hushed voices, new and new healers are sent for. The palace is closed for visitors, balls are cancelled, princes coming with proposals are sent away. If only it were the Princess's body that was affected, but it is her mind, and despair spreads through the court.

The King gathers his will and approaches the Princess's rooms, but when he is almost ready to knock he hears her silver laughter from behind the door. The King blanches and in panic looks at the servant standing by the door. The servant's face mirrors the one of his monarch, nothing but terror and helplessness are written on them.

"Oh my goodness, that's amazing!" The Princess sounds absolutely exuberant, her voice ringing from behind the closed doors, and from the corner of his eye the King sees the servant shake his head sorrowfully. "Tell me more! Tell me about the mountain and the gems hidden in its alcoves!" The King gulps and knocks. "Come in!"

The King enters and finds her sitting on her favourite windowsill, dangling her bare foot, another leg tucked under her, the orange curls scattered on her shoulders. A wide smile adorns her face, and as always when he sees her the King laments her looks. She is too much like his late sister. Skinny, unattractive, freckles and a turned up nose. There was a hope for her to find a husband since she is of royal blood, but nowadays even such chance is lost. No one would want a deranged wife.

"Oh Uncle, good morning!" The Princess waves to him joyfully but the King's eyes are on the pillow put on the windowsill near the Princess's hip. On it there sits the bane of the Kingdom, the reason every soul in the palace feels gloomy and uneasy these days, and new and new witch doctors arrive to the palace's drawbridge every morning. Or put simply, the King is looking at a frog.

It is a frog like any other, dirty green colour, slightly wrinkly skin, round googly eyes. And according to the Princess it is also an enchanted prince. The problem is that the royal wizard inspected the frog the very first day the exalted Princess brought it from the garden, cuddling the cursed amphibian to her chest. No traces of any spell were found on the animal, and the Princess was told to return it to the pond. She refused. More so, she started carrying the frog with her everywhere, leading the longest animated conversations with it. Sadly, she is the only one who can hear the frog's responses. To the full despair of her family with time she has started preferring the company of the frog to any other, claiming that they have become true friends and the prince hidden under the disgusting brownish skin is the best conversation companion she has ever had. Her tone when addressing her pet has also started changing recently, becoming more and more cordial, as if she might have started developing some deep and sincere feelings towards her, as they all know, imaginary friend, and no amount of medicine and spells poured at her by wizards and healers seems to be helping.

The King clears his throat and opens his mouth, when the Princess turns to the frog and says in a soft apologetic tone, "You have to excuse my uncle, he seems rather out of sorts today. I'm certain he doesn't wish to offend you by not saying hello." The King feels faint and bestows the frog with a clumsy uncoordinated bow. The Princess smiles blissfully and looks at her Uncle questioningly.

"My darling, there is a gentleman who wants to see you..." It is another healer, but the King keeps it to himself. The Princess seemed to become more agitated previously when they would try to convince her to see a medic. These days they just put her in the same room with them, she seems to be unconcerned as long as she were left in peace and her frog stayed with her.

"Oh?" The Princess answers absent-mindedly and picks up a book from the windowsill. "Sure, sure… Whatever you feel like," she starts flipping through the pages, "We do not mind." She smiles to the frog and starts reading out loud.

The King flees the room and after a few minutes a man comes into the room. He is dressed in the traditional healer's robe, dark blue, velvet and embroidered on the swan neck collar. His long dark hair is clasped at his back in a lush ponytail, two braids on the sides of his face, blue eyes sharp and astute. The King is frantically whispering something into his ear, while the healer's eyes are roaming the Princess's small body. She is expressively reading love poetry to the frog.

The King is asked to leave, and the healer slowly approaches the Princess. She absent-mindedly smiles to him, her face waivering for a second when her eyes meet his, and then she returns to her book. He smiles and sits on the other end of the windowsill. He gives the frog an inspecting look over, and then he politely coughs to attract the Princess's attention.

"Your highness, could I possibly ask you a question?" She looks at him and under the slightly impish look of his blue eyes she blushes.

"Oh hello..." She chews on her bottom lip and squirms on the windowsill, "Of course, how can I help you?"

He stretches his hand and gently runs the tips of his long elegant fingers on the frog's back. The amphibian croaks and screws its protruding eyes at the man.

"Have you tried kissing your enchanted friend? To my knowledge it is the best way to take off a spell of that sort. A true love's kiss and such..." The Princess blinks several times and stares at the healer. He is smiling to her benignly.

"Yes," the Princess's tone is uncertain, "But it doesn't seem to work."

"Oh," one could probably believe the sympathy on the healer's face if only his eyes weren't sparkling with so much mischief, "And how does it make you feel, your highness?"

"Well, I am very sad, but… Our love is strong enough to survive all obstacles," she blushes more and lowers her eyes, "My heart belongs to my prince, even though my body cannot..." Her cheeks are burning furiously now, and she fidgets with a corner of the pillow the frog is sitting on. The healer nods and leans in to catch her eyes.

"And which frog is it this month? They must be escaping all the time, how do you even keep them sitting on the pillow?" The Princess's eyes fly up, and she is staring at him. He chuckles and picks up the frog by its long leg. The amphibian is hanging in his fingers limp. "Are you drugging them with morphine?"

"Brandy," the Princess answers and then clasps her hand over her mouth. The healer guffaws. Her eyes are twice their normal size, and he shakes the frog in front of her face.

"And what's all this about, your highness?" The Princess drops her hand and exhales deeply. Her face loses the asinine expression and the idiotic smile, and she gives him a glare.

"Do you know what the life of a princess is like?" Her tone is venomous, and she throws her unruly curls over her shoulder in irritation. Her chin is lifted haughtily and wilfully. "It is pretty much as being a purebred horse. All they want are to match me with some moronic prince and make me produce purebred babies. Last year they offered me to marry my cousin! I tried to explain to them what it would do to the genetic pool but they wouldn't listen! No one cares what I think, what I feel, and that maybe I want to travel and study the medicinal herbs of the Kingdom. They all laughed at me when I would study medical books all day instead of learning to dance and embroider," she wrinkles her nose in disgust, "So I gave them something to cry about."

"A frog?" He asks, his eyes full of laughter.

"Rana temporaria," she picks up the frog and flips it, "Note the colouring of the tummy. I chose them over Pelophylax lessonae because they don't hibernate in winter. Easier to sustain the pretense." She looks at him with suspicion. "Will you tattle me out? Because technically you can't. Healer patient confidentiality. I've read all about healers' craft."

He is looking at her attentively, and then making some internal decision he smiles, "I will not tattle you out, as you so graciously put it. But I need an assistant. A herbalist assistant to be precise." The Princess gasps and presses her hand to her mouth. He is chuckling, and she is staring at him with eyes full of hope and something that looks suspiciously like adoration. "I will inform your Uncle that it seems to be the only way to cure your strange illness. A change of scenery and some sort of academic pursuit. I am certain that at this stage your family would agree on about anything." She squeals and throws her arms around his neck.

"Oh thank you, thank you! That is my dream! Oh my goodness, I could honestly kiss you right now!" He chuckles and softly pats her back. "And I thought I'd still have to get married eventually!"

"That we can discuss a bit later," he says in a low murmur, and she moves away to look into his eyes. She blushes, and he smirks. When she moves into their first heated kiss, she accidentally pushes the pillow, and the poor frog flops on the floor with a mournful croak, but neither the healer, nor his new assistant seem to notice.


	8. Thumbelina

THUMBELINA

The King is having a very bad day. Everything seems to go wrong, starting with his breakfast. His coffee is too hot, the eggs are cold, the palace kitchen ran out of bacon, and he is poking at a slice of ham with irritation. The bath before the breakfast was too cold as well, and something is scratching him on the collar of his white shirt. He is constantly trying to fix it, but nothing seems to be there. And then when he is finishing his unsatisfying meal a bird hits the window. He tries to ignore it, but it is flailing its wings, flouncing on the outside sill, and with an exasperated sigh he opens the window and looks. And then he rubs his eyes and looks again. Then he closes the window, turns his back to it, and gives himself a nice, juicy slap across his face. And then he turns back and opens it again. The slap doesn't seem to have helped. He still sees the same. Near the bird that is trying to fly away and can't because of a broken wing he sees a small body of a tiny girl. About the size of his thumb. Given he has big hands. He leans and looks closer. It is indeed a tiny unconscious female person. In a wedding dress. The bird makes an angry squeal and tries to shield the girl from him.

"It is alright, I will not harm your friend," he says softly, and the bird is glaring at him with its black beady eyes. After a few moments of hesitation, he picks up both the bird and the girl, carefully holding the latter around her waist with two fingers, she is limply hanging in his hand, and puts both of them on his dining table. He rings a bell, and a servant comes. The King strategically stand so that the little body on the table couldn't be seen and hands the bird to the servant.

"Take it to our bird teacher, I want this bird to be taken good care of." The servant looks at the wren in the King's hand in doubt but doesn't dare asking. The door closes behind him, and the King turns to the table.

The girl has bright copper hair, tiny sticks of legs and arms, and if she were normal human size she would still be small. He carefully turns her on her back and feeling endlessly uncomfortable carefully fixes her dress so that it covers her knees. Tiny or not, unconscious or not, she probably wouldn't want him to see her pink lacy drawers. He dunks his finger into a water glass and carefully splashes a few drops on her. The tiny body jerks, and she coughs and sits up. And then emits a shriek.

"It's alright, it's alright," he lifts his hands, "You are safe. I won't harm you!" She presses her tiny hands to her chest and stares at him with widened eyes. He sits on his chair and lowers his face so it is on the same level as hers. "Are you a fairy?" She is still looking at him with suspicion. "Are you hungry? I have bread, some milk, there is ham, but I don't know if you eat it..."

She shakily gets up on her feet, but then sways, and he instinctively tries to support her with his index finger. She flails her arms, battering his finger away, and squeaks, "Hands off, please! I've been manhandled recently enough for a lifetime!" Her tiny voice is derisive and grouchy, and he chuckles. That's quite a spirit in such a minuscule creature. She smoothes her dress and looks at him, haughtily lifting her chin.

"I am Thumbelina, but I think it is a rather ridiculous name since all thumbs are different. And no, I'm not a fairy. I was born of a magical grain given to my mother as a gratitude for her kindness." She looks around and then sees her reflection in a polished silver coffee pot. She makes an irritated snort like sound, and the King can't help but smile.

"Ugh, this dress, that's disgusting! I assume you hardly have anything I could change into. Do you have a daughter? Some doll clothes would be lovely." He smiles to her, she is rather bossy and a busy bee.

"I do not have children. Or a wife for that matter. But our cook has a niece. I could ask for some doll clothes. Can't possibly imagine what they would think I need them for though," he chuckles again.

She busily heads to his bread basket and breaks off a generous piece from his baguette. Generous for her, for him it's a crumb. She starts chewing and then asks, one of her tiny cheeks protruding from food stuffed in it, "Are you the King? My mother had your portrait on the wall." He nods. "My oh my, out of all houses my bird had to get into yours..." And then she gasps and drop the bread. "My bird! Where is my bird?"

"It is alright, I sent it to the bird teacher, he will fix its wing." The girl sighs with relief and looks around.

"Do you mind if I have some rest and eat? I know it's not how one should behave at a royal audience..." He smirks.

"Help yourself, there is plenty of food, especially for you." She laughs, it sounds like a tiny silver bell.

"I know you are mocking me, but I am so starved and exhausted that I'll take it." She picks up the bread again and looks around for something to sit on. He suddenly picks her up with two fingers, she quietly squeaks, and puts her on the sugar bowl. She shakes her head in mock reproach and starts her meal.

"Do you want some milk?" She nods without stopping her chewing, and he scoops some with a teaspoon and hands it to her. She thanks him and takes a small sip.

"Would you mind cutting me a slice of apple?" He obliges, and for a while they are silent. She is eating bread and cheese, he is drinking his coffee and finishes his eggs. The coffee seems to be just the right temperature now, and even the ham seems to be delicious.

Once they both are full, they chat a bit, she tells him of how a toad stole her from her mother to marry to her son, and how she ran away and had to spend the winter living with a field mouse, and how the latter also wanted to marry her out, this time to a mole, and how the bird saved her. They chat about this and that as well, about the weather this year, and how it will influence the grain harvest, the girl has a lot of useful information since she spent the last year living with field mice, and then she tells him about the pollution of water she noticed while living with toads, and the solution she thinks a proper dam could be for this problem.

Thumbelina stays to live in the castle, in the King's rooms. A dollhouse is brought for her, and the royal seamstress is commissioned to make her comfortable dresses. The servants have very strange faces when they bring these toys into the King's rooms, but no one dares to ask. Thumbelina spends her days exploring the castle garden, and in the evenings the King reads her books in front of the fireplace. She often falls asleep on the armrest of his chair, and he carries her and tucks her in on her tiny bed. Her bird is getting better, and the King seems to be more and more agitated every day.

One morning they are having breakfast, she is sitting on her usual sugar bowl chewing a slice of cheese, while he is stirring cream into his coffee. He is so irked that the spoon is clanking loudly.

"Your majesty, I think I'll go deaf soon. Is there something bothering you?" She is looking at him, her head tilted, with a soft, slightly teasing smile on her lips. He mutters something under his breath and hides behind his cup. She climbs off her sugar bowl and walks up to him on the table. She beckons him with her hand, and he lowers his face to her. She gently pokes the tip of his long nose and asks, "Are you grumpy this morning, my King? Is something not to your liking?" His eyes shift, he is pointedly looking anywhere but at her, when she suddenly runs both her hands over his black beard. He jerks away from her in shock. He is staring at her and sees she is blushing furiously. She starts wriggling her hands. "I am sorry, I don't know why I did it… You were just so close… And I am leaving soon, and it might have been my last chance..."

"I don't want you to leave," he blurts out and frowns. "Why would you need to go? You are perfectly fine here."

"I need to go back to my mother," Thumbelina mutters, "She is probably sick worried. The bird promised to carry me back there. She is probably so lonely..."

"And what about me?" The King asks, and then although embarrassed by his own emotional outburst, he continues, "I will be lonely too..." His last phrase is almost inaudible, and she steps closer to him stretching her minuscule hands to him.

"I am so sorry, but I can't stay… It is a torture..." The words escape her lips before she can stop herself, and then she hides her face behind her hands.

"A torture?" He asks befuddled, and he sees her shoulders shake.

"We can never be… together, even if you ever saw me that way… I am just so disgustingly small..." The King lowers his face to her again and carefully moves her hands away from her face with the tip of his index finger. Her face is burning, and he thinks he sees tears running from her eyes. She rushes to him and presses into his cheek. "I am in love with you, my darling King."

"And I am with you," the King rasps and closes his eyes, "Stay with me..." She sobs, and with her small hands still trembling on to his cheeks she bends and presses her lips to the corner of his mouth.

With a loud poof she suddenly grows, and the King is presented with a views of a completely bare redhead sitting on his dining table. She squeals and pulls on the corner of the tablecloth trying to cover herself. He stares at her astounded and then starts laughing. He scoops her in a tight embrace and start peppering her face with kisses.

Their firstborn son is delivered nine months after their wedding, and when the Little Queen asks the midwife whether all women have so much trouble giving birth, the old woman pats her hand and says that although the Queen did exceptionally well the midwife was indeed worried for her, since she is so small. The Queen and the King who is holding his son and is gazing at him in adoration both laugh. "Believe me, she is just the perfect size," murmurs the King and tenderly kisses his wife.

They live happily ever after, find Thumbelina's mother and move her to the castle, and have four healthy and smart children, and sometimes when decorously having breakfast the King would point at the sugar bowl with his eyes just to make his lovely wife blush and rub her tiny foot to his ankle under the table.


	9. Thumbelina 2

**For the lovely ****dearreader!**

**My darling, thank you for reading and leaving kind comments! Your latest review got me thinking… :)**

**P.S. And those are definitely super sexy thumbs :) I love RA's hands in general! Yum.**

THUMBELINA NUMBER TWO

The Princess is in an exceptionally good mood today. She just had a lovely breakfast, with eggs and her favourite ham, the coffee was strong and enlivening, and she is happily skipping through the castle. The postman has just brought the book she ordered from the neighborhood kingdom, and she can't wait to read it in the peace and shade of her garden. But no luck. The ladies in waiting seem to try to drive her mad today, following her around with the registry of princes, offering her new and new candidates, pushing portraits under her nose, praising prince so and so in sing song voices. The Princess escapes outside, but they follow her there as well. The only way to save herself is to climb the castle wall and run into the grove on a hill beyond the moat.

