In The Name Of The Prince

William reached the edge of the forest as the sun had almost finished its slow and gracious downhill slope behind the mountains. An eerie spectacle unfolded before the young man’s eyes. From his point of view, he could see nothing ahead but a vast, dried, dusty and dark land, filled with steep stones of all dimensions and- he hardly held his gasp- skeletons. Skeletons of many young men whose pride, courage, or perhaps despair and resignation have brought there, to their end. Most of them were facing the forest. They probably saw in it a refuge they hopelessly tried to reach. A futile shred of faith. As William was embracing the shadowy land, whose boundaries reached a mountain’s foothill, his eyes noticed its murkiest side, and, embedded in it, the entrance of the lair.  

That was it. The final step of a nightmarish journey. Overwhelmed by a mix of relief, melancholy, fear and rage, William contemplated for a moment the place which would soon turn into the theater of his destiny. He fell on his knees. For hours he walked toward this destination. Obsessed by it, he never really took a moment to meditate on his adventure, to reminisce about his fellows. They were fifteen at the beginning. Robert, Richard, Stephen, Edward, Henry the miller, James, John the cobbler, Henry the carpenter, John the plowman, Simon, John the potter, Thomas, Merlin, Jack and him, William. Fifteen young men ripped from their families, thrown into a journey which was not theirs and given a task they never asked for. Fifteen at the beginning. And then there was William. All alone lost in his mind. For he knew what he was compelled to do in order to earn back his life, or what would be left of it. A will, greater than his own commanded so, even if he failed to understand why. Why him? Why them? But it was no time for soul-searching questions. William stood back on his feet, tightened the scabbard of his sword, and took a determined step towards his destination. A certainty of death to anyone. But to him it was his ticket home meanwhile beheading was the price to pay. This was William’s sole thought as he courageously approached the dragon’s lair.

***

William’s journey started around a month ago. William was plowing his father’s land with his two brothers when five royal horsemen erupted. By order of the king, one of them was bound to enlist in the army. The three brothers were surprised by such an order, for no war has been declared on the kingdom. But no one could question the king’s will, and the three brothers put themselves at the king’s disposal, before their father’s reproving but hopeless eyes. The leader of the horsemen chose the most healthy-looking of the sons. It was William. A moment later he was on the back of a horse, riding away from his birthplace. They took him far away, on the kingdom’s final edge. There, in the last inn before the Uncharted Lands, he met his future companions. They were all recruited the same way. Gathered in a large hall, they were discussing their odd situation when he came in. The prince! The young men stood and kept quiet, stupor-stricken. Despite all his flashy jewels, the prince did not look any older than them, and looked surprisingly thinner and shorter. Preceded by his suit, he nobly sat at the table, closely protected by his royal guard. The captain of the guard spoke. As they suspected, there was no war on sight. They were rather assigned with a secret mission. It was helping the prince accomplish his first royal exploit: to kill a dragon.

 As the tradition ordered it, any pretender to the throne has to showcase his royal lineage by killing and decapitating a dragon. The king being gravely ill, the young prince had to quickly execute this ritual to prove himself worthy of ruling the kingdom once his father would pass away. All the kings went through this formality but no history book nor any folksong ever mention the kings being helped by commoners. The captain carried on, explaining how it was for them a great honor to be chosen for this unique task. But none of the young men was listening any more. They hardly believed what they heard. Facing a mighty and fire-breathing monster? Them who only knew, one his plow, the other his mill, or his hammer, or his pot? How could have the prince seriously considered them fit for this unreal task instead of some nobles or trained warriors? None of them believed nor wanted it. But no one said anything. It was the prince’s decision to take them with him on his own glorious journey, all they could do was to comply. Moreover, the captain’s final words were definitive,” Should this mission succeed, you and your family will be covered with gold; refuse or fail and you will be executed.” At least, there was a possible reward. Being covered with gold would guarantee a worriless life for them and their families. This thin hope helped the fifteen young men sleep on this fateful first night of enrollment. They were woken up early in the morning and given a solid breakfast. “First time of my life that I don’t spend a sunrise among my sows” Merlin jokingly said. But no one else was feeling like laughing. The captain handed them some new clothes, complete sets of armors, swords and spears. "A solemn priest compelled them to kneel and offered up a prayer on their behalf. A moment later, they were expeditiously ordained Horsemen of the Royal Guard. Each of them was given a robust horse. Overnight, these fifteen commoners were transformed into warriors. They were afterwards brought at the entrance of the Uncharted Lands. 

