Dawn of a Sleeping Beauty

... there was a Young King and Queen and like everyone else they longed to have a pretty little girl, only in their case of course, she would really be a Princess. Well, a few years passed after they were wed and still they did not have any children. Oh they tried. Night after night they spent hours locked in the Queen's boudoir, their bodies hungry for the other, joining together in delicious unions, hoping that with each climax they might bring forth the sweet little heiress they longed for.

And when they were not screwing each other into total exhaustion, they were making pilgrimages to holy shrines, or praying on their knees in some great cathedral. And, without the slightest realisation of the hypocrisy and (as they said) just to be safe, they would also go into the woods to placate the ancient spirits of that country. An added benefit of this, of course, was that it allowed them yet another opportunity to satisfy their carnal desires-- be it beneath the moon or the sun, they cared not.

It was on one of these trips, as they lay in their post-coital haze, that they met an old woman. Stooped she was, and wrapped around her shoulders and head was a black shawl that hid her face.

'Good morning, ' the old crone rasped, showing no sign that she recognised the regality of her new acquaintances, though that would not have been surprising as they were both naked at the time, the King's dick hanging limp after its recent convulsion, traces of which still glistened on the inside of the Queen's thighs.

Now for all their highborn status, both the King and Queen were possessed of excellent manners, and they pulled their purple robes around them. 'Good morning to you, grandmother, ' the King said, using the customary term for an elder female.

'I see you have been busy, ' she cackled softly. 'I assume that as you are in this glade dedicated long ago to Diana and Athena that you wish to conceive a daughter.'

The Queen blushed and the King sort of shuffled in a most unkingly way.

'Not to demean the two illustrious goddesses, ' the old woman went on, 'but if you really desire to give birth to a beautiful daughter... '

'Oh we do, we really do, ' the monarchs chorused together.

'Then find some filly root and make a paste, and apply it to both your loins. Refrain from sex for seven days, renewing the paste each day, and then... well, I'm sure you can work that out; you seem to have had plenty of practice.'

The woman could see the same thought pass through each of their minds: 'Seven days!' but they thanked her and assured her that they would do as she had said.

'It is up to you, ' the crone said as she turned and quickly vanished into the encircling forest.

The King looked at the Queen, and she at him. 'Well, I can't see any filly root here, and seven days is such a long time, ' the Queen said, with a knowing twinkle in her eye, and they both dropped their mantles and made sure their last fuck for such a long time would be a good one...

... The whole kingdom were overjoyed at the news the heralds brought to each village and hamlet, for they knew that if their Sovereigns were happy, then life would be a little easier for the serfs and peasants.

Along with news of the birth, the heralds brought news of a most lavish banquet to celebrate the King and Queen's good fortune, and they wanted the woman who they had met in the green wood to be the guest of honour. But, try as they might, they had failed to discover any trace of her. The peasantry, therefore, were charged with finding her. They were instructed to notify the King and Queen of any women that met the general description, or of any fairies that still lived within their realm for, the heralds explained, fairies make great godmothers, despite the incongruity of the term.

So, as the weeks between the birth and the christening went by, news filtered in from every corner of the land, and although seven fairies were found (two more than the kings statistician had guestimated), no one could tell the King anything about the woman in black. Not that several conniving old hags didn't try to claim the King's favour, passing themselves off as the bringer of the monarchs joy. These were dealt with quickly, if rather painfully, by the Royal Secret Vice Police, a service whose unfortunate initials resulted in several heart failures as people were invited to parties.

So, armed with the information gleaned by his loyal subjects, the King sent out invitations to all the nobility, higher ranked gentry and the seven fairies. Every single one that didn't succumb to seizures accepted, even the fairies, and of these all agreed to take on the task of godmother. Well, that's not entirely true; the king did receive one refusal, one that he secretly was overjoyed at seeing. It was from his elder sister, Amanda. She was the elder by all of 9 months, and had this land any notion of fairness, she would have assumed the role of monarch on their father's death; but being the eldest counted for nothing, as she was female. For her there had only been the prospect of being married off to some ugly prince to seal some treaty or other, whilst her younger brother knew he would one day be king...

... Her father had indeed tried to marry off his daughter, telling her on her 18th birthday. He honestly thought she would be pleased, but Amanda soon put him, and her mother, right on that score. Her father had, by turns, pleaded and demanded she obey him, as failing to honour the agreement he had made with King Stephen would probably result in war and ruination of their land.

'What if I were to take holy orders?' Amanda had asked, and the King saw a way out and told her he would call the Mother Superior, Sister Matthew, the following day.

'Don't waste your time, ' Amanda hissed. 'No way am I going to be saddled with some bloke's name! Give me the castle and lands at Farnworth and I will form my own order, ' she demanded, balled fists resting on her soft young hips...

... The King considered this, carefully weighing up the small (in fact, almost insignificant) rents he got from Earl Farnworth, and he issued a decree there and then stripping old Farnworth of his land and titles 'For unnamed crimes against the state.' The king had always found it kept the more uppity nobles in line if he tossed one of them to RSVP every now and then; great man manager, the old King.

That very night Amanda had packed (well, her hand maidens had packed), and she left the following day with trunks full of her finest gowns and several bottles of rich red wine and the tastiest brandies from the King's own cellar, although why someone starting a convent would require such things, the King could not quite fathom. But he let it pass.

Within a year, Farnworth Castle was renamed, and Amanda surrounded herself with nubile virgins for initiates; novices they were called on arriving, but the term became meaningless very shortly after...