She throws her slender legs over the castle wall, she has always been an excellent climber, and rushes into the shelter of the grove. She hasn't been in it for many years, since her late mother took her there for walks, but the book is such an enticing treat that she can't help it. She also brought a basket with food and a blanket to sit on, and she is in anticipation.

Three hours pass in blissful uninterrupted reading, and the forest seems to have forgotten her intrusion. The birds are singing, insects whizz around her, ants have found a path to the apple core she left on the corner of her blanket. From the corner of her eyes she can see a squirrel cautiously approaching her half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and she smiles softly. The book is excellent, the weather is balmy and sunny, and the soft shadows from the leaves of the oaken tree she is lying under provide her with lovely coolness. She inaudibly flips another page, when a strange noise attracts her attention.

The noise is rhythmic, it sounds like some sort of low buzzing or quiet thumping, and she realizes that it is singing. Her first thought is that she hears some sort of a march coming from very far away, but she soon understands that it sounds so strange not because it is coming from a distance, but because the source of it is so small. In complete shock the Princess sees the strangest little procession going through the grass. If she wasn't such a reasonable and down to earth woman she'd assume she is seeing garden gnomes come to life. Twelve tiny men, just a few inches tall are marching through the grass, clad in velvet and leather attires, brigandines and assorted armour, minuscule weapons clasped on their belts and backs, and they are singing some sort of a throaty, no doubt military song. They do not see her, they are too deep in the grass, the one walking ahead of them leading the melody, using a long battle ax as a walking stick. The Princess watches with widened eyes as they walk up a small hill, and then they notice her.

With throaty battle cries that still sound rather adorable considering they are pronounced in tiny voices, the little men gather in a tight group, their weapons sticking out, making their pressed together bodies look like some sort of a strange hedgehog.

"I am not going to harm you!" She exclaims, and they quickly discuss something between themselves. The one that walked upfront steps ahead, and she realizes that he is probably their King of sorts. He is taller than the rest, clad in grand dark blue attire, a wide argent blade in his hand. He looks so amazing that in curiosity she lowers her face to him without thinking.

One of the little warriors squeals and pokes her with a tiny knife clasped in his hand. He cuts her cheek, and she jerks away.

"No, Ori!" The leader yells, and another two of the little men drag the assailant away. He is squeaking something, and the tall dark haired leader yells at him. "It is a maiden! How could you?!" The Princess presses her hand to her cheek and looks at her palm. There is blood on her fingers, and she leans in again.

She points her finger at the little man with a straight fringe and pronounces clearly though quietly, conscious of their probably sensitive ears, "That was very bad behaviour, little one! I didn't do anything bad to you or your friends."

The dark haired leader grabs the small man's collar and pushes him towards the Princess, "Apologise this instant!"

"I am sorry," the little man squeals, and she can see that his face is red.

"It is quite alright, you just got scared, it is natural, you are so tiny!"

"I'm not scared! It is the fighter's instinct." Other little men laugh, and he lowers his head again.

"Hey, don't laugh at him," the Princess feels the need to defend the little man, "He is indeed a fighter, look! He shed blood!" She shows them her hand, and they grumble between themselves. An older one with a tiny ear trumpet steps forward and offers his assistance of a healer. She politely declines.

"I have the medicinal herbs book here, I will look up cure for cuts!" She proudly shakes the book. The tall dark haired one steps forward and bestows her with a low ceremonial bow.

"Thorin, the King Under the Hill at your service, my lady. And these are my men. We are travelling East, to reclaim our homeland. It lies on the other side of the lake." The Princess remembers that indeed there is a large hill on the other side of the lake, East from the castle.

The King introduces other warriors, and soon enough they are all sitting on her blanket, her picnic quickly disappearing in their ravenous little mouths. After spending a few hours in their company the Princess has to head home but she promises to come back the next day. She also promises to bring them supplies for their travel. She returns the next day and spends a few more hours in their company. They are a merry crowd, they carry musical instruments with them and are wonderful singers. She is also endlessly charmed by their King, who despite his rather stern disposition makes her feel butterflies in her stomach. The little men stay in the grove for a few days for rest, and after that the Princess is so fond of them that she offers her help in their quest.

Thusly, she finds herself on the road, having run away from the castle, carrying twelve little men in her basket. It takes her four days to reach the lake. She hires a boat and expects to spend two days on it to reach the other side of it. She lets them out in her cabin and spends two days and two nights in the most pleasant travelling she has ever had in her life.

By the times she reaches the hill she finds herself rather sad. She grew so attached to them that the perspective of leaving them breaks her heart. And of course, and the Princess is a smart young woman, she understands that she has fallen quite in love with their King. She obviously would never show it but everything about him makes her heart flutter. He is noble, slightly grumpy, very loyal and protective of his companions, smart and a wonderful singer. Also, the Princess was rather clever and when she came to pick them up for their travel she brought a magnifying glass with her for easier conversing with her new friends. It allowed her to have a good look at the little men, and especially the King. The prominent nose, the strong wilful jawline, and the most remarkable bright blue eyes of the King Under the Hill are endlessly dear to her now, and she sadly thinks that once she is back to her castle she will hardly agree to ever see any other man beside her. But then she shakes off the foolish melancholy and decides to enjoy her happiness while it lasts.

Two days later they finally arrive to the hill, and after a few hours of search the secret door to the Kingdom Under the Hill is found and opened with the magical key that has been passed from father to son in the King's family. The little men rejoice, and the Princess is clapping her hands in exuberance.

They have a feast, tiny fires burning at night, loud singing and music are carried up into the starry sky, and the little men dance and drink ale from the flask the Princess brought with her for his exact occasion. The party continues till the first light of day, and finally all the little men disappear inside the hill to sleep off all this celebration. The Princess is sitting on her sleeping bag watching the stars disappear with the first sun rays and suddenly realizes that tears are running down her face. Her little friends do not need her anymore, and she is now to abandon the only man she has ever loved in her life.

"Wren," the King's tiny voice shakes her out of her thoughts, and she sees him standing on the corner of her blanket, his arms folded on his chest in the now so familiar gesture. She lies down on her side so that her face is near him. She sees that he is frowning.

"Yes, my King?"

"When are you leaving?" His tone is grumpy, and her heart clenches painfully. She knows he is not hasting her to leave but the directness of his question hurts.

"Perhaps tomorrow evening, I have just the right amount of provision for the return trip." He nods and sits near her.

"We were blessed to run into you that day, Wren. If not for you, my people would have never reclaimed the Lonely Hill." She smiles to him softly.

"It was my pleasure, my King." They are both silent for a while, and then suddenly he jumps on his feet and stands in front of her. His face is rather irked, and she looks at him in confusion.

"Wren..." He starts pacing back and forth in front of her, and she follows him with her eyes. "I am not good at diplomacy, and eloquence is not my forte, so I will be direct." He sounds irritated, and she shortly wonders if she has offended him in any way. "I grew very fond of you and would like you to stay." He stops in front of her, and she can see him lock his hands behind his back. "Will you accept?"

"Accept what?" Her voice is squeaky. All she can think about is that he said he grew fond of her. But then again, that can be understood in so many ways.

"My proposal of marriage of course," he sounds exasperated. That on the other hand is rather hard to misunderstand.

"What?" She shrinks away from him. "But I am too big!" He guffaws.

"Thank you for not saying that I'm too small." He steps closer and touches her hand on the blanket. "Putting the question of size aside, do you return my feelings, my heart?"

She presses her hand to her chest and answers earnestly, "I do. Oh, Thorin, of course I do, I would stay with you forever, but what will we do with…?" She doesn't get a chance to finish, when he steps to her and pressed his lips to hers. It feels rather ticklish since he is so small and has a beard, but still the Princess enjoys it immensely. He steps back from her, and she smiles to him.

"Will this make me smaller?" He chuckles.

"Don't be ridiculous, my heart, for that there is a potion."

"Then why…? Oh!" The understanding dawns, and she giggles. "Silly me."

"Indeed," he smirks lopsidedly, and she leans in again.

"Perhaps I need a bit more explaining."

They cook the potion the next day, the process of slow shrinking takes about a month, which is rather fortunate, because by the end of it most of the little people arrive to the newly reclaimed Kingdom Under the Hill. The wedding of the King and his beloved bride continues for a week, and since then they live happily ever after.


	10. East of the Sun and West of the Moon

EAST OF THE SUN AND WEST OF THE MOON

The girl is bundled in several scarves over her new coat with a fur adorned hood, and fluffy mitts are warm and smell like expensive perfume. She has never in her life had such soft, beautiful clothes, but again, till the last week she had been a daughter of the poorest peasant in the village. Now her adopted father, and indeed only few months of age she was left at his door in a basket, is the richest men in the country, and the girl is riding on the back of a giant polar bear. Before sending her away with her new master and commander, her family bought her new clothes, perfume and a brush with an ivory handle, as goodbye gifts. Her first desire was to tell them to stick the gifts where the sun don't shine, but some people will never change and there is no point to explain to them that perhaps they need to reevaluate their life priorities. She packed her new belongings in a comfortable backpack and stepped into the yard on a frosty morning. Her adoptive mother, they have never managed to build proper relationships, perhaps because the woman had to take care of another three children born before the sickly skinny babe was found on her porch, and then another four after that, and honestly the hungry eyes of her siblings are the reason the girl is currently travelling the way she is.

Although her father told her he has negotiated the best arrangements for her, she has doubts. Firstly, because she doubts the Bear even talks. He didn't say a single word to her, just lowered his giant furry head, she climbed on his back, and they set on the road. On the first evening she pulls out the sandwiches her mother made for her and tentatively hands one to the bear. He shakes his head and disappears for a while, but not after he makes her climb on the nearest tree. She is reluctant at first, but he growls at her, and she quickly acquires taste for such activities.

He comes back, his muzzle is slightly bloodied. The girl has had to eat so much random stuff in the recent years, she immediately recognizes the fish guts on his face. He licks himself clean and wipes his massive muzzle on the snow. She is done with her sandwiches by then, and tea is finished in her thermos. He lies down on the snow and points on his furry side with his eyes. She assumes he wants her to sit near, and she hesitantly approaches. He is warm, as if there is a giant furnace working in him, and she quickly falls asleep under a blanket that was rolled up and tied to her backpack.

She sleeps surprisingly well, and then they continue their travel. At some point she excuses herself to make a quick trip in the bushes. Despite his completely beastly form, the girl learns to recognize some resemblance of facial expressions on the bear's face. He has remarkable eyes, bright blue, as if outlined with black. She is no biologist, but she is certain polar bears have dark eyes. And they don't smirk. This one does. She scampers into the nearest bushes, quickly attends to her needs, wipes her hands with snow, and returns. The bear is sitting on his round backside and with all possible clarity she understand that he is expressing slightly grumpy annoyance with all his giant body. She lifts her chin haughtily and climbs back on him. The journey continues.

Three days later, during which she learns to start a fire, cook fish that he brings, and manages to have several rows with him, although he is actually not participating in them vocally, they arrive to a castle carved into a side of a mountain. The bear roars, and a secret door opens in the wall. Inside, the girl finds a fully prepared, perfect for living castle. Rooms are clean and luxurious, she is given a bedroom with a giant bed, a boudoir, a study, a wardrobe and a bath chamber.

She is standing her jaw slacked and staring at her new rooms when the bear that followed her suddenly speak, "Take anything you want. It's all yours now. Go anywhere inside the castle. And I will come to you tonight." She swirls on her heels and stares at him. He is looking at her from under a cocked eyebrow. He doesn't have them but the expression on his muzzle is exactly such.

Two things come to her mind. He has beautiful voice, low and velvet, it tingles her spine and the slight Northern accent makes her slightly dizzy. The second thing is that he mentioned tonight. She was explained that she was to become his property, but she hardly expected it will involve night visits.

She spends the whole day agonizing over it. She searches the castle, and multiple ideas swirl in her mind, each madder than another. She can run, but she doesn't know what it will do to her family. She can try to lock the door, but a bear of this size can probably force his way inside. She finds a fully stocked kitchen and considers drinking a bottle of brandy. She can't drink even a little. Such amount of alcohol will probably render her unconscious for a couple days, if it doesn't kill her for that matter.

At the end she decides that nothing can be done. She made her choice, she agreed on that to help her family, and she will stand by her word. The night comes, she is sitting on the bed, her teeth chattering loudly, lights out, the door unlocked. It slowly opens and she bites into her bottom lip painfully. The darkness is completely impenetrable, she cannot see her own hand if she lifts it to her face, and then she realizes the steps she hears do not belong to an animal. The bed moves under the weight of another body on it, and she holds her breath.

A warm hand brushes her upper arm, and then long fingers envelop her shoulders and whoever came in pulls her into himself and to his lips. The kiss is mind-blowing, in a matter of seconds she feels tingly all over and her head is spinning. Her toes are literally curled, and she is panting. But then she remembers her oath. She pushes the stranger away and rolls on the other side of the bed.

"No, I can't… Oh my god, that was amazing, but no! I am spoken for! And you should probably run for your life! I was given to the White Bear and I will keep my promise. Get out!"

She hears a warm chuckle and the now familiar voice answers sarcastically, "I have to say I appreciate your loyalty, my heart. Although I would think considering how you reacted to one small kiss you wouldn't throw me out of the bed." She is shaking, and he gently pulls her into him. "We don't have to do anything you don't want. Just stay with me tonight. And no light, you cannot see me."

She settles on his chest and pretends to be asleep while her mind works feverishly. He is large, warm, scorching to be precise, and very much human. At least whatever she managed to touch, and that is quite a lot, she is very embarrassed how willing she showed to be during just one kiss, but she is certain his shoulders and nape seemed human.

She wakes up alone, and the story repeats the next night. And the night after that. He comes, gently pulls her into him, and they fall asleep. He is absent during the day, but he is in her bed every night. By what little she manages to notice she assumes at night he wears some sort of silk pajama bottoms and nothing else.

He is very pleasant to touch, she is surprised herself how much she likes the feeling of his hot skin under her fingers. He apparently has coarse hair on his forearms and pretty much fur on his chest. She doesn't get a chance to explore anything else, but she makes an educated guess based on what she knows. He is probably very tall, his arms are massive, and he has long hair, surprisingly soft and wavy. It scatters on the pillow, and she secretly strokes it with her palm.

On day five she decides that although she finds this arrangement endlessly thrilling it needs some improvement. Once he slides under the covers, she moves slightly away, and she can feel his hand frozen on her shoulder. He was going to possessively tuck her into his side as he always does, but she decides otherwise.

"Are you going to tell me what it is all about?" He chuckles. She does indeed sound way too bossy.

"No."

"Can you tell me anything about yourself?"

"No."

"Do you want to know anything about me?" Another warm chuckle can be heard from him.

"Yes." He is not very eloquent, is he? He sounds half irritated, half amused, and she imagines a sarcastic smirk on a bear muzzle.

"What would you like to know?" She tries again.

"Everything." She blindly sways her arm and tries to smack his chest. He guffaws in the darkness, catches her hand and presses his lips to the knuckles.

They start talking. She tells him about herself, he asks interested questions. He tells her that there is a large library in the castle and tells her about his favourite books. They apparently share an interest in geology and have a lively discussion about minerals of the land. She doesn't notice how she falls asleep in his arms.

She breaks on day twenty three and reaches for his mouth herself. The first night he is considerate, gentle, patient, and she can say for certain, loving. She falls asleep in his arms as usual, exhausted and endlessly happy. The next night he is still holding himself back, but the night after that she greets him starkers. That sort of sets the tone for later happenings. He is curious, inventive, quite obviously inexperienced and absolutely unrelenting. Sometimes she has to tell him to go to sleep in a stern voice. Three weeks later she finds a book with rather explicit illustrations from some exotic country, and at night offers her Bear to try some of the ideas. It leads to escapades till the brink of light, but she falls asleep before dawn.

On day fifty eight he asks her if she misses her family and whether she wants to visit them. Before she has a chance to answer, he starts explaining to her that if she does, she has to promise him to not speak to her mother in private and not discuss what is happening every night in the castle with any living soul. She giggles and asks if he thinks she'd be bold enough to mention even one hundredth of what they have tried by then to anybody. He chuckles warmly but then continues in serious tone and demands her to promise.