“Remember, said the captain, to go straight forward. No turning right nor left. You should soon reach the dragon’s lair.

-Where is the prince? William asked timidly.

The captain shot him a glance.

- Bring the beast’s head back, he simply replied, or don’t come back at all. Now go. 

***

As he carefully entered the lair, William expected to directly face the dragon. To his surprise, the so-called lair was not a large cave where the beast would be nesting, but a long dark tunnel which seemed endless. The young farmer started to question the very existence of the dragon. What if the whole thing was a lie? They lied about everything else, why not about this?

“Lies, lies…” he whispered angrily as he stood in front of the tunnel. All they said was a lie. 

His companions and he were told they would quickly get to the dragon’s lair. A journey of one day or two. But after one day of galloping across the dangerous Uncharted Lands, the first place they went into was not the beast’s residence, but a large and deep river. There was no way around. They had to cross it and abandon their mounts. Jack noticed three small sailing boats with no oar. As they looked closely, they saw some pairs of oars, attached at the very bottom of the river. Richard, John the potter and Jack were the best swimmers. They jumped in, detached the oars and swam back to the surface. As they handed the oars to their companions, their feet were ferociously snapped from beneath up by three alligators, covered with transparent scales, which had swum upon them, unnoticed. Their companions desperately tried to pull them up, but the creatures’ jaws were too strong. The swimmers were shortly cut in half and blood-emptied. 

***

William furiously wiped his tears.

-No, he said, this beast exists. It has to. They cannot be dead for nothing! I’m convinced it existed, and there is one way to find out.

The only way was the tenebrous tunnel in front of him. He had no other option anyway. He could not go back empty-handed. Assuming he would survive all the dangers on his way back, they would simply hang him or toss him in a cage. He reluctantly entered the tunnel, thinking about the various cruel ways his companions died. 

-All of them, dead, he whispered.

After Richard and John the potter, Robert, Henry the miller and John the cobbler were killed by a giant ogre. They all tried to fight him but their spears and sword would break on his skin. The survivors could only run away to escape. 

-All dead, said William, for a prince who did not even mind talking with them.

Henry the carpenter and John the plowman have been carried along while they entered a large hole in the ground, trying to catch a couple of rabbits for dinner. They realized too late that the hole was inhabited by a bunch of goblins. The remaining fellows had no choice but to cover the hole with a giant rock, as they heard the screams of despair of their friends. 

-Even if it exists, said William to himself, what can I do? Can I solely take on a fire-breathing monster? 

Stephen was trapped by a joyful troll. The creature was sitting in front of a bridge they needed to cross. The troll claimed an odd retribution to let them pass: a hug. Stephen naively devoted himself. For once, they had met a peaceful-looking creature. Then they heard Stephen’s bones creak. Merlin reacted fast and planted his sword in the troll’s skull. But it was too late. As the dead monster released his grip, the young man’s boneless corpses fell on the ground like a straw mattress. The horrifying sight of his exorbitant eyes and bloody face would forever haunt William’s dreams. 

-And even if I managed to kill the dragon, said William while leaning against the rock face, even if I killed the dragon, why would I bring him its head? Why would I help a liar?

He knew why. It was the only way back to his people. He would bring the head, the prince would be anointed king, and William would rejoin his farm. And there was nothing he could do about his fellows passing but pretend nothing ever happened. There was no way to avenge their death.

-Forget, I have to forget, said William.

Once it would be done, he would have to forget it all. Forget about Richard, John the potter, Jack, Robert, Henry the miller, Henry the carpenter and John the plowman. He would have to forget about Stephen, his hugged-to-death friend, about Edward, James and John the cobbler who were mauled by a pack of wolves as they entered the forest. Merlin ultimately lit a fire using two flintstones which chased the canines. Sadly, nothing could have been done for the injured travelers. And that’s when they were four. Thomas, Simon, Merlin and William. Four survivors out of fifteen fellows, lost in an unknown forest, with no dragon in sight. Until one night they heard an unnatural roar. Convinced it could only be their freak, they followed the roar and found themselves in front of a gate. The gate’s mechanism was activated by three gigantic cranks which had to be simultaneously moved in order to open the gate. They haven’t even caught their breath yet when they hear a shrill scream. A horde of harpies were chasing them and were dangerously getting closer. The four friends quickly understood that three of them had to sacrifice themselves for one of them to reach the other side of the gate. William was the chosen one. In an ultimate effort, the three brave warriors grasped the cranks and pushed. William could pass and they released their grip just in time for the gate to close before a harpy could follow him.