... The present King hadn't seen his sister from that day to this, and was pleased he wouldn't have to now. Smiling, he passed the good news on to his wife. The Queen had never even met her sister in-law, and she sometimes shuddered when she heard whispered conversations about the 'goings on' at her Sanctum. But for all the gossip, Amanda was a Royal Princess, even if she renounced the title in favour of Superior Mother, and the Queen was sure she would have been able to welcome her husband's sister to the ceremony with good grace.

Anyway, with or without the King's sister the ceremony was soon upon them, and the top table was laid out for the King and Queen and the seven fairy godmothers In front of each was a beautiful gold goblet made and engraved for each of them to take away as a memento of the occasion. Things got off to a great start, and everyone cheered as after two hours of making small talk they saw the King and Queen enter, Princess Aurora held to her mother's breast. The monarchs appeared to have spared no expense in providing food and wine for their guests, and several times they remained seated as one or another of the gentry, probably to try and win favour, stood and toasted their health and the health of Princess Aurora-- for even the commoners couldn't handle all the little girl's names, nor for that matter had the Archbishop in the cathedral, but he was old and doddery and everyone pretended not to have noticed.

As the main course was starting to be cleared, the King's chancellor rapped his staff thrice upon the marble floor as he had done as each of the assembled guests arrived, announcing them to all and sundry. 'By your lords', leave, may I present Arian, Fairy of The Blackthorn.'

The whole place was stunned into silence as a wizened, bent figure shuffled through the half-open door. Immediately, the King and Queen recognised their benefactor, and jumped from their thrones and rushed to meet her. If the King and Queen were surprised to see Arian, her sisters were dumfounded, and threw each other quizzical glances, for each had believed that Arian's song had long since left the mortal realm. Yet here she was before them, small as life.

'We looked everywhere for you!' the king shouted, as he and his wife closed the gap between the top table and the newly arrived guest.

'Ha, ' scoffed the unhappy fairy. 'You can't have looked very far; for I live no more than 10 leagues from this very palace. Weeks I have waited to receive an invitation to your daughter's christening, I who had such a hand in her conception.'

'I'm afraid the meal is all but over, but come sit with your sisters in the place of honour, ' the King cajoled.

Arian looked with no love on her finely arrayed sisters and again let out a disparaging snort. 'You expect me to sit beside them, all gilded up in their finery and with golden goblets before them. No, bring me some leftovers and I'll soon be on my way.'

The King tried to convince Arian to stay but she rebuffed all entreaties, and so, defeated, he ordered his page to fetch Arian some food. With a huff she squeezed onto the end of a bench, space appearing as if from nowhere, for who wants to sup with a disgruntled and haggard fairy?

To cover their embarrassment at their wayward and dark sister's behaviour, Primrose, Fairy of the Meadow, stood and said, as she raised her apparently-never-empty gold goblet in salute to the King, Queen and Princess. 'May I thank your majesty for your hospitality to me and my kin. Long is it since we were treated with such respect.' Her words were shot like arrows from a bow at Arian, who just cackled softly as she bit into the meat sticking to a lamb's thighbone, an action that acquired her even more space on the bench.

'As a sign of our gratitude, ' Primrose continued, 'we would like to present gifts of our own to your darling little girl. I bestow on her the gift of beauty.' And with a flourish of her arms that sent half a cup of the best wine to the floor, a soft tinkling could be heard.

Similar actions were accompanied by even more tinkling, as one by one the seven sisters endowed the princess with esoteric (and frankly unsaleable) gifts ranging from patience to chastity-- this last, presented by the youngest, Rosebud, Fairy of The Hedgerows, bringing a giggle from the servants.

'Is that it?' Arian coughed, spitting gobbets of meat on to the board in front of her. 'God, I remember when fairies were respected... no, feared! What sort of wet sops have you become as your melody fades? Well, I, for one, do not intend to dishonour centuries of tradition. I also bestow a gift on your daughter, the gift that she will prick her finger on a spinning wheel and die.'

The room was thrown into a deafening silence, and the Queen's face was a ghostly white.

With her gift delivered, Arian rose and walked towards the high iron-bound doors that were slammed shut in her face, and two guards inched gingerly towards her. 'You will not detain me. For my music could bring this palace and the whole of your kingdom crashing down around your ears, ' Arian said, her voice strong and commanding. The king looked at Bluebell, Fairy of the Glade, who could not meet his gaze but simply nodded in reply to his unworded question.

'Go from here and never return, ' the King bellowed.

The King's voice, so close to Rosebud, Fairy of The Hedgerows' ear that the sound woke her from her wine-induced slumber, for it was ever thus that human wine, especially served in glittering gold goblets, was extremely potent to the Fair Ones' system. 'What's going on?' she asked Daffodil, Fairy of the Hills. In a whisper, Daffodil explained what had just happened. 'Bugger!' said Rosebud. 'I knew she was up to something. I meant to go and hide so I could outsmart her by giving my gift last.' She shrugged and thought to herself, 'My bad, ' and realised she had been spending far too much time with humans in the tavern near her grotto.

Fortunately for the King and Queen, as Arian disappeared (some swore on a broomstick), a new figure entered the grand banqueting hall. There was no doubting this newcomer's lineage, her blue dress and dark blonde hair almost blinding. The guards, who were afraid they'd get the blame if any more fairies messed up the festivities, tried to bar her way, but like a tree in the wind or a river in full flow, she seemed to bend away from their outstretched hands to stand unmolested in the centre of the hall.

'Ilian!' cried Rosebud, and was rewarded by a bright smile from the vision in blue...