She yawns and asks lazily, "Does it have anything to do with the whole bear at day, man at night thing?" He makes a noncommittal humming sound that can be interpreted any way.

She nuzzles his chest and asks, "Do you want me to go? Give you a break from me, so to say?"

He pulls her to him so tightly that she thinks she can hear her ribs crack and grounches, "Don't be an imbecile. I don't want you to go anywhere."

She nests in his crushing embrace and sighs contently, "Fine with me. I wasn't going anywhere anyways.'"

He is quiet for a few moments. She starts nodding off already, and then he whispers, "I love you, Wren."

She smiles and kisses his cheek, or perhaps something else, it is dark. "I love you too, darling."

Couple months later she greets him in a horrible mood and picks up a fight with him. She demands some clarity, he can give her none. She yells that he should get out of her bedroom then, and he roars back that he can't. She starts crying and accuses him of only coming in the room at night since such seem to be the conditions of his enchantment. He calls her an idiot and yells at her that he loves her more than life itself and can't stay away even for a night. They make peace, and the next day she understands that the last night's outburst was just hormones.

He turns out to be an enchanted prince, and the spell is lifted off him very much on time before the birth of his first son. A week before delivery she is sitting in the library reading a book on breastfeeding when the door opens and he comes in. She is endlessly pleased with what she sees but she can't say it's much of a surprise. She has formed a pretty precise perception of how he looks, the blue eyes are the same as the bear had. The only surprise is the silver in his hair, but apparently it's the aftermath of being a polar bear half of the time.

They live happily ever after, have four children and never again he puts out lights in their bedroom. He says he likes to see her, she doesn't argue. He is quite a looker after all!


	11. Goldilocks

**A/N: This one is only a third of a tale. I decided that this story will be built on three fairytales. Hope you'll like it :)**

**PART 1**

GOLDILOCKS

A redheaded girl is running through the forest. Without slowing down her rhythmic movements she tears off her skirt, showing leather pantaloons covering her slender legs, the lacy shawl falls off her shoulders, and a bow and quiver slide on her back in a trained movement. She can hear the loud barking of the dogs behind her, following her trail, and she speeds up. She has little hope to outrun them, but perhaps she can outwit the chase.

She reaches a deep dell and tumbles down its steep side. On her way down she scratches her upper body clad in a thin shirt, and the leaves of the shrubbery are abundantly coloured with her blood. At the bottom of the dell she jumps into a small stream and start running following it, hoping the water will carry her smell away. She also knows there are caves not so far from here, she is trying to reach them before the dogs catch up with her.

She is out of luck. The pack is attacking her by the entrance to the caves, and she stops five out of seven with her arrows. Each time she tells herself she'll mourn their deaths when she has the time. One of the two left dies at her feet, when she pierces its eye with an arrow in her hand, which covers in its blood, and she makes a step back from the last beast. The man she is running from is famous for his dogs, they are immense, fierce and endlessly vicious. The last one of them is preparing for a jump, and the girl quickly chooses to turn her left shoulder to its teeth and wails from pain. She jerks a knife from her belt, and for a few seconds it is unclear which one of them will survive this fight. But the knife wins over fangs, and the girl falls on the ground breathing heavily.

She knows she has to get up, men will follow dogs, but she is quickly losing blood. She tears strips of her shirt and bandages her left arm, her right one shaking, helping herself with her teeth. She gets up on her feet, wobbly and shaking violently, and pushes herself to enter the caves. No one will follow her there, even the man whose dogs she just killed. No one ever dares to enter the caves, as no one has ever returned from them.

She is heavily walking through the passages, narrowing and more and more slanted, definitely going up, and with time it becomes so dark that she starts walking sliding her palm on a cold stone wall to her right. She doesn't dare lighting a fire, she only has a few matches, and decides she will do it when she has no strength to walk anymore. The time will seemingly come soon, she is losing a lot of blood, probably leaving a scarlet trail behind her on the ground.

When she is almost too weak to walk, the wall to her right disappears from under her fingers, and she is frozen in complete darkness. She lights up a match and understands that she is standing in a mouth of a large round cave. She can hear water dripping somewhere and realizes she is painfully thirsty. But she knows better than taking gifts from caves, and she takes a sip from a flask at her belt. The match dies, and she lights up another one.

She crosses the cave carefully and sees three passages in front of her. They are equally narrow and dark, and when she is almost ready to choose one, she catches something on the wall to her left from the corner of her eye. She walks up to the stone surface and runs her palms on the coarse wall. Her deft strong fingers snatch on a small bump, she inspects it again and again with the pulps of her digits, and then presses on it. A secret door opens in the wall, and the girl steps though it.

She realizes she found an entrance to a wide ledge on the side of the mountain, and she sees a small house built under a lee, protected from winds and rain. It is built solidly, out of large logs, probably previously growing on the ledge, its roof is freshly covered with sod, windows are clean. There is a neat shed near it, probably for woodcutting or mining instruments, and a well. She considers going to the well first, but she can see that she won't be able to move the heavy wooden lid on it. She scuffs towards the house, her vision fading quicker and quicker, and she tumbles inside. In the last three hours of walking she was pressing her right palm to her left upper arm, but there are a few deep cuts on her torso, and she is bleeding heavily.

She staggers into what she hazily thinks must be a living room, and her bloodied right hand awkwardly brushes the back of a large chair in the head of a heavy oak dining table. The chair falls, and the girl realizes that she has weakened up to the point of losing her hearing. There is unpleasant buzzing in her ears, she stumbles over another chair, the smallest out of three, it falls as well, and she heavily falls on the medium one. There are three mugs on the table, in the same succession of sizes, there is seeming water in them. She grabs the big one but her hands can't hold it, it falls on the floor, she tries to grab the small one, but it slips out of her bloodied fingers, and finally she manages a few gulps from the middle one.

The last strength leaves her, and she slumpily drops on the floor. Her mind is in mist, strange images floating in front of her eyes, and she thinks she sees three furry muzzles in front of her. She has no strength to scream, and she is just staring in the blue eyes of the biggest, soot coloured one. That is when she loses consciousness. Her last thought is that she is grateful she will not feel her own terrifying demise in the horrific mouths of the monstrous beasts.

She comes to her senses, all her body hurting, and her lids fly up. She meets a pair of astute blue eyes under frowned dark eyebrows, and her throat is too dry to speak. The man in front of her gets up from his chair and puts a cup of some herbal drink to her lips. She tastes mint and achillea in it, but most of the ingredients are unfamiliar.

"Drink, you'll feel better… You lost a lot of blood, and the last three days you've been running fever. You are now skinnier than you were, though I have to say it was hard to imagine," he smirks lopsidedly. There is some warm-hearted, mocking spark in his eyes, and the corners of her lips twitch. "What's your name, golden locks?"

"Wren," her voice is coarse, "And they are not golden, they are orange like a carrot." He chuckles and shakes his head.

"You haven't seen coppered gold, Wren. Exactly the shade." He puts the cup down and gets up. He is looking down at her, and she feels safe and warm under the sarcastic look of the eyes, which she knows she has seen on a dark muzzle of a monstrous beast. "Get better, one of my nephews really misses his bed. And to be honest sleeping on the dining room's floor to give you privacy was no fun. I am an old man, Wren," his eyes are sparkling mischievously, and she thinks she loves his voice, "My back doesn't approve of that."

He leaves the room, and she closes her eyes. She has lived on the road for so long that she has learnt to see in the hearts of men. Beast or not, she knows she can trust the host of her shelter. Her breathing evens out, and calm sleep takes her.


	12. Bluebeard

**A/N: As most good Russian girls I grew up reading the fairytales by ****Charles Perrault****, and I even had that very famous edition with the illustrations by Gustave Dore, which scared the hell out of me. If you don't know this one, it is indeed that creepy and gruesome, and the other stories are also worth a look :)**

**Answering ****dearreader****'s question from before, no, I didn't know **_**East of the Sun and West of the Moon**_** before and had loads of fun reading it now as a grown-up. Thank you, everyone, who asked for it. **

**Please, feel free to leave prompts in your reviews, if there is a particular story you would like to see here. So far I'm pondering **_**Little Mermaid**_**, **_**Beauty and the Beast**_** (this one is just asking for it, isn't it?:D), **_**Twelve Dancing Princesses**_** and **_**Rumpelstiltskin**_**.**

**PART 2**

BLUEBEARD

Time flies quickly when you are healing in bed being waited on by three gorgeous men, who make you tea, draw you baths and entertain you by reading you books in velvet voices. Very quickly you understand that your host, John, and his two nephews are indeed shapeshifters. They live in this house, hidden away from the world, changing into massive furry beasts, half bears, half wolves, at night, and back to humans during the day. In their animal form they are less conscious, but can still control themselves. They hunt, bring meat home, and then cook it and spend the day training in the yard. You were wrong in your assumption that the shed in front of their house contains gardening or mining tools. It is full of swords, spears and battle axes. They do not tell you how the enchantment has befallen them, but you know that most of such spells come with a vow of silence.

All three of them, and you quickly become friends with the nephews, are decorous, well-mannered, and it is natural to deduct that they are of noble blood. Everything in the house is simple, made by their own hands, but the weaponry in the shed is not. Nothing of it bears any crests, but you assume that it is done on purpose. They are hiding their name from you, but you do not complain. You are endlessly grateful for your rescue and feel it would be unfair of you to demand any answers.

One day, when your wounds are slightly healed, the three of you are having dinner of the best venison stew you have ever tried. The older nephew, Phillippe is an excellent cook. John takes a long sip from his mug, and his remarkable eyes focus on you.

"I think you owe us an explanation, Wren. Not every day we come home to our dining room in disarray, blood smeared all over it, and an unconscious maiden on the floor." You nod and start your story.

You grew up as a ward in a large and rich family in the nearby town, and you were fifteen when you ran away to wander the world. When you were twenty five you went back to visit your family, and mostly your beloved adopted sister, Bianca. When you arrived home you were told that Bianca was married and now lived in the house of her wealthy aristocratic husband, known as Bluebeard. After spending a month with your family, you went to visit Bianca, only to find out that according to Bluebeard she had died months ago. He offered you to stay in his home for a while, "to grieve surrounded by Bianca's belongings" as he said, and you understood he was hoping that eventually you'd take your sister's place in his house and his bed. Something made you stay, though you endeavoured to avoid him most of the time. Some dark feeling was nagging at your heart, and you felt the need to investigate. You talked to the townsfolk in the small settlement near his castle, and found out that he had been married five times before bringing your poor Bianca into his home. His wives, Eloise, Eleonore, Isaure, Rosalinde and Blanche, had shared the destiny of your sister. They would appear in his house and seemed rather happy at the beginning, and then one day they would be gone and never heard of again.

You decided to spend a month in the castle, sharing dinners with the host, charming him and trying to uncover this mystery. One day he informed you that he was leaving the county for some matters, and he handed you the keys from the whole castle. He graciously allowed you to open any room you wanted, one thing he insisted on was not to open a small room at the tallest tower, the key to it the smallest of the bunch. You ardently swore, and as soon as he was gone you started your investigation. While the search of other rooms only showed his treasures, which you had no interest in, the small room in the tower contained your worst nightmare.

Its floor was awash with blood, and the murdered bodies of Bluebeard's former wives hung from hooks on the walls. Bianca wasn't among them, but you assumed she shared the destiny of the other women. Horrified, you rushed out of the room but dropped the key into the pool of blood. You locked the door behind yourself, but however hard you tried you couldn't wash the blood off the carved head of the key.

You dashed down the stairs to immediately flee the castle, when you bumped into its owner in the narrow staircase. He had returned from his travel and asked for his keys back. Having noticed the blood on the key, he lunged at you. You escaped his grasp and jumped out of a window. You hadn't prepared for escape but had your bow and arrows with you just in case. You ran, hearing his terrifying dogs sent after you, and that is how you ended up in the house on the mountain side.

The three men listen to you with gloomy faces, and after you are done talking dark silence reigns the room.

"What do you intend to do now, Wren?" John's voice is low and hollow, and you shake your head.

"I do not know. He is harmless for another nine months until the mourning period for Bianca is still continuing. After that he would be able to take another wife. I doubt Bluebeard left the country, he is probably certain I perished in the caves. No one has ever returned from them."

"They are dangerous," agrees Phillipe, "We only venture in them in our beast form, when our senses are sharper, and only for fun. You can't hunt in them, they are empty."

"I should go to the King and demand the justice for Bluebeard. I doubt Bianca is alive," you voice breaks, and you lower your eyes into your plate, "But he needs to pay for what he had done." The three men exchange glances.

"We can just kill him." John's voice is even and mundane, and you stare at him.

"The dogs do not frighten us, and at night no matter how many men he has, he'll be dead as soon as we enter his castle." Killian, the youngest, speaks, and you start shaking. You didn't expect such cold, menacing tone from him. He is a cheek and a jester. That makes you decisively shake your head.

"No, I will not ask you to commit a murder for me. He has to be judged and punished, but as much as I would enjoy cutting his heart out of his chest, that would make us the same monsters as he is." They exchange glances again, and then John covers your hand on the table again.

"Then we will go with you and see it done."

After your wounds are fully healed, you put on your bow and quiver again, and the three of you set on the road. You travel at night, it is safer because then you are guarded by three enormous beasts. You are sitting on the biggest, soot coloured beast, and you tread your fingers into the thick fur on his nape. There is a low rumbling noise in his chest, and you see the younger ones look at you askew. Their eyes are laughing. You bite your bottom lip and jerk your hands back embarrassed. It did indeed sound a lot like purring.

Once the sun rises the three beasts step into the nearest bushes, there are some rustling noises and moans, and then Phillipe's mischievous voice asks you to throw their clothes to them. You hurl the backpack you were carrying to them, and chuckling you sit on a fallen tree. You are anxious and gratefully press your shoulder into John's side when he sits near you.

"We shall wait for the nightfall here," he wraps his arm around you, and you nest into him. "You will eat and then you should nap. You are still weak after your recovery. We will take turns and sleep as well." You nod and settle in his arms. Killian leaves to pick up firewood, and Phillipe goes on a patrol, but you suspect his main goal is to give you two privacy. You blush and hide your face.

"Next time don't do that in front of them," his tone is teasing, and you press your lips together to hide a smile. "It works wonders for the beast." You can't help it anymore and giggle.

"Does it work wonders for the man?"

"Let's find out," he turns to you and catches your mouth. You push your fingers into the long thick hair at the back of his head, and he raspily moans into your mouth. There is indeed a quieter rumbling noise in his chest, either purring or growling, and you playfully nip his bottom lip.

"Promise me, you'll be careful tonight. You and the boys," you murmur between kisses, and he nods.

He presses his forehead to yours and quietly says, "I promise, Wren."


	13. The Wild Swans, or The Six Swans

**A/N: Thank you everyone who suggested more fairytales, I'll do my best! And _The Six Swans_ (_The Wild Swans_) have been on my mind for a while, but I couldn't have mentioned them since they were in progress for this story. As Dr. River Song would say, "Spoilers!" :) **

**And part 3...**

THE WILD SWANS (also known as THE SIX SWANS)

The beasts' attack is quick and ruthless. From the back of the largest of them the girl climbs on the low window, and through empty passages she sneaks to the entrance and lowers the drawbridge. They storm the castle, most men fleeing after throwing a glance at the three terrifying beasts. Very few decide to fight, but they are quickly disposed off. The girl was promised no one would be killed, and the beasts keep their promise. Men are thrown into the moat, knocked out by blows of heavy paws, and turned around and convinced to reconsider with terrifying roars. The girl understands that although the beasts are unbeatable, they have never before fought in their animal form. She finds it endearing. Her heart already belongs to the host of the little house on the side of the mountain, but she is happy to know she hasn't mistaken in him, and his nephews. Neither of them has used their monstrous shape to their advantage before.

They find the owner of the castle in his study. He is pressing his back to the wooden panels of the wall, when the girl rushes in, the blonde beast following her. Bluebeard is holding a sword in his hand, but throws it on the floor when he sees the beast's terrifying snarl.

"I surrender!" Bluebeard yells, "You can't kill me. I know you, Wren of Leary, you are an honourable woman! You'd never murder a defenseless man."

The girl pulls a whip from under her belt, and it snaps in the air deafeningly. She swirls it in the air with a singular skill.

"Murder, no, but I will exercise my revenge." The beast behind her growls approvingly, when the man in front of her falls on his knees.

"Mercy! Mercy! I will give you your sister back, she is alive!"