For how long has he been walking in that tunnel? William could not tell. It felt like an hour, a week, a month. He had long ago lost any notion of time. Starved and tired to death, his only reason to keep on walking was the memory of his lost companions and his dire will to see, would it be only once again, the face of his beloved mother. Despite the time spent in the tunnel, his eyes never acclimated to its obscurity. He could not see, sense nor feel anything before him. Suddenly he saw a glowing point, like a minuscule torch. William first thought of a hallucination but the point seemed to grow bigger as he got closer. Could it be? Had he reached the end of the tunnel? Holding his breath, William slowed his pace down, muted every single step. It was truly the end of the tunnel. The young man could guest it opened to a kind of enlightened room. He slowly narrowed down the distance between the room and him. As he got to the entrance, William bent down and put his hand on the pommel of his sword. He silently crawled in. And there it was. The dragon.

William could not believe his eyes. For weeks he has been thinking about this moment, he has been meticulously preparing every move, every step, every single blow and strike. And now that he was facing his mighty opponent, he was peacefully sleeping! Struck in contemplation, William could not make a single move for several minutes. The dragon was indeed imposing but not as the young had imagined it. The beast was not as tall as a mountain but it easily measured more than eleven feet. It was covered with black scales streaked with blue gleams. Its massive reptile head was resting upon its muscled forelegs and its tail was long and undulate. Each inspiration and exhalation of the dragon shook the cave. The whole room was bathed in the glowing light emanating from its chest. William guessed that its fatal fire would come from there. Despite its body built for war and slaughter, William could not help but notice the peaceful expression of the dragon in its sleep. That was not a dangerous animal’s face. The farmer looked around. The cavern was almost clean. The rare skulls and skeletons he could see were those of wild animals. Who could tell this was a merciless monster? On tiptoe, William went closer. That was it. The final moment. Sunk in a deep sleep, the dragon never realized the young man’s presence. Its neck was all offered. And the more the young man stared, the more it looked…almost human. A single precise strike would instantly end its life, and revive William’s. Inch by inch he slowly and quietly drew his sword. William was in total disbelief. The ultimate task would after all be the easiest one. All of this suffering would end. William lifted his arms, tightened his grip, and held his breath. And… 

And then it clicked. William suddenly understood the whole plot. He understood everything. Why he was chosen. Why his fellow commoners were chosen. It could have never been a noble nor a valiant soldier. The king’s authority relied on the fact that everybody believed that his power came from above, as he is God’s chosen ruler. Killing a dragon was the proof of his upper essence, for no common man could accomplish such a task. If the nobles or the high-ranked soldiers realized that the prince or the king were just simple men like them, a mutiny or a coup was more than probable. Therefore, this suicide mission could only be taken by people to whom this information would be of no use. Cobblers, plowmen, farmers, carpenters, etc. Hopeless plebeians who could not refuse, nor tell a soul about it once it would be done. An unlimited and expendable labor force. William understood he had no more value to the eyes of the prince than his sword, or his armor, or a horse. Just a tool to serve a greater will. All the skeletons he saw at the entrance of the lair were mere commoners just like him. How many have already fallen? How many would have to fall after him, would he fail? He just knew that the prince, well lodged in his inn, would just keep on sending more and more of them, waiting for the task to be fulfilled. Then he would just pick his price, show it to the world, and get anointed. And the true hero would be reduced to silence with a golden handle. William wondered. Has a single king actually killed a dragon by himself? For centuries that this tradition lasted, how many plebeians were offered in holocaust to embellish the legends of kings? Williams smirked while staring at the dragon.

“You and I are just the same, " he murmured, we are but instruments in the hands of sadistic megalomaniacs.”

They were the same indeed. Brothers of misfortune, bound by an irresistible fate. But one of them had to die. The other one had to serve. With a successful strike, William would serve. He would go back and keep this unbearable secret. The secret of the martyrs of the dynasty. 

The young man smiled at his own delusion. Of course there was no going back home! Who would take the risk of letting a farmer go, carrying such a big and shameful secret? It was a complete deadlock. To kill and die or to run away. And die. Just all the same. William tried but found no will to hit the beast. He could not bring himself to perpetuate the tradition. But since when could commoners intervene in their own fate? The fatal blow had to be given. The young man braced himself. William raised his sword as high as he could and had a final thought for his family and his fallen fellows. He was ready for the strike. One last strike to try and survive. One last strike to try and go back home… 

Or unleash chaos.