They find Bianca in a cell, half starved to death and delirious, but alive, and Wren is crying, rocking the thinned body of her sister in her arms. The morning comes, the beasts turn into men again, they bury the poor Bluebeards' wives. He is tied to a tree and guarded by Killian, while John finds Wren in one of the rooms, sitting on the floor near the bed her sister is sleeping in. He beckons her to step out of the room, and they stand in front of each other in a passage.

"What are you planning to do now, Wren?"

"I will write to the King, we will lock Bluebeard in the same cell he kept Bianca, and I will stay with her here until they come and hang him. And then I will escort her to our family." He nods and picks up her hand.

"We can't stay here, Wren. You know townsfolk… It will always end up with torches and pitchforks for people like us." She chuckles weakly and nods again. He softly leans in and brushes his lips to hers. "I can't leave you here alone, in an empty castle with a murderer and your sick sister..."

"You can. I'm asking you to. I can take care of myself."

"I do not doubt it, golden locks." She steps ahead and presses her face to his chest. "But you can't tell me not to worry about you..." They embrace tighter. "Come back to me when you can." His voice is hardly audible. "I know I'm asking for a lot..."

"I promise."

Six moons later the girl steps out of the opening in the mountain side into the mountain ledge and sees him sitting on a bench near the house fixing a scabbard for his sword. She starts running towards him, he jumps on his feet, and her slender body slams into him. His lips are greedy, and he is crushing her into him.

"It has been too long, Wren..."

"I am never leaving again..."

His nephews are training in the yard, he takes her hand and leads her into the caves, they are not back for hours. The darkness comes, the beasts leave for their usual hunt, and she returns to the house, sleepy and sated, and falls into his bed. In the morning they return to find cooked breakfast on the table, the men wash off, and the boys start eating greedily. The man is eating slowly, his eyes smiling, throwing warm looks at the woman, whose small foot is rubbing to his ankle under the table. After the meal he sits in his armchair by the fire and pulls her on his lap.

"Tell me of the curse, if you can," she says softly, and he sighs into her neck. The story is rather customary. A king and two princes, a witch whom he refused to marry, a beastly form at night, a man during the day, at least she was merciful in this, and a laborious task to fulfill to lift the spell. She listens attentively, gently running her fingers through his hair, and then she presses her lips to the corner of his mouth.

"I will do it. If you want the spell off, I'll do it."

"No, Wren, I won't ask you for it."

"It is not that bad," she chuckles, "It's not like I have to cross the world barefoot, or slay a dragon, or wear a bearskin for a year without washing or cutting my hair and nails, it's just a bit of discomfort. If you want it of course," she adds in a mischievous tone, and he looks at her askew, "I can't say I disapprove of the whole bear thing at night. All the muscles, the fur, the roar…" She giggles, and he starts tickling her.

"Impossible woman!" She is laughing and wiggling in his arms. He swiftly shifts, and somehow they end up on the floor.

The next day she starts her ordeal. He walks her to the edge of the cliff, and she picks up batches of stinging nettle. Her hands immediately cover in blisters, but she is no princess, her palms are calloused from hunting, starting fire, cooking and washing, and it honestly could have been much worse. Not being allowed to speak until her task is complete is a much harder work for her. She brings the nettle home, and it soaks in a tub of hot water to prepare to be spun. In the evening the nephews cook dinner, while the enchanted King covers her hands with balm. He kisses every fingers, avoiding the skin that hurts, and he is guilt stricken. She can't tell him that she is not suffering that much and hardly considers her task that much of a torture, so instead she decides that kisses speak better than words.

Spinning part turns out much harder. She has no idea what she is doing, and they spend a few days trying to figure out the process. He is guffawing, looking at her clumsy attempts of making a thread, after which she repeatedly smacks him to the head with wet floppy bunches of nettle, and pushes him in the tub. His arms deftly wrap around her middle, and they end up soaked and kissing like teenagers in the cold water.

Two weeks later some sort of technology is established, and she spends another fortnight in front of a loom, dunking her fingers into a bowl of water and carefully spinning a yarn. It tears often, and at some point she is ready to cry. He often sits with her, entertaining her by reading a book, and as if accidentally brushing her hand to her thigh. For that she tends to kick him slightly and stick her tongue at him. He guffaws and says that she somehow manages to remain as insolent as she was before even without her sarcastic remarks.

Knitting turns out easier, she spends days and evenings hunched over her work, her back and fingers hurting from unfamiliar task, and sometimes she carefully tucks a half finished shirt in a basket and rushes outside. She jumps, and swirls, and does cartwheels, to the amusement of three men working outside, but then she drags herself back and industriously continues.

When the three shirts are ready, the four of them eat dinner in silence constantly throwing glances at the folded tunics on a chair. After dishes are done, the men put them on, and the four of them sit on the bench outside, their eyes glued to the setting sun. The girl is sitting on the King's lap, his arms possessively wrapped around her. The sun sets, and she is still feeling his scorching skin pressed to her through the nettle tunic, and his soft warm lips on her nape.

While the boys dance and sing in the yard, exuberant to go home and see their mother again, the King silently leads his future wife into the caves. On his way he jerks off the nettle shirt and carelessly throws it on the ground. She doesn't care, all she is thinking about is that for the first time in so long she'll be able to scream as much as she cares and murmur the words of love that have collected in her heart through all these long weeks.


	14. Beauty and the Beast

BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

A knight and his two young squires were travelling the dusty East-West road when on their path they met a crowd of villagers, quite obviously hastily abandoning their homes. They were dragging after them hurriedly packed belongings, domestic animals herded on the side of the road, women and children crying. The knight stopped a man who was pulling a rope tied around the neck of a stubborn goat and asked what sort of calamity had befallen the village making its inhabitants abandon their houses.

"Hunters, my lord. There is a beast living in our forests, and after a young prince was slaughtered in these woods, the King ordered the beast to be killed. Now our lands are full of hunters, they drink, they eat, they attack our women, and we see no end of it. The beast has been escaping them for the last two years, but life in our villages became intolerable!" The man made a scornful noise and joined his kin treading down the road.

"What is the beast like?" asked the younger squire, lifting his visor and winking to a young village girl walking by. The girl giggled, and the older, blonde squire smacked the boy at the back of his head.

"No one has ever seen it," some other villager answered. "It has lived in the forests for the last ten years, we just didn't let our children play there, and that was it. Someone long time ago was telling that the beast killed a forester, but those were just rumours. People have seen glimpses of it, it runs fast in the woods, but it was no bother. The hunters though..." The villager added an intricate swearing that made the knight's brows jump up above his astute blue eyes.

The knight and his squires continued their travel, until half an hour later the blonde squire finally yelled, "Alright, give us that. What's on your barmy mind?"

"We should kill it, the beast!" The young dark haired squire bobbed in the saddle of his horse, gaining a derisive side stare from the animal. "We'll bring it to the King, people will get a break from the hunters, and we will get the glory and respect and attention from fair maidens!"

The knight was quiet, and the other squire made a scornful sound, "Is glory and smiles from village girls everything you can think of? We have a quest, we have a dragon to kill, a war to win and today is Tuesday, it is laundry day." The dark haired boy groaned, he hated laundry.

"We should have a look," the knight suddenly said, and the squires stared at him. He rarely had changed his plans, and the last thing they expected from him was idle curiosity.

They had arrived to the abandoned village by next morning, most homes indeed empty, and numerous hunters snoring in their hangover in the common room of an inn. Plates and mugs were broken and scattered on the floor, chairs were missing legs and backs, many men were in slumber among the debris on the floorboards. A small group of hunters were still drinking in the corner, but it was obvious that they were in danger of dropping even from the draft from the opened door.

Having listened to the endless list of complains from the innkeeper, the knight and his squires left their horses under his care, paid generously, and after a light breakfast they ventured into the forests. They walked for couple hours, clad in lighter armour, only brigandines, and having left their helmets in the village, short wide swords and battle axes in their hands. They assumed that the weapon of the younger squire, who was a skillful archer, would be of most use for them. And suddenly they heard a girl's scream somewhere to their right.

They rushed to the sound, quick and agile even in the thick woods, but when a sharp bluff suddenly was under their feet, the knight wasn't fast enough, and while his squires hanged on its edge, he tumbled down, receiving couple of sensitive blows onto his ribs from the boulders in the side of the deep dell, with a torrential river running at its bottom. The water immediately dragged him away, he was floundering and coughing, his axe lost, and after many futile attempts to climb out, he sank, and the world went dark.

He opened his eyes, soft shadows on the oak tree dancing on his face, and realized he had been moved away from water and laid on soft green grass. His saviour was looming over him, and at first he thought it was an animal. A pair of delicate antlers, one tine on each beam, some sort of furry muzzle, almond shaped ears, he assumed it was an elk of sorts, but the creature moved, and he noticed a delicate human like neck and a pair of slender shoulders. He was staring at the beast, when suddenly a small, very much feminine hand stretched to his face, and the creature brushed the tips its fingers on his cheek and on his beard. The antlered head tilted, and the creature made a soft hum like noise. Its hand was covered in short silky fur but only on the outside, soft pink skin on the palm and the pulps of its fingers.

"Beautiful..." It spoke, a melodic feminine voice, and he lifted his hand in return. The creature jumped back, and since it shifted and the sun wasn't shining at its back anymore, the knight saw that below the head the beast was very much like a slender girl, with a somewhat adolescent body, barefoot, he immediately noticed though dirty but adorable tiny toes and narrow feet, covered in the same golden fur. It was dressed in rags and a torn at the hem cloak, and he also realized that the face was covered by a mask, made of leaves and twigs, only bright amber coloured eyes were burning in the slots.

"Wait! Stay, I won't harm you!" The creature froze, and he could see its chest heave under the worn down cloak. She, and it was definitely female, didn't try to approach him but didn't run either. He sat up and leaned back at the tree. "Please… I am no threat. I don't even have a weapon..." The creature lifted a delicate hand and pointed at a wide hunter's knife on his belt. He unclasped it and threw it into the river. "See, no weapons. Please, come back…"

The beast made a few tentative steps back and knelt in front of him again. The amber eyes were roaming his face, and he realized she was pretty much ogling him. He found it rather amusing and smiled widely to her. It seemed to make the beast even more interested in him, since the small fingers brushed his face again. He let her and then the pulp of a tiny index finger stroked his upper lip.

"Soft..." She breathed out, and he kissed the little digit. When she had jumped away from him, the hood on her head had shifted, and now he could see bright orange curls escaping from under it. They had deep copper colour and seemed surprisingly looked after for a wood creature. He also realized that the cute elongated ears were sticking out of cuts in the hoods made especially for that.

"Can I see you too?" He kept his voice soft, but the creature stopped the exploration of his face in feathery touches, and the amber eyes met his. He couldn't see but he could swear the beast frowned. After a moment it shook its head. "A favour for a favour." He smiled to it warmly. "I am sure you are lovely under this mask. Just look at these adorable ears." The creature tilted its head, as if trying to understand whether he was mocking it, but he gave it his most earnest stare. The small hands slid under the hood, at the back of the beast's head, and she untied the strings and took off her mask.

His eyes roamed her face, and he couldn't seem to decide what to look at. The features were almost human, a turned up nose, skin darker on its tip and on the nostrils, big slanted eyes, long fluffy lashes, wide mouth, with plump bottom lip, and all of her face and neck as he could now see was covered in the silkiest, most glossy fur. By its even, dense surface and rich auburn colour it mostly reminded him of a squirrel. The black tip of the nose twitched, and the creature gave him a quite obviously questioning look. He stretched his hand and brushed his fingers on her cheekbone. She allowed, and it seemed to him that she even leaned a bit into his touch.

"Who are you?"

She tilted her head again, and then one of the almond shaped ears perked up and turned towards the woods. In a moment he could hear some far away noises too, and the creature jumped on its feet.

"Wait..." He was too late, the creature already disappeared in the thick bushes to his right, and he was alone. His squires stomped out of the woods and ran to him in relief.

"Uncle, we were so worried!" He growled in disappointment and ordered them to start the fire, he needed to dry up and to think.

He explained to the squires that they were staying in the forests, and they spent the next few days the same way. The confused squires would stay in their camp, and he would wander around in the woods hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature again, but to no avail.

A few days later when he was already returning to the fire, he heard loud voices and clanking of swords coming from his camp. He rushed to it and found his squires, who also happened to be the sons of his younger sister, surrounded by at least a dozen of hunters.

"What are you doing here, princesses? Do you not know these are our forests?" One of them barked, and others laughed unpleasantly.

"And would you just look at these rich kids with their shining armour, gems on the hilts, and fancy clothes?" Another hunter sneered, "I bet we can eat and drink all winter if we sell just their boots!"

"Like that prince we cut the throat of! His cloak lasted us a month!" Another one added, and someone else punched him in the shoulder.

"Are you a complete idiot? Now we really have to kill them, no one can know about the prince!"

They jumped on the squires, when the knight rushed out of the bushes, swirling his long wide sword. The three of them fought valiantly, but hunters were too numerous, and it was rather hard to block arrows shot by some of them and fight off clumsy attacks of others, and soon the blonde squire swayed, an arrow having pierced his shoulder, and his brother yelled to the knight for help.

And that's when the bears and wolves stepped out of the woods. They encircled the camp, and men froze in shock. The animals were soon joined by deer, foxes, hares, and hedgehogs, birds sat on the branches, mice and voles rustled in the grass, and the knight thought he could even see insects forming a ring around the men. The animals, birds and insects were not moving, their eyes fixed on the hunters, the wolves and bears had their muzzles snarled silently, the deer bent their neck in an obvious threat, but none attacked.

"What sort of dark spell is that?" One of the hunters rasped, and right away a lynx appeared on a branch above his head. Its eyes were glued to his throat, and the animal licked its mouth.

The knight saw the hunters lower their weapons and step back. In the corner of his eye he saw his younger nephew rush to his brother, who was quickly slumping on the ground.

"I think you should leave," the knight said in a calm, quiet tone, not to distress the animals, and the hunters started running. The animals followed them with their eyes, and when the noise of the escaping assailants quieted the knight saw his saviours silently step back into the forest. An instant later one wouldn't believe that that wasn't just a dream.

He was going to turn to his nephews when his earlier saviour stepped out of the woods. The squires gasped, and she pushes the hood off her head. Bright copper curls scattered on her shoulders, the almond shaped ears twitched, and she asked in her soft silver voice, "Safe?"

"Yes, we are. Thank you," he couldn't tear his eyes of her narrow strange face and she nodded, quite obviously intending to leave right away. "Oh no, please, stay..." She shook her head but then noticed blood colouring the brigandine of the older squire. She walked up to him quickly and knelt in front of him.

She pointed at his shoulder. "Help..."

"Uncle? Who is she?" The dark haired boy asked in shock, but his brother was obviously losing consciousness, and they had no time to bother with explanations.

"Do as she says," ordered the knight, and they pulled the brigandine off the wounded. The creature rushed to the forests, and in a minute she came back carrying some bright green leaves in her hands. She quickly prepared a compress, and they bandaged the squire's shoulder.

For the next three days the boy was fighting with a strong fever, and the girl stayed nearby. Sometimes she would leave into the woods, but most of the time she sat on the ground on the edge of their campsite. By the night of day three the blonde boy stopped thrashing in his sleep and his breathing evened out.

The beast girl stood up after examining him and started walking into the woods. The knight jumped on his feet, and she looked at him over her shoulder. Her voice was soft and melancholic, "Come..." He readily followed her, and she led him to a small clearing. She sat down on soft dry moss under a large oak tree, and he took a seat near her. She looked at him, her eyes sad, and then suddenly she moved to him, nuzzled his jaw and gave out a long raspy sigh. "Beautiful..." Her tone was mournful this time.

"Come with me," he pleaded. "It is dangerous here, they will catch you sooner or later." She rubbed her nose to his beard again, and he felt her fresh grassy smell.

"Home..." She gestures the forest around her, and he tentatively stretched his hand and cupped her jaw.

"They will kill you." The long lashes fluttered, and he clenched his jaw. "Then let me stay with you, let me protect you." That made her smile, the corners of her red lips curled up rather mockingly. She tapped her finger on the tip of his nose.

"Big… Noisy… Slow..." Her eyes twinkled with a teasing smile, and he chuckled with her. He noticed she didn't say no.

"You can teach me. I'll learn. Please, let me stay with you…" She tilted her head, pondering his words, and her eyes fell on his lips. She leaned in, he closed his eyes expecting a kiss, but she rubbed the tip of her nose to them.

"Man..." Her tone was almost reproachful, and he opened his eyes. She ran her fingers through his hair at the top of his head, and then touched his ears. She then twitched her almond shaped ears and shook her head to show him her antlers. "Not..."

"Is there a spell on you? We can find to lift it! I'll do anything to do it, I'll go on a quest, I'll slay a dragon! Is there a witch that enchanted you?" He looked at her earnestly, but saw her frown and her eyes flashed with anger.

"Spell?" She looked at him disdainfully and shook her head again. "No spell… Me..."

And that was when he understood. It wasn't one of those stories when love would conquer all, and a girl would become a renown beauty, just right in the eyes of other people, to make everyone appeased, after the right three words were said or yet another magical creature was slayed. And he smiled into her amber eyes, and he understood that he also just needed just three words to get his princess. He placed his hand on her slender shoulder and smiled to her tenderly, "Let me stay." A gentle smile brushed her lips, and she gave him an attentive look. "I will take my nephews home, I will report to the King of the atrocities happening here, and I will return to your forest, and you can decide what to do with me."

She was still giving him a thoughtful look when he decided to give her more arguments. He gently wrapped his arm around her and pulled her slender body into him. Her narrow strong palms lay on his chest, and she smiled to him playfully. She shimmied her shoulders, as if trying to get free, and he cocked a brow as if asking her if she honestly wanted him to release her. She pushed her nose into his neck, and then her hands found their way under his brigandine, underneath his shirt, and she gently clawed at his chest, covered in coarse thick hair. "Beast..." Her tone was endlessly pleased.

He looked into her remarkable eyes and pronounced with all possible conviction, "Beautiful..." She rubbed her temple to his, and one of her ears brushed his chin.

"Stay..." She allowed, and he guffawed with relief.

"And now let me teach you this one thing people do. It is called a kiss..."


	15. Little Mermaid

**A/N: This one is in the same universe as _Fairytales From Under the Mountain,_ chapter 5, and _Bedtime Stories from Under the Mountain,_ chapter 1. It will have the second part.**

LITTLE MERMAID

Wren's boot sank down into the disgusting cold water, and she snarled in a habit she picked up from her husband. The boot filled right away, the greenish brownish goo sloshing in it, and she firmly grasped the end of her long walking stick. She poked it into the peat and pushed her body up. Then she swung her slender legs and climbed on a higher place. The hem of her bright red cloak soaked water and dragged behind her like an odd tail. She cursed under her breath. She had spent the last three hours wandering the cursed bog and found no sign of an alleged monster living here. It was a simple job, as it seemed at the beginning. The descriptions the villagers gave her were of the usual sort. "Something big, it stank, it moved slowly, greenish colour..." She was certain it was a troll or some other swamp monster. Officially it hadn't attacked anyone, so the code didn't oblige her to engage with it. See, evaluate, kill if dangerous. The trolls were slow but incredibly strong, the only danger came from them during their mating period. It wasn't the season, and she hoped the job to be short. She really wanted to be home, in a warm bed, with fire crackling in the pit, and a warm body pressed to her. Wren jerked her cloak that caught on yet another branch with irritation. That was definitely not the time for libidinous thoughts. It was too late though, her minded started racing, images flashed in her mind, and she suddenly felt rather hot. She knew the reason for her increased lustfulness of course, but to be honest even on a normal day her husband and she were a bit on the lewd side.

"Good day, fair maiden," a low masculine voice made her swirl on her heels, her father's hunter sword sliding from the sheath effortlessly. "How are you faring in this brisky weather? You seem warm, I have to admit. I would almost say, hot..." The creature sitting on a mossy mound was definitely not a swamp troll. Wren felt her brows crawl up. The man, and it was definitely male, barechested, skin pleasantly tanned and smooth, long lean muscles bulging under the skin, smirked at her. Wren out of all women knew how to appreciate a high quality specimen. She had to admit though that the fish tail that started below the stranger's waist was a downer. In front of her there sat a merman if she had ever seen one. A merman. In a bog. A merman smiling to her salaciously. Wren's first thought was that he should be in excruciating pain, his kind lived in salty water, their gills and lungs not made for fresh one, especially the appallingly smelling water that was making squelching noises under her boots and inside one of them. He looked healthy though, a sunny wide smile playing on his lips, teeth white. He had dark chestnut hair, wavy, soft and luscious, beautiful brown eyes, brilliant with mirth, and a very, very appetising neck. Wren shifted, making sure he was under the best possible angle if she needed to attack, but he chuckled and waved his giant fish tail in the air in an obviously friendly gesture.

"Kind sir, I wouldn't want to seem rude, but you are rather in a wrong habitat," she aimed for a light amicable tone.

"Like a fish out of water," he gave her an even wider smile, and she couldn't help but return the expression. He had lovely voice, low and smokey. And she knew a lot about fruity male voices, she had to listen to one every evening, that is if she was lucky to be home or share a campsite with one of her relatives by marriage.

"And how are _you _faring on this lovely day, kind sir?" She asked sarcastically, and he wiggled the tail again.

"I had better days, to be honest. Would you have any water, my lady?" She picked up a skin from her belt and threw it to him. He greedily drank, she once again gave his neck an appraising look, and then he nodded with gratitude. "Do I gather it right you are a huntress, my lady?" She tilted her head in a gesture of agreement, and he theatrically pressed his hand to his chest. "Am I in danger of finding your sword between my shoulder blades?" She chuckled. That was the phrase her husband said to her right before they reached an understanding of their mutual attraction. His trousers had been unbuttoned by then, to be honest.

"Well, unless you somehow manage to lure pure village children and maidens here and drown them in the swamp, you are safe."

"I can hardly see how I would be able to do it, considering my mobility is rather restricted," he pointed at his tail with his eyes. It was magnificent though, shiny teal scales, a wide caudal fin, pearly and even. Wren gave it a thought. The typical mechanism of merperson turning into a human was rather poetic and always seemed rather idiotic to her. Again, she was not much of a romantic. She married the biggest grouch this world had seen and was more than happy with his slightly rough and raw attitude. Basically, a merperson could request a pair of legs from their authorities, abnegating some of their citizen rights, such as voting and free medical care, and after making a downpayment and finding a pair of extremities of proper size, merpeople were allowed to travel on land and, since in most cases such radical changes in lifestyle were caused by some ridiculous mawkish reasons, they could reunite with their human partners. Wren couldn't remember an instance of a merperson to attempt to travel to their beloved by land before obtaining a pair of appropriate limbs though.

"How did you get that far then?" She looked around, she couldn't see any means of transportation, especially ones that could carry a full size merman. He leaned back on straight arms and smirked lopsidedly.

"I walked." She hiked one brow, and he laughed. It was an open throaty laugh, and she mentally reminded herself about the tattoo on her hip. The mark of her husband's clan, an intricate pattern of the runes of his kind decorated her pale skin, for most a reminder of their status, for her and her husband an additional source of sensuality.

"Indeed?" She had several ideas in her head, and she gave him a studying look. "So, as I understand it you are insinuating you had a pair of extremities of sorts before?"

"Legs, my fair maiden, they were legs. I have to say I was rather fond of them."

"And where are they now?" She couldn't help it, the careless joy bubbling in his voice and shining in his eyes was contagious. "Did the cat get them?" He roared with laughter.

"Not exactly. The most precise description of my aggravation, my lady, or as people fond of idiomatic expressions, such as you and I, would call it, my fine kettle of fish," she couldn't help it and giggled, "Would be to say that I got conned." He rubbed his large, long-fingered hand to his tail, somewhere where a man would have a hip. "I suppose either my legs were faulty and just expired… Which is possible, the merchant I purchased them from was..."

She saw the corners of his lips twitch, and she squealed, "Don't you dare say 'fishy,' that would be just pathetic!" They laughed together this time. He cleared his throat and gave her a warm look.

"Option two is that my beloved married someone this morning, and I was unfortunate enough to be walking in the middle of a swamp at that moment." Wren winced at the thought. She had indeed noticed scraps of clothes on the ground a foot away from him, as well as a walking stick and a small pouch. Had she not showed up, he'd be stranded here. She wasn't sure how long a merman could survive out of water, but she doubted it was long.

The next thought came. If he was just walking through the swamps to get to his, as it now turned out, untrustworthy beloved, where was her job? And if indeed there was a swamp troll in this bog, what was she to do with a definitely heavy looking merman? In his human form he was probably six three, maybe even six four. She needed to move him, and fast. She was good with sword, deadly with a bow, but most of her technique was build on swift attacks and even quicker retreats. Having to defend an immobile merman would impale her fighting significantly. Leaving him here wasn't a viable option either.

She heard the troll very much in advance, obviously, they weren't the most subtle creatures. She threw a quick look at the merman and saw his jaws clench. "I can manage a bow," he said briskly.

"We have no right to attack it, unless it engages. And once it does, the bow will be useless." She could see him evaluate possible options.

"Then run." His voice was calm, no dramatic theatrics. "Maybe they don't like fish."

"It's the main ingredient on their menu," she sheathed the sword, and stepped closer to the merman. There was no need to provoke a troll, it could still leave them alone. The merman caught her hand in his long fingers, and she looked down at him. Even sitting on the ground, he had his eyes almost at the same level with hers.

"Can you please go?" His tone was polite, but she saw pleading in his eyes. "I appreciate your concern for the safety of my glorious self, but there is plenty of other fish in the sea," he attempted to joke.

"Haha," she deadpanned, keeping her eyes on the clumsily approaching troll. "Don't flatter yourself. I am only following the code. You are an innocent, it is a potential monster."

He sighed. "August," he said.

"It's March," she looked at him confused.

"My name, honourable huntress. My name is August."

"Wren," she smiled to him softly, and they both looked at the troll that finally reached their hillock and stopped a few feet away, its beady eyes darting between them.

_To be continued..._

**A/N#2: **_Bedtime Stories from Under the Mountain,_ chapter 1 will have the second half that will set up the beginning for a whole universe. ********Keep your eyes open! :) ********I'm anticipating more stuff written by not one, but two of my collaborators! I'm thinking I will just create a separate story. After all, the Wren in me can't wait for all the puns I can put into the titles. So many wolf idioms :P****


	16. The Valiant Little Tailor

**A/N: That's the second part to the previous chapter. Enjoy, ****my darlings**** :)**

THE VALIANT LITTLE TAILOR

The troll licked his lips, and it was definitely male, considering the… anatomy, and August understood that it decided that half a fish was better than none. Especially, considering the size of that half. August's fingers clenched Wren's hand, but she jerked it out and stepped ahead. There was one last thing to be done before she had to draw her sword. The code obliged.

"We are no danger for you. If you do not attack, you are safe. Go your own way," she spoke in a calm voice. The troll lowered its head threateningly and growled. That was obviously its answer. It was in a hunting stance, and suddenly something pushed the huntress to make another step ahead, "No." Her tone was firm, and the troll froze. "No. Bad troll. No attacking. Not food. Back off." She punctuated every word with a a snarl, and the beast tilted its head.

"What are you doing?" August whispered.

"No clue. I think I'm alpha dominating it." Her voice sounded endlessly unsure.

"How?!"

"I'm married to an alpha wolf," she whispered without turning around and holding the stare with the troll. It was making small doubtful groans and shifted between its massive stubby legs.

"That doesn't make you alpha."

"No, it doesn't," she made another step ahead and squared her shoulders. She had little hope to submit the troll with her size, she hardly reached the shoulder of an average man, but the stance was important. "Carrying his child though..." August exhaled sharply behind her, and she barked sharply, "Down!"

The troll slightly swayed back from her, but then some rudimental mental process reflected on its dim face. It might have been its first thought in life. And then it shook its head and roared at her.

"Wren… It's working..." The merman asked pleadingly, "Run, Wren, I can detain it for a while..."

"It's not coming closer, I still have a chance..." She stepped ahead and threw her hand in the air. "I. Said. Down." The troll roared again and stomped its feet. And then it grabbed a rock from a ground, the size of her head, and crushed it in its front paws.

"Oh yeah?" Her voice sounded disdainful. "You want to have a pissing contest?! I'll show you a pissing contest." She grabbed something that looked somewhat like a rock from her pouch and squeezed it in her hand. August realised it was a piece of cheese, and it leaked juice. The troll made a surprised "wuh" sound.

"Yeah, see what I can do? I'll smack you to the head, and you will be even dimmer that you are now. No troll ladies will like you." That seemed to reach troll's understanding, and he made a step back. But then he smacked himself to the chest and roared again. He grabbed an even bigger rock and hurled it a few hundred feet away.

"And that's it? That's all you have?" She laughed and brought her hands behind her back. On her right wrist August saw a complicated contraption, he assumed it was some sort of a slingshot, activated by a trigger around her thumb. She pulled the initiation mechanism with the index finger of the other hand, picked up a rock from the ground and released the sling. The rock flew and disappeared behind a far away hill. The troll's jaw slacked.

"Hey, you!" Her tone was endlessly authoritative, and he stared at her. "I. Said. Down." Her fists clenched, and suddenly August felt the heat radiating from her. The wolf inside her wasn't happy. The troll emitted a sad howl and flopped on the ground on its round wide behind.

August breathed out the air he wasn't aware he was keeping in his lungs, when she turned to him and gave him a wink, "I believe we have a transport to bring you to the nearest village, my dearest August."

It was almost dark when a very strange procession reached the border of the village. A small redhead in a scarlet hunter's cloak was walking in front, followed by a very sad looking swamp troll, dragging an improvised travois with a merman in it.

When the village was already in their view, they heard a loud wolf howl in the brisk night air. August saw his saviour tense, and asked, "What is it?'

"We are in trouble," her voice was quiet, and before he could ask her to elaborate a giant black wolf stepped out of the woods on the side of the road. The fur, ebony, glossy, had streaks of silver around its muzzle and above its eyes. August had never in his life seen a wolf of such size. He doubted there were many of wolfkin of such size either.

The animal stepped closer, its eyes darting between the three of them. The swamp troll made a squeaky sound and dropped the handles of the sled. The wolfkin were the most dangerous predators in this world.

"It's OK, Swampy, don't fret. It's just my better half." The wolf snarled at the huntress's sarcastic tone. "And someone hasn't had his dinner yet."

"He doesn't look happy," August whispered.

"I'm late. I was supposed to be back three hours ago, and by the way he understands everything you say." The wolf made a scornful huffing noise and theatrically looked away. "It's not my fault," she addressed him in a completely different, soft tone, and pointed at her companions, "I had a merman and a swamp troll to deal with! I couldn't drop it all just because we were supposed to have dinner today. I understand you travelled far, and I've been stuck in this village for a week, and thank you for visiting me..." He huffed again, still not looking at her. "Oh common, we can always have dinner some other day." He barked, aas August thought, haughtily and shook his massive head angrily. "Oh bugger! Sorry! I forgot about the anniversary." A low rumble rolled somewhere deep in the animal's chest, and she stepped closer. "I'm sorry, I am a horrible wife. Were you waiting for me?" Her tone was mollifying, and he looked at her from the corner of his bright blue eyes. "Oh bad bad Wren, forgot about the dinner..." She took another step closer, "Poor poor wolfie, was sitting there brooding, probably bought some ostentatious gift," another huff, "And his ungrateful wife forgot about the dinner..." She reached him and pushed her fingers into the thick fur at his nape. "How are you tolerating me?" Her tone was playful, and he made a soft murmuring noise and pushed his nose in her hair. His head was almost at the same level as hers. And then suddenly his whole body jerked back from her, and an enraged growl erupted out of his muzzle, teeth gnashed, eyes narrowed.

"What?" She looked at him in confusion, and he growled louder. Married or not, August suddenly felt worried for her. "Darius, what is it?"

And then the most astonishing spectacle August had a chance to witness unravelled right in front his eyes. The fur melted off the skin of the giant beast in front of him, and in a matter of seconds he saw an absolutely naked man scooting on the ground. The man rose on his feet, in all his impressive six feet four and squared his wide shoulders. The face bore the same enraged expression as the muzzle of the beast, and he loomed over his wife threateningly. She didn't seem frightened, but August once again mourned the lack of weapons on him. The woman seemed minuscule compared to the wolfkin, it seemed he could break her with a snap of his fingers.

"You are randy!" The man yelled in a raspy booming voice. "You wander Gods know where all evening, come back with some hunk in tow, and you are randy! You smell like arousal!" He moved even closer to her, clenching a huge fist.

"What the hell is wrong with you?!" She yelled back, her chin jerked up disdainfully."I am talking to you! That's my normal reaction to this!" She gestured all over him.

"You stink like fish! It's all over you!" August felt insulted, but decided to keep his distance. The huntress didn't seem apprehensive of her husband's rage, though her temper seemed to be rising equally fast.

"I was helping a merman, what am I supposed to smell like? Rose petals and candied apples?!"

"There is a wolf smell on you! Another wolf's smell on you!"

"Don't be ridiculous, I've spent the last week in these swamps! There are no wolves here!"

"Are you calling me a liar?!" He roared even louder. He had a massive torso, covered in hair of the same ebony colour, and arms like tree trunks. Long wavy hair was a thick mane on his shoulders, and altogether he looked very, very dangerous. The small huntress didn't share August's sentiment though. It was her turn to puff out air derisively.

"Again with the wolf possessiveness! I'm telling you I haven't seen a single wolf in a week, I don't know where the smell..." And then she froze with her mouth half open. And then she started laughing, a merry silver laughter. That seemed to push the wolfkin over the edge, and he growled through his teeth and moved at her menacingly. She stopped and looked at him. "Oh do shut up. It's the hormones, that's what you are smelling, which also explains additional randiness. I'm pregnant, you duffus."

What happened next made August regret he hadn't been eaten by the aforementioned Swampy. The wolfkin's jaw slacked, and then he scooped his small wife in a bone crushing embrace. He caught her mouth, and the following sequence of vigorous, enthusiastic actions made August profoundly and disgustingly nauseated.

"I don't want to interrupt you but I'm sort of drying out here. Do you think you could find me a nice barrel of water before you decide to celebrate the happy news? And you are scarring poor Swampy for life by the way..."


	17. Rumpelstiltskin

RUMPELSTILTSKIN

The miller's adopted daughter is picking up tomatoes in the vegetable garden, when the royal guard shows up and she is being dragged into the castle. She is fighting and scratching, but what can a skinny ginger do against six hench men? She is thrown on the floor of the throne room, and she is staring at the King in confusion. She has committed no crime, to be honest she hasn't done much in her life in general. She's been found in a ditch in a basket, has been looking after her stepsiblings, cooking, cleaning and reading books in the town library. She is hardly a criminal mastermind material. The King is stern, and then she sees her adopted father standing in the corner. He looks ashamed of himself and endlessly gutted. That doesn't look good.

"Your father has claimed that you can spin straw into gold, child," the King's tone is derisive, and she shares his sentiment. What in the name of all deities?! She throws her foster father a what's-your-deal look, but he is not meeting her eyes. "You will be locked in a tower with plenty of straw tonight, and if it isn't spun into gold by morning, you will be beheaded. That will serve all liars in my kingdom to think twice before speaking."

She is being dragged out of the room again, but this time she is not fighting. She knows a hopeless situation when she sees one.

* * *

The room in the tower is cold and damp, and she stops in front of a loom. She is not good at it, she can manage but it's hardly her forte. She is good with needle and she bakes. She sits down in a corner, her knees pulled to her nose and wills herself from crying. What's the point really?

There is a poof sound in the air, and she is staring at a man standing in front of her. He is tall and has a wide build, a noble profile and a very cantankerous expression on his face. His hair is in dark waves, with silver streaks above his forehead and two thick braids on the sides of his face. He is dressed in some odd velvet attire, his dark blue doublet almost looking like an armour, she thinks it is called brigandine, and some sort of mental energy is radiating from him. Even if he hadn't appeared out of thin air, she would know for sure he is of magic. He cocks one brow and looks at her sarcastically.

"I am here to offer you a deal, fair maiden. I am a man of business, so make up your mind quickly. Give me your necklace, and the straw will turn into gold." His voice is bored, and he is radiating exasperation. She presses her hand over her chest. There is a portrait in her pendant, a red haired woman, it was placed in the basket with her, she thinks it's her mother. She has nothing else in life to cherish.

On the other head it will be hard to cherish anything if her head is separate from her body. She closes her eyes, takes a deep breath in and gets up. She takes off the modest string the pendant is on and hands it to the man in dark blue. He picks it up, pushes it in his pocket without looking, her heart clenches and she bites into her bottom lip to suppress a sob, he snaps his fingers, the straw is golden thread, spun and neatly rolled in spools, and he disappears with another poof.

* * *

In the morning the door opens, the King, the miller, guards and even the executor are outside it already. Seriously, not wasting time, are we? She comes out with her head held high. Her triumph is short lived, she is fed, given a chance to bathe, and then locked up in another cell. She spends the day fuming, she is not amused. The first shock from this aggro is wearing off, and her usual temper is rising. She might be a scrap of a girl, but she feels they are pushing it now.

In the evening the story repeats itself. She is once again in front of the throne, this time she is standing one brow lifted and considers making an obscene gesture involving one of her digits, the King barks his order, the miller looks gutted, guards and all court are staring at her with unhealthy curiosity, she is already a legend, and she is brought into another, larger room, filled with straw again. The door slams behind her, and she is standing in the middle of it, tapping her foot. The miller's daughter is a practical girl. Either the dark haired wizard will appear again, and then she will potentially live, or her head will roll tomorrow. Either way, it's not her week.

The wizard appears and his tone is the same. "I am here to offer you a deal, fair maiden. I am a man of business, so make up your mind quickly..."

"I don't have anything else to offer," she interrupts him, and he freezes with his mouth half open. He is apparently not used to such insolence. Well, tough tits. She is looking him over. She is very, very cheesed off. "And even if you help me again, it will just continue. I can't say my life was that ace before, but this is no life at all. Either you need something from me and then offer me something better than just a pile of gold, or I am sure you have much more important matters to attend." The man closes his mouth and for the first time his eyes lose dull, arrogant expression. He slightly tilts his head, and she might be wrong, but was that a little smirk on his lips?

"What is your name, child?"

"Wren." He walks around her, sizing her unabashedly, but she keeps her head up. She literally has nothing to lose except her head, and let's face it, it's hardly sitting on her shoulders properly these days.

"Have you ever been kissed, girl?" His tone is nonchalant, but she is no idiot. Apparently kisses matter. She is flustered, he is weirdly attractive, but she is no idiot.

"No, I have not." He stops in front of her, and then he leans closer to her face, and she sees the astonishing bright colour of his irises. Cold blue, glacial, mesmerizing, and his lips are a surprisingly soft line, and the beard is black and thick, and she feels her knees are jelly.

"A maiden's first kiss is a big deal," his voice is velvet, smokey and low, and she clenches her fists, "It woke up the Sleeping Beauty, and Snow White, it breaks spells and curses, it turns beasts into princes." She meets his stare with a defiant look. "Give me yours, and in the morning the King will have another offer for you." It is very, very vague.

"Not good enough, wizard. I need something more specific." He chuckles.

"You are not dim." His tone is amused.

"Always the tone of surprise," she feigns exasperation. She knows she can't win in the mind games with an imp. That is what he is, an imp, a mischievous avaricious race of spirits, making deals and stealing children. The second part makes her uncomfortable, but right now she needs to survive.

"Give me your first kiss, and this pile of straw will be the last you will have to spin."

"If he chops my head off tomorrow, that will be my last pile of straw. Still not good, wizard." He guffaws.

"Alright, Wren," his voice wraps around her name, like a purr, and she ignores fluttering in her chest. "Kiss me, and your life will go back to the way it was before your foster father opened his big lousy mouth." That seems legit. She gives it a thought and nods.

His lips are tender and warm, he smells like some exotic spices, and the kiss is nothing she expected. He cups her face and caresses her lips for about ten minutes. Or a century. But definitely not long enough. He tries to move away, she wraps her arms around his neck, he is very tall, she is pretty much hanging on him, and she is not letting go. He picks her up under her arms and carefully places her on the floor. Her head is spinning, and he tries to smirk mockingly, but he is disheveled, his eyes are dazed, lips swollen, and he sways. He has to clear his throat and shake his head to even start talking. There is a strange squawk instead of his first word, and he clears his throat again.

"Alright," he is raspy, "A deal is a deal." He snaps his fingers, and she finds herself in her house, in her bed.

* * *

It's an early morning, and something tells her it's that day when she was picking up tomatoes and was dragged to the palace. She goes downstairs, has breakfast, takes care of her step siblings, and then she is sent to the garden to pick up veggies. And of course the guards are already there. She is dragged to the palace, and she is in square one.

She is pushed into the room with the straw, and when there is a poof in the air she is ready. She knees his in the wedding vegetables, and when he falls on his knees in the straw she punches him in the cheekbone. She knows she is not making much damage, but it feels bloody ace!

He falls on his backside, and then she realises he is laughing loudly.

"Oh common, love, have some sense of humour! It _was _funny!"

"Oh, sod off!" She snarls at him, and he shifts, he is sitting in a relaxed pose, one long arm on the bent knee. "And don't you dare saying you have fulfilled your side of the bargain!" He is chuckling heartily for a bit and then opens his mouth. She grabs a handful of straw and pushed it into his mouth. "Belt it! I'm not listening to you!" He spits it out and picks up one straw. It is sticking out of the corner of his lips, and he is chewing at it with his even, white teeth.

"If not me, what chance do you have?" She flops on her backside in the straw, and suddenly she is knackered.

"Even with you I have none. Do you think I'm naive?" She looks at him sadly, he is studying her. "Don't answer me, I know I am. You were wrong, I am dim. I gave up the only two things I had of value, and I'm still at the same spot. And now I am thinking what I have given up was worth dying for. The only gift from my mother, and the gift I could have given a man I were to love."

"After the third night the King will probably offer you to marry him, and yes, you have given up your kiss, but you still have something to gift him with." The imp's tone is suggestive, and she throws him a disgusted look.

"First of all, that is none of your business. Second of all, are you out of your bloody mind?! Why would I marry the bloke who locked me in a tower and was going to chop off my head?! Gee, sometimes I think all those princesses have some sort of mental disorders. A beast abuses them, keeps them locked, and then they fall in love with him and marry him." She shivers and picks up a little dry flower lost among the straw at her feet. She is twirling it in her fingers, and he is pensive.

"Make a deal with me for the last time, and I will help you out of this situation." She gives him a doubtful look. "You are an odd little thing, Wren. You are..." He gives her a small smile, "Entertaining. Make a deal with me, and I will make it all go away."

"How?" She narrows her eyes at him.

"You can always wish for not being abandoned by your family and have a happy life with them, then it will never have happened." She gasps and stares at him in disbelief.

"And you can do it?!"

"Do not doubt my prowess, darling, I do not appreciate such hints," he is chuckling. "So, Wren, do we have a deal?" Her eyes are wide open and emotional, and then she halts.

"What do you want in return?"

"Classics, Wren, all the classics. I will need your first born child." His voice is even, and that is when she lunges at him. Small fists are punching everywhere, she is snarling in fury, and he is catching her wrists.

"I'd rather die six hundred times, again and again! I'd rather marry the King again and again! I'd rather kill myself right now!" She is battering and is even trying to bite him, but he is much stronger, he rolls her under him, and she is yelling in rage. It takes about half an hour for her to exhaust her strength, and she is breathing heavily, her body shaking from the emotional turmoil. He sits up in the straw, and then he pulls her on his lap and starts gently rocking her, stroking her hair.

* * *

"Goodness, Wren, that was quite a fit," his tone is disbelieving, there are bleeding scratches on his face. "I am sorry, love, it's the standard contract, and I assumed you'd just send me where the sun don't shine. I honestly wasn't serious..." His voice is laced with remorse, and she sobs. "I am so sorry, I could not even reassure you, you were like a little tiger..." Tears start, and she is wailing quietly. "Of course I wouldn't take your child, we rarely do. And again, if a mother gives a child up, we just find them a new family, some nice couple who can't have their own. We check their background… And anyone ever hardly agrees… I am sorry..." She is hollering and hides her face in his chest. His face is miserable. "I am a tosser, Wren, I am so sorry… I haven't realised you were on the verge of a nervous break down…" Loud howling is the answer to him, and he starts making comforting shushing noises, cuddling her to him. He pulls out a pristine handkerchief and starts wiping her eyes and nose. Then he conjures a glass of water and gives it to her. She is hiccupping, and her teeth are chattering on the cup, so he has to help her drink.

"Here, here, love, small sips, here we go..." His tone is tender.

She is clenching the glass in her hands, and with a soft poof he transports them to some sort of a palace, opulent decor and soft sofas. She is too tired and too hysterical to care. And then he leans in and kisses her. She freezes, and then it finally reaches her foggy brain. She topples the half glass of water she had left on his head and jumps off his lap.

"Wren, darling..." His tone is pacifying, and the glass flies into his head. "Darling, I am sorry..." She grabs the nearest object, it is some sort of an expensive looking vase, and hurls it into his head. "My love, surely you agree there is something between us..." Another vase follows. He yelps, "These are very valuable… It's Ming dynasty!" She blindly grabbed something, and he rushes ahead. "Please, not this one! It belonged to Madame de Pompadour, I had to grant six wishes for it!" The porcelain object flies an inch to the left from his temple. "Wren, my love..."

"Don't you dare even mentioning my name!" Her voice is shrieky and hysterical. "And you don't know what love is! Put me back into that bloody tower! I want my beheading!"

"Please, darling," he approaches her with his hands lifted in the air in a defensive gesture. "Be wise..."

"Beheading!" She is livid, "I demand to be executed! Anything is better than your manky kisses!"

"You do not mean it..."

"Now! I want my head chopped off now, or I will find some tower and jump out of it myself!"

"Wren..." His tone is panicked, and she grabs some dagger from a wall. With a poof it is in his hands, and she yells in desperate white rage. She considers jumping at him again, there is more room on his face for scratches, and then he sadly sighs and snaps his fingers.

* * *

She finds herself in a field of merry yellow flowers, in front of a small cozy house, she has never been here before. The door opens, and a small white haired woman comes out. She is ancient and clearly blind. But she also looks like Wren.

"Who is it?" The old woman's voice is still strong and rings wilfully.

"My name is Wren." Wren steps ahead and then realises her pendant is back on her chest. She pulls it out, it is cleaned and polished and put on a strong golden chain. "I do not know anything about my parents, but I have this pendant… It has a portrait of a red haired woman inside..."

"What pendant?" The woman steps ahead, and Wren sees her shoulders shake in hardly suppressed emotions. "Is the woman on it wearing a green dress? Are there blue ribbons in her hair? That is my daughter, Norma..." The woman's voice breaks, and tears are running down Wren's face. "You sound just like her."

Wren rushes ahead and embraces her grandmother.

* * *

The imp shows up a week later, he is carrying a bouquet of her favourite lilacs, and his face is haughty. He is hiding his insecurity under the cantankerous facade and mumbles that he was just checking up on her, and of course he didn't need anything, and he honestly tried to stay away... The old woman sends him packing because she has just found her granddaughter, and she is not giving her up to some magical tosser. Wren is quiet and is looking under her feet.

It takes the imp a whole year of wooing, cajoling, showing that he has changed his ways, extensive charity work, grand gestures and decorous drinking tea with the grandmother once a week to convince Wren to go out with him. They have a decorous walk around the lake, and she can't help it anymore. She grabs the front of his doublet and pulls him to her lps. She is left breathless and as if drunk. He looks no better.

"What is your name exactly?" He groans. He is already a putty in her hands, he might as well give up.

"You do know it is basically all my magical power in one word, right?"

"You do want to marry me, right?" Her tone is teasing, but her voice breaks a bit around the word 'marry.' He leans in and whispers it into her ear. His breath tickles her helix, and she twists and catches his mouth.


	18. Three Tales in One

**A/N: ****My lovelies****, I was researching the fairy tales, since the previous chapter, **_**Rumpelstiltskin**_ **got me in the mood for writing more of these mental tales of mine, but then KABOOM!**

**My barmy brain galloped away in some VERY odd direction. **_**Puss in Boots**_**, **_**Goose Girl**_ **and **_**Princess Mayblossom**_ **merged in my noggin and a pin on Pinterest triggered one visual in my head, and then as usual my mind conjured something so mental out of it that all I could do is gape and type :)**

**The story that was born is definitely not T rated. ****I'm posting a teaser here, and will work on it some time soon****.**

**This is going to be a multi-chapter madness probably, so buckle up! :D**

* * *

PUSS IN BOOTS/ GOOSE GIRL/ PRINCESS MAYBLOSSOM

The rain poured mercilessly on the town square, and yet the crowd was large and the executioner was impatient. Women brought their children, men hid under the hoods, yet their eyes were glued to the scaffold, its wood darkened by the cold water pouring from the dark storm clouds. The day was windless, and the noose hung still.

Low murmurs ran through the crowd, the execution was late, and then the barred door of the town tower opened, and five guards led the prisoner out. The crowd wavered, gasps and loud exclamations rang on the square, a distressed woman's voice could be heard over others.

The prison towered over his wardens, at least a head taller than the largest man they could find among the town guards, water was running down his dark waves, half of them loosely clasped in a long ponytail on his back, and down the thick black beard. He had bright blue eyes, framed by black lashed and highlighted by the thick brows, the stare cold and haughty.

His hands were tied, in front of him, although it was customary to untie those to be hanged before the execution. Some wanted to pray, some needed to hold on to rails, weak in their knees. The man led to the gallows was hardly in need to support himself. He walked confidently, shoulders squared. He was clad in a black tunic, blood dried and now being washed down by the rain on his right side. Worn down thick trousers, obviously previously worn under armour legwear, were torn at the knees, he had been clearly dragged on them on a paved street. Altogether he looked battered and beaten up, but his spirit was hardly broken.

At some point someone yelled some obscenity from the crowd, and the glacial eyes fixed on the screamer. The young son of miller, and he was never the bravest of them, shrank away from the feral glare and hid behind his mates.

Besides the immense height, the man to be hanged had an enormous wide build, arms bulging with muscles, robust torso, prominent pectoral muscles, even more obvious under the wet shirt. He had a slight limp, favouring the left leg, judging by the blood on it the injury had also been the result of what preceded his incarceration.

Even tied, limp, half his face swollen and bloodied the man exuded so much physical and will power, that the old executioner, who had been throwing ropes on the necks of men for years and was the largest man in the service of the King, felt discomforted. The prisoner walked up the stairs and stood under the noose prepared for him. Guards whispered between themselves, but none decided to approach the man, his hands still tied together, unnecessarily tightly, ropes cutting into his wrists.

The town chancellor appeared from under the colonnade around the tower and quickly minced to the scaffold. He hastily read the man's sentence, death through hanging, the man being declared guilty of treason, robbery and murder, and the crowd exchanged approving whispers.

The man was offered a chance to pray to his ancestors or any spirits he deemed sacred but his face remained unreadable, as if he weren't addressed at all. The chancellor trailed away and cleared his throat awkwardly. 'Any last wishes' was met by the same cantankerous expression on the man's noble face, water running down the thick black braids on the sides of his face, and the chancellor nodded the executioner to proceed.

"Wait," a clear voice rang across the square, "Are you not forgetting anything?" The crowd shuffled and moved, and then divided in two halves letting a young woman step from behind the people. Everyone's eyes were on her slender shape. She wore a hooded cloak, over a light set of armour, all of her dirty and battered, the orange colour of her unruly curls escaping from under the hood obvious even under a substantial layer of grime. "How about the Red Ribbon Oath? He has the right to be offered servitude instead of death." The crowd muttered in displeasure. The man was infamous enough for many to look forwards to his demise.

"We have assumed in this case..." The chancellor started in a squeaky voice, when the young woman stepped closer and pushed the hood back from her face. A pair of odd slanted eyes met the chancellor's ones. She had a thin angular face, high cheekbones and a wide red mouth. She would have looked no older than twelve, if not for the long scar across her right temple and cheekbone, and a long two handed sword comfortably sitting at her back.

"The custom is the custom, my lord chancellor. I evoke the right of every citizen to offer a prisoner a lifelong servitude in exchange for their life being spared. And I have the Ribbon," her small hand in leather glove dipped under her chainmail, and she pulled the aforementioned object. The scarlet strip of silk, with the crest of the Fire Order to authenticate the spell on the ribbon, was vibrating with the magic weaved into it.

"He doesn't deserve living," some hysterical voice came from behind the woman's back but she ignored it with the same aloof expression as the man on the scaffold had had on his face through the whole conversation.

The chancellor started a frantic exchange with the captain of the town guard, but they hardly could do anything. The custom was the custom.

"Alright, you can offer," the chancellor's voice was shaky, and he turned to the prisoner. "You, the man known under the name of Black Smith, do you accept the pledge?"

_To be continued..._


	19. Twelve Dancing Princesses

TWELVE DANCING PRINCESSES

A knight named Thorin was enjoying wine and cheese in an inn, his pipe packed with the best tobacco the town he was in had to offer, and the day seemed sunny and merry, when his nephew and a squire rushed in, flailing his arms and shouting loudly. The knight called Thorin threw a mournful look at the last slice of cheese on his plate and braced himself.

"Uncle! Uncle! Kili is in trouble." _When is he not? _thought the knight and sighed. He was too old for this poppycock. They were on the way back home from yet another war, and somehow Thorin thought it was the last one. His squires who also happened to be his nephews were returning with him, and the knight could just imagine arriving back at his castle, perhaps taking a wife, some simple, round widow, and finishing his days in idle grouchy existence. He honestly didn't want any more adventures. There was enough silver in his hair, and there were enough scars on his body. He wasn't a young man anymore.

"Uncle, they will execute him in two days, we need to haste!" Fili, the knight's older nephew was panting, his blonde curls standing around his head like a lion's mane, and the knight felt like asking, _When don't they want to execute Kili?_ Two towns back he interfered in a pub brawl, in the previous town he was trying to save a, given, very sad looking maiden from arranged marriage. His brother was no better. Though on the more reasonable side he was also prone to unwise rashness. Thorin on the other hand wasn't a young man anymore, he knew that all that mattered was to keep low and get home.

It turned out Fili was quite right. Kili managed to get himself into yet another aggravation. Apparently the King of the small kingdom they found themselves in had twelve daughters. The said twelve daughters were of astonishing beauty, which Thorin found rather dull, he had lived for a long time, he had seen it all, but his nephew apparently found rather titillating. The daughters also had an unfortunate habit of partaking some mysterious activities at night, and the King wanted to know what they were. At this place of Fili's account of what had happened Thorin felt like asking _What sort of activities does the King think they could partake at night being as alluring as the first drops of dew on the petals of a rose, bored out of their mind and left to their own devices_? _Embroidery no doubt._ Thorin indeed had seen it all, and for a second his mind was flooded with the images of twelve enticing maidens performing most interesting acts. Perhaps he was not that old.

Princes and knights travelling by were given a chance to marry one of the princesses and even become an heir to the throne. But with one condition. Thorin wanted to say, _When wasn't there one?_ Knowing Kili he was more after saving the princesses from whatever spell had befallen them, than actually aiming for a marriage and a place at the throne. Thorin knew better and assumed the princesses were just slightly loose. The problem was that after three nights of not solving this riddle, the suitors were to be decapitated. Kili had already failed once. And there Thorin was thinking the boys had been drinking in the tavern last night creating havoc and charming barmaids.

Thorin sighed sadly, popped the last slice of cheese into his mouth and got up. He might have been too old for this poppycock, but no one was separating his nephew's head from his shoulders. Thorin wanted to live too, dealing with his sister after such incident would be unwise. Thorin was as tough as an old boot but Dis could kill with one look.

* * *

The princesses were indeed the most beautiful women Thorin had seen in his life, and he had seen a lot. He was after all not that young. Lined up behind their father's throne in the visitor parlour they were indeed very enthralling. All of the princesses were blonde, tall and had enticing curves. Legs just went on forever, but Thorin had seen plenty of legs in his many years of travel. He gave the oldest one a lopsided smirk, and she blushed. Thorin knew what he was doing.

Thorin gave their father a low bow and quickly explained that his nephew was a blithering idiot.

"We are planning to have a healer look at him once we are back home," Thorin pronounced pointedly and swirled his finger around near his temple, "So surely the boy was not to be taken seriously." The King pouted his lips and said that the deal was the deal. _It will not be a nice deal if I chop off your head with my battle axe now_, thought Thorin and gave the King a nice friendly smile.

"Perhaps I could take my nephew's place," he offered good-naturedly, "I will even take just the two remaining nights, I don't need that many anyway." The princesses exchanged worried murmurs and the oldest one made googly eyes at him. _You cannot put new wine in old bottles,_ Thorin thought and gave her a flirtation wink. She looked rather daft, but some of that might be useful later. The next younger sister poked the first one under her ribs with the elbow, and they all started whispering something frantically to each other's ears. _The same old thing,_ Thorin agreed with himself. He tended to do a lot of it.

* * *

His opinion was to be reconsidered when after the first night of guarding the princesses' rooms he woke up with a headache and nowhere closer to understanding where the princesses were disappearing at night and what exactly was happening to their shoes. _Not having a head wouldn't be as comfortable as an old shoe,_ Thorin thought, _but you can't teach an old dog new tricks._ So he decided that quickly slamming through the doors of the jail and freeing his nephew, fighting their way out and continuing their way home was the best option.

_A good meal never harmed anyone_, he thought, and decided that the attack was to happen at the dawn, when a maid came and brought his dinner. There was roasted mutton, and wine, and he picked up a slice of cheese, when he realised that the maid had not left. She was standing by the door studying him attentively. First thing he noticed was that she was astonishingly and loudly unattractive. _You would think one could find at least one nice thing in every girl, but would you look at that,_ Thorin thought, and she gave him a sarcastic smile. She was a ginger, skinny, freckled, wore a dull grey dress, her hair was braided in two thick braids behind her ears, but whole bunch of orange springs escaped and she looked like a very unattractive dandelion. Her face was angular, her mouth too wide, lips red, and altogether he felt sorry for the poor bairn. _No hope for a husband for this one,_ Thorin thought, _perhaps not even a hurried tumble in a hay with a stable boy. _Even worse it was perhaps for such an ugly duckling in the quarters of twelve gorgeous princesses.

"How are you falling for it?" She suddenly asked and tsk-tsked. "That's the oldest trick in the book. A wee bit of belladonna in your wine and here you go. So old school..." She shook her head in fake disbelief, and he lowered the cup with wine he was lifting to his lips.

_That explains the headache this morning,_ Thorin thought, and looked at the girl more attentively. She perhaps wasn't as young as he thought initially, just because she was so small and unassuming he gave her no more than sixteen. She looked very confident though, studying him with strange slanted eyes, merry and gleaming sardonically.

"Do you happen to have any more advice for me, honourable maiden?" He decided to keep his voice soft, and then even added a charming smile at the end. If it worked on princesses, the help stood no chance.

"So's your old man!" The girl quipped back and gave out a short sarcastic laugh. "Do I look daft to you? I'm not helping you for good old nothing." She also looked completely unaffected by Thorin's charm, and to his own shock he found it… refreshing. He threw her a large silver pouch, and she weighed it on her hand.

"They will come to check on you to make sure you are completely out of it. So pretend and follow them when they leave." He gave her a studying look, and she giggled. "You are an old-timer aren't you? You did it for the nephew, yeah? He has your looks, although the blonde one is cuter. Quite a chip off an old block, is he?" She stepped closer to him, he was sitting on the chair near the table, and suddenly her tiny finger ran along the bridge of his nose. "I can never say no to a long nose and blue eyes." He was staring at her in astonishment, she giggled again and left. The knight called Thorin wasn't used to being wrong about women, but that one was a rare old time. _Back to business though_, he thought, lay down and pretended to snore.

* * *

After checking on him, which involved poking him under his ribs with a royal finger, he almost revealed himself, he was extremely ticklish, the princesses picked up their skirts, climbed out of the window, and disappeared in the dark.

The knight named Thorin was old, but even he was impressed when after following the princesses through a passage he had to walk through three groves of trees, the first having leaves of silver, the second of gold, and the third of glittering diamonds. Thorin thought of breaking off a twig of each, solely as an evidence of course, but then he thought such treasures only brought trouble, quite an old chestnut to be honest, and he followed the twelve naughty princesses.

Then there was a big lake, and Thorin cringed. He wasn't fond of water. Twelve boats with twelve poncy princes in them explained everything. The princesses boarded, sniggering daftly and battering their lashes. Judging by how the princes' hands were wandering, Thorin just couldn't understand how the shoes would wear out. Surely there was not much time spent vertically for these plonkers.

The boats left, and Thorin stared at the water in disgust. Firstly, he thought, _you cannot teach an old dog new tricks_. He couldn't just learn how to swim right now, could he? And secondly, the water looked quite enchanted. He wasn't a young man anymore, he had seen enough magic to recognise the manky gleamer.

"Same old story with you," he heard the sarcastic voice behind him and swirled on his heels. The maid from the palace stood behind him, smiling widely. He looked her over and agreed with himself from before, she was odd to say nothing. And yet he was sort of getting used to her strange looks, especially after she walked around him and pulled a small boat from the nearest bushes.

"Oh, I could just kiss you now!" He exclaimed, and she suddenly blushed furiously. He watched red spill on her high cheekbones.

"You are a dirty old man, aren't you?" Despite the blush, she still sounded rather snarky, and then she shrugged, "Well, might as well."

He didn't expect the little hop she needed to make to reach him, there was more than a foot of height difference between them, the slender arms wrapped around his neck, she hung on him and pressed her lips to his.

* * *

The princesses had long disembarked their boats and went inside the glowing crystal palace on the island in the center of the lake, but the knight called Thorin was busy. The maid's boat turned quite a comfortable old coop.

"What is your name?" He asked tenderly kissing the tip of her freckled turn-up nose.

"Wren," she answered and laughed. "Do you always kiss first and ask later?"

"I was accosted, had no say in it," he quipped back with a feigned indignation, and she giggled. She was cozily tucked on his lap, his arms wrapped around her, and he kissed the soft cheek, and then again, and then again. And then the lips. And then it was quiet for a while.

* * *

"So what are those princesses doing there?" He asked lazily, running his fingers through her copper curls, and she lifted her head from his chest and gave him a merry look.

"You wouldn't believe it, but they dance," she pushed her small fist under her chin, and he gazed with pleasure in the amber coloured odd eyes.

"Surely, there are better things to do all night," he wiggled his eyebrows, and she snorted and nipped the skin on his bare chest. He emitted a fake yelp, and they both laughed.

"I sneak there quite often, they have amazing petit fours there, and it's all magically created and refilled on the trays so they don't notice. I can eat as much as I want." He gave her pert little buttock a squeeze.

"Somehow I doubt such little bird as you can eat a lot." She grabbed his nose between her thumb and curled index finger and retorted.

"Don't underestimate me, old man, I have quite a healthy appetite."

"That you do," he rumbled and rolled her underneath him. More silence ensued. Alright, not silence, she was quite a screamer.

* * *

"So why do you stay in the castle?" He asked after round two and three. "You can just pluck yourself some treasure in those groves and be rich."

"And do what?" She asked and yawned. She was all soft and sleepy after the activities of the last hours. "Being rich is so very boring! In the palace there are intrigues, and gossip, and all sort of drama, the cook is having an affair with the stable boy, and she is twice his age, we have parties, and work of course, but I don't mind, and I have friends, and we laugh a lot..." She yawned again. "But since you are insisting, I will go with you and we can grow old and boring together in your castle." Her cheek was pressed to his chest, little fingers running through his chest hair, lots of silver in it as well. And he couldn't see her face, but her voice was impish and merry. _Quite fine with me, _he thought.

"Better be an old man's darling than a young man's slave," he mumbled, and she snorted.

"Well, there is still some life in this old dog," she sing-songed, and her strong little hand slid lower. _Indeed there was_, the knight called Thorin thought, picked her up under her arms and placed her on himself. She was much less sleepy now, feral gleam in her eyes, and he smirked to her lopsidedly.

* * *

The next morning after the princesses were properly castigated by their father, locked in their rooms, and the little maid ran to her room to pack her trunk, Kili was to be released from the prison, but during the night he had managed to interfere in a fight there too, and then he helped some thief escape, since according to the lowlife himself he had only been thieving to save money for his wedding. So they still ended up fighting their way out of the palace. While punching one of the guard in the face Kili shrugged, gave his uncle a radiant smile and Thorin thought, _Old habits die slow_, while giving a proper kick under the jacksie of another guard who landed in the moat with a loud splash.

"Are you up to your old tricks?" The voice of the maid came from a window above Thorin's head, and he smiled happily. The nephews looked at him in shock, they had never seen this expression on his face, and he looked up and opened his arms.

"Common down, love, just throw the trunk first!"

"Nah," she grinned to him back, "Sod the trunk." She threw her long slender legs over the sill and jumped in his arms. She landed with a 'ooph,' and he kissed her firmly.

"Is it one of the princesses?" The older squire asked his brother, and Kili shook his head still staring at his uncle who was energetically snogging a skinny ginger, her bum supported by his hands, her legs around his waist.

"A bit too young for him, isn't she?" Kili whispered back to his brother, and the girl tore her mouth from their uncle's lips.

"I'm quite an old head on young shoulders, you'll find," her voice was sarcastic, and the knight named Thorin guffawed. She looked in his eyes lovingly and pushed her hands at the thick ebony waves at the back of his head, "And there's many a good tune to play on this old fiddle."

"Oh you..." He rumbled, kissed her merrily, and calling his horse with a whistle he perched his ginger on the saddle, climbed behind her, unnecessarily ran his hands over her small frame, and off they went. The knight called Thorin, his two squires and the former palace maid reached their home with just a few other adventures on the way and lived happily ever after.


	20. Aladdin

ALADDIN

Mister John Thorington, from _Thorington &amp; Balinson_, a successful publishing house, was enjoying his morning jog when his expensive stylish trainer snatched at some metal object. He flailed his arms in the air, trying to stay vertical, and after a few clumsy hops he managed to straighten up and look at the cursed thing.

It was an old oil lamp, looking like a prompt from an old Hollywood film where the protagonist's face had makeup the colour of a terracotta pot, and everything was slightly uncomfortable for the contemporary audience due to many artistic solutions bordering to racist.

Mr. Thorington picked up the lamp and brushed his hand to it. Of course, he could pretend he did it to see the lamp under the layer of dirt, but somewhere deep inside he was sort of hoping for a cloud of sparkly smoke to come out of it, and a brill blue bloke with the voice of Robin Williams to pop out of it. No jam. The lamp stayed as it was - nothing but an old gismo. John shrugged and was already inclined to propel it into a bin, but then his mobile rang. Still holding the lamp in his hand he picked up, only to find out that there was an emergency in their Manchester branch. John twirled on his heels and marched home, trying to get back to his laptop as quick as possible, while yelling at the unfortunate employee in his ear, demanding answers and reports.

At home he realised the lamp was still in his hand, so he stuffed it on his stylish key table by the door, toed off his shoes, and stomped into his office, roaring and raging.

* * *

He rediscovered the lamp the next morning, when he was leaving for work. He was picking up the key to his Jag, and he stared at the object. For a mo he even couldn't quite suss out what the thing was, and then he remembered.

"What am I to do with this rubbish?" he grumbled, and picked it up with one finger through its handle. And then some strange playfulness came over him, and he rubbed its round side with the other hand. "C'mon, genie, come out. Don't be shy!"

He guffawed at his own joke...

...and a cloud of suffocating, black smoke puffed into his face, making him cough hysterically, and his eyes water. The lamp dropped on the floor with a loud clank.

"Oi, mate! Who's treating a lady like this?" a fruity female voice pronounced, and John waved his hand in the air to clear out the smoke, still coughing loudly.

One thing was for sure. The genie looked nothing like the blue cartoon bloke. Or the late Robin Williams for that matter. It was a curvaceous, tall chick, chestnut curls on her shoulders, giant brown eyes, long lashes, and plenty of make up. Her clothes looked exotic, but nowhere near authentic. A stripper with the stage name the Gem of the Arabic Night would wear something like that. Also, she did sound chav, like she was from Blackpool.

Fists pressed into her hips, she gave him a look over, and then her eyes softened, and she licked her lips.

"Well, hello there... And who would you be?" she purred, and made a step towards him. John winced away, and his back bumped into the entrance door. "Now, who's being shy, mate?"

John made another step back, but she was right in front of him, and a pair of very deft hands ran his chest.

"I have to say, you, love, are a proper improvement from the last time. What a twat that last 'lampee' was. Yuck. Still better than my two most favourite… " She wrinkled her nose. "That lairy geezer couple centuries ago, and that grotty navvy about fifty years ago..." She cringed in disgust, but then she focused on him again, with quite a predatory look, and her fingers snakes under his jacket, ran his ribs, making him jerk, and then her nose was right in front of his. He was only a head taller than her.

"Are you a jinn?" he rasped out.

"What gave me out?" She flashed him a toothy grin.

"Mostly, the lamp..." he answered, and she rolled with laughter.

"And here I thought it was the clobber..." She released him - and by the way, her hands did travel down and brushed at his buttocks - and twirled in front of him, throwing him salacious looks.

He continued gawking at her, and she gave out an exaggerated sigh and grabbed his tie, dragging him into the living room.

"C'mon, mate, let's chinwag."

She led him to the sofa, and then with a firm push into his sternum, she deposited him on it. Then, she walked up to his liquor cabinet and started studying the labels.

"Want something?" she threw over her shoulder.

"It's eight o'clock in the morning!" he exclaimed, and she gave him a pointed look. "Some Jameson, please."

"That's my bevvy!" She cheerfully clapped her hands, and poured them both a generous amount. John toppled his in his throat, while she settled comfortably in the armchair in front of him and sipped, squinting in pleasure.

They were quiet for a few minutes, and then she sighed.

"Alright, time is liras, mate. You know the pitch. Three wishes, no wishing love, no wishing changing past, no killing, no bringing back from dead, blah-blah-blah... If you want some rubbish I can't do, I'll let you know, but otherwise, Bob's your Uncle." She waved her hand in the air in a dismissive gesture, sipping her Jameson. "And feel free to take your time. I have nowhere to rush, and the bevvy is ace." She gave him a wink, and the plum pink lips closed over the edge of the glass.

John took a few measured breaths in.

"And what happens after three wishes?"

"A pop." She rounded her lips, and there was indeed a pop to her last consonant.

"A what?"

"Well," she drew out, with a bored expression on her face. "There is a puff of smoke, and the lamp disappears from your hands, and I get ricocheted somewhere else, where the next punter picks me up, and so on, and so on..." She looked into her now empty glass, jumped off the chair, and walked back to the cabinet, swaying her hips. John couldn't help but look.

"But... What about setting you free at the end?" he asked.

"Hm... Never happened before." She shrugged, filling up her glass again. "Who'd want to give up 33.3%of what they can get?" She took a big gulp, and gave him a measured look over. "Are you one of those who take years to think? I once had to cock about that one bloke for twenty years, he'd only made one wish, and then his heart conked out from all that shag he'd wished for himself." She gave out a smoky laughter. "That's what I call irony."

"What do you mean 'cock about'? Where exactly do you... cock about?" John was starting to feel a wee bit uneasy.

"Well, in your flat of course, mate," she laughed, and looked around. "Nice one, by the way. Shall we start with shopping for clothes maybe? I do love me some D&amp;G. You think through your wishes, I get to watch telly. I hope you have Netflix."

John was getting a migraine.

* * *

A week later it became clear he needed to make those wishes, and pronto. Basically, he acquired himself a very demanding doxy, except without any... doxy privileges. Don't get him wrong, it didn't even come to his mind to ask for any. He was too much of a gentleman. And with all honesty, TJ - that was the genie's name, according to her - as fit as she was, was getting on his nerves. She looked his type, he did fancy them with tits and arse, and bright, dark eyed and dark-haired - but the gob! His nanny would've washed his with soap if he'd ever had the nerve to say what his lodger was spitting out on everyday basis. She also left crumbs and wrappers from chocolate - seemingly, the only ingredient of her diet - all over his flat, her makeup and brushes crowded his bathroom, knickers and bras were hanging from every lamp and the back of every chair, and she had a habit of watching cartoons, full volume, all night. And yes, of course _Aladdin _was her favourite! John's eyes was starting to twitch these days with the first notes of _Prince Ali_.

The funny thing... John just couldn't come up with anything. He properly couldn't think of anything to wish for. He had money, he had a job he loved, he had his family. He was healthy, moderately attractive, and... honestly, nothing came to mind.

He carefully inquired from TJ whether he could make wishes for others. Say, ending world hunger, or stopping some war, or at least some minor military conflict, but she pouted her lips and shook her head.

"Common, mate! Do I look like Gandhi?" she drew out in her pikey accent. "I'm here for some manky selfish wishes. Like a bigger cock, or a boat..." She threw a look at his crotch, and somehow John felt she really could know. He fought an urge to shield his wedding vegetables with his hands. "Oh I see..." she murmured, licking her lips. "Good on you, mate. Just a boat then?"

John didn't want a boat. He really didn't want anything. He was starting to scale it down. More questioned followed, and he was getting desperate. Apparently, the whole mechanism was built for wankers: he couldn't wish for money and then give it out for charity - he could only spend it on himself - and he couldn't ask to cure other people, only his own sicknesses. Basically, all he could do was to be a self-absorbed prick.

When he expressed his frustration with it, TJ stuffed another truffle into her mouth and mumbled, "What did you expect, love? The world would've been a much better place, if magic worked this way. There are decent peeps here, they'd have wished for it. Nope, just something for you."

* * *

One evening, while Gilbert Gottfried was yelling at the background, John was nursing another Jameson, and that's when inspiration struck.

"Can I make vague wishes?" he asked, and TJ threw him a questioning look. "I reckon, if I can't wish anything nice for anyone else, can I wish for myself, but vague?"

"How vague?" she asked, after swallowing the bite of her Double Decker.

"Like... I wish the best thing that could happen to me would happen tomorrow." John pronounced, and she squeed and started clapping.

"Oh I like this! And yes, you can. It's selfish enough." She jumped off the sofa, throwing the sweet on it - John cringed from the view of the sticky mess on the light beige surface - and she ran up to him.

"Alright, mate, is this official? Is that your wish?"

He got up as well and straightened up.

"It is. I wish the best thing that could happen to me would happen tomorrow."

"Done!" she yelled, and clapped her hands again. There was a loud pop in the air, and the black smoke once again filled the room.

"Is this going to happen every time?" he asked in a bleak voice, towards the spot where he thought she was standing. He properly couldn't see anything.

"Yep. Sorry," she answered. "Give it a mo. It'll clear out, and we can go back to telly."

John groaned. He was getting properly tired of the bloody cartoon.

* * *

The next morning he jumped out of the bed, took a shower, and left for work. TJ said that the best way to let the wish fulfilling to go smoothly was to follow his usual routine. John couldn't complain. He loved his work... and didn't love his flat these days.

A lorry that torpedoed his Jag didn't even brake. The airbags blew up, filling the car with manky smoke, the belt slashed across his chest, and everything grew black.

* * *

"John! John! Can you hear me?" an energetic female voice called for him. He felt movement, he was being driven on stretchers, and he groaned.

"He's coming around, Dr. Leary," a male voice said.

"I still need X rays and blood work," the same female voice insisted, and a cool hand lay on John's face. And then a flashlight was pointed into his eye that she forced to open, and he jerked his head. "Don't move, Mr. Thorington. We don't know what's going on with your neck."

John opened his eyes. The nurse was pushing the stretchers, and the aforementioned Dr. Leary was marching along. She was small, skinny, and a ginger. The mad orange curls were gathered in a tall ponytail, and she smiled to him.

"Welcome back, John."

* * *

He did get a wee bit of whiplash, but nothing demanding prolonged hospital stay. It became clear he needed Dr. Wren Leary's phone number ten minutes into his examination, and fifteen minutes in he got it. She blushed, he grinned.

He took a cab home and rushed into the flat.

_Will be back in six weeks. Genie matters. Kiss, kiss. TJ_, said the note pinned to his fridge, and John couldn't say that the long sigh he emitted wasn't full of relief.

He slept for twenty hours straight, took four days off, through which he watched lashings of horror movies to rid himself of the Disney OD. He also cleaned the flat, putting all of TJ's stuff in boxes. Because there was a big chance Dr. Leary was stopping by soon, and the last thing he needed was for her to encounter a double D red lacy bra.

Dr. Leary stopped by two weeks later. To be precise, they fell into the flat, in an entanglement of limbs, deep in a passionate kiss.

"John, we need to be careful with your back..." she breathed out, and he guffawed.

"You are right, I think I need to stretch it. Bed or floor?" She giggled and smacked his chest gently.

"Duffus."

* * *

It was Sunday, and he was having a cuppa, half reading his paper, half planning his date with Wren, when the front door - that had three locks on it, by the way, but duh, magic - opened, and TJ sauntered in, about ten shopping bags in each hand. John somehow didn't have a doubt it all went onto his credit card.

"Wotcher, guvnor!" TJ announced gleefully, and plopped on the sofa. Weren't John madly in love with his ginger, he'd appreciate the leather mini, tall boots, and the leopard top hugging her everything all the best way. All John did was shrugged and offered her a cuppa.

TJ hummed gratefully and moved to the kitchen table.

"So, how's your wish?" she asked cheekily, and wiggled her eyebrows. He couldn't suppress a wide grin and shook his head in a fake exasperation.

"You are well aware how my wish is. And..." He placed her usual coffee in front of her, and said seriously, "Thank you."

"My pleasure, mate." She grinned back and dumped five spoonfuls of sugar in her brew. "Sorry about the car though. Still better than what you had in books."

"Hm?" John asked absent-mindedly getting her a box of chocolates out of the cabinet.

"Well, a Jag isn't exactly a bad price for living, right?" she said, and he frowned.

"TJ, what are you about? We are talking about Wren, right?"

"Who's Wren?" TJ asked giving him the same confused look he was giving her.

"Wren... Leary. My girlfriend. Actually, I might marry her... Someday..." He pondered it for a moment. "Soon probably..."

"Mate, are you arsed up?" TJ gave him a doubtful look over. "You were supposed to die in a car crash six weeks ago. Your wish saved your life. You know I love you, Johnny boy. You are a decent bloke, and never tried to knob me. I was even going to say something, but you came up with that wish, so I was very chuffed... But there was no Wren in books for you." She then froze and gave him a look over. "Wait, a chick? And what?! Did you just drop the M word?!"

John heavily fell on his chair and stared into nothing. TJ stayed silent too, and then she loudly slurped her coffee and summarised, "Well, I reckon you can say the lamp was generous with you, and you got two goodies by the price of one."

John blinked, lifted his eyes at her, and after giving it a thought he pronounced slowly, "I reckon it did. Which means I have only one wish left."

"Nah," TJ waved her hand at him. "Just say thank you and make two more. You were jammy, but it's not like you asked for two things, so I say you still can..."

"I'm setting you free," John deadpanned, interrupting her.

TJ froze with her mouth half open.

"I mean, I've already gotten more than I asked for, and with all honesty, how many centuries have you been tolerating this shite? I'm setting you free, TJ." John nodded, confirming. TJ was still silent gawking at him, and he wondered if he made a mistake. "I mean, if you want to, of course. I just assumed, but if you don't..."

He was interrupted by an ear piercing squeal of pure and unadulterated glee, and then she lunged at him, arms around his neck, toppling him on the floor together with his chair.

"My back..." John rasped, suffocated by her glorious bust. "I still have the whip lash..."

"Oh shut your gob, Thorington!" she yelled and snogged him. He reckoned it would take longer if he fought so he endured it as a man. He was certain Wren would forgive.

"I think I'm gay," TJ announced after tearing her mouth off his immobile lips.

"Thank goodness," he breathed out. "And I think I need to buy a ring."

"I'll come with." She jumped off him. She never could pass a shopping trip.

* * *

John married Dr. Leary two months later. TJ, by then a manager in a lingerie shop, was the maid of honour. John offered the name "Gennifer" for their first child - Wren was abstaining from champagne at the wedding - but the ultrasound clearly showed a penis. Three, to be precise.

"Good things come in threes," John merrily announced, and Wren gave him a glare. He guffawed and kissed his wife firmly. He once again got more than he asked for, and he couldn't say he minded.

* * *

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modern romance/erotica humour story, initially written here}

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**CONVINCE ME THE WINTER IS OVER**

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**_Summary:_**

_Renee Miller is a reclusive web designer who, after several hours of delirium from flu, wakes up to find a stranger in boxer briefs standing in her bathroom._

_John is an archaeologist who finds himself stuck in a stranger's flat in a snowstorm._

_Frozen in her neat and clean world of highly functional anxieties and her history of childhood trauma, Renee is perhaps the worst possible host for her flatmate's boyfriend's colleague. Yet, while the fervent gush of life that is John Greaves disrupts her carefully guarded existence, Renee finds herself gradually yearning for more._

_Is John the first breath of Spring in her frigid world?_


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