And here's the conclusion to this epic tale. I hope you readers have enjoyed this story as much as I did writing it! I may use Erland and company in a future story, but for now I believe I'm done visiting Wyrmwood for a while - there are, after all, a few other stories I intend to update and/or post now that this is out of the way.
Oh, and because I probably won't be able to do much writing for the rest of the month due to work and visiting family... Merry (early) Christmas! And here's to a fun and very kink-filled 2019!
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Seat of the Lindworm Prince
by Skaea
Contains: */M and */F Hotbuns with some tickling. Mildly NSFW; contains nudity.
Word Count: 2,302
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Epilogue
One month had passed since Osmond’s fall from power. It was not known where the former prince had gone; all anyone knew was that after a chase lasting the better part of two hours, he had vanished into the enchanted forest where even the angry mob that had run him out of the kingdom couldn’t follow. For over a week since, locals would swear that faint screams could be heard coming from the depths of the woods. Despite rumors that he’d tried to seek refuge in Oili’s gingerbread house within that lonely little clearing, however, she had not reported any sign of the deposed tyrant, not even after sending Thought and Memory out to check the forest itself. One thing was for sure, however: he was not going to be and should not ever be missed.
As for Oili herself, her shop in the town square could never be opened again, but her cottage was expanded upon to compensate, the job completed just two weeks after Osmond’s departure. It was Erland’s announcement that Oili herself had engineered Osmond’s fall, thanks to the curse she’d placed on him, that led the public to finally reintegrate her into their society. Of course, she was more comfortable at her woodland cottage, but promises were made to set up a path leading to it so people could visit her for advice and to purchase goods from her. It had taken quite a bit of negotiation with the forest, and multiple dignitaries had complained about the birds and animals attacking their bottoms for the first couple of days, but Oili managed to smooth things over and allow the road to be built, as long as no other routes penetrated the woods and nobody strayed off of it. With luck, the agreement would be honored for a long time to come, but what was certain was that Oili would never again be seen as a pariah, such was the kingdom’s gratitude for her aid… even if it was at least partly accidental.
The positions of all the castle staff who had been unfairly mistreated and imprisoned by Osmond were reinstated, with a few minor changes. Jorunn the stablehand being placed in charge of Erika’s horses, who appreciated this new arrangement; Atgeir the unicorn, meanwhile, would come to terms with Ingrid and eventually, with Jorunn’s encouragement, serve as her own carriage-puller, though the future princess always took care not to stand directly in front of her for obvious reasons. Jacob, as the head of the royal night guard, would uncover several other nocturnal prowlers hoping to find acceptance, and put in a good word for the furred and fanged supernatural beings; his guard would grow in the coming seasons, and with hope they too would find acceptance in the kingdom at the minimum. Destin, of course, remained as the majordomo, but with Osmond no longer terrorizing him, he was free to take charge of the rest of the staff, his kind and understanding heart earning him many new friends among the maids and officials. Perhaps he and his family would continue to serve the royals of Wyrmwood for a long time to come.
Colden and Turid, who were welcomed as members of the royal family, were given a rural estate measuring at five or six figures in currency; they didn’t divulge how much exactly to others. But what was true was that Colden no longer had to worry about venturing into the kingdom for supplies and groceries, for the kingdom always welcomed him and his wife, who remained as the head of the palace maids. Ingrid, of course, would visit Colden every weekend with her mother and fiance in tow, and the two families would only grow closer together as allies in the coming years.
Erika would remain queen for the time being, but being less fit than her son, she allowed Erland to manage as much of the kingdom as possible as long as he turned to her for advice and approval. Once her time came, he and Ingrid would have the thrones and rule as equals, but for now they had her blessing in marriage as well as that of Ingrid’s parents.
The castle itself, meanwhile, had been repaired with Oili’s aid along with the refurbishment crew. The walls were rebuilt, the secret tunnels cleaned of filth (with the help of the rats that had aided in the dungeon breakout, no less; Ingrid’s Song of All Living Things truly never ceased to amaze), and the decorations were fixed and put back in their proper places. The real tragedy was the records room — Osmond in his rage had set it on fire when he’d burned his plans and evidence to ash. Many priceless books and documents were lost to history, and even Oili’s magic couldn’t repair them all. Scholars everywhere would refer to the loss as one of the greatest calamities in Wyrmwood’s history, condemning Osmond even further. But in time, new treasures would fill the archives as the old ones had.
Finally, the big day arrived. The wedding took place in the ballroom, and the raised podium where the orchestra usually performed was cleared out to make room for the wedding altar. The whole place had been decorated with golden ornamentation and glittering jewels, making it look like the hoard of a dragon. And there was good reason for the theming.
Erland the Lindworm Prince stood tall and proud, his crown sitting on his head (though it still threatened to slip off because nobody had bothered to have it fixed; oh well, sådan er livet). He had decided, for good reason, to wear a standard pair of breech pants, but everything else about him looked resplendent; his own shed dragon-skins had been converted into the cloth for a resplendent ruby-colored jacket that looked like it was made of gleaming scales, along with golden dragon-claw shoulder epaulettes, over a white shirt with a prominent neck ruff, while he also sported glittering silver gloves and polished black riding boots. His best man was Destin, who stood next to him with a newfound confidence, while his mother, with Sormr the zaltys snake draped around her shoulders like a feather boa, sat at the front of the crowd, which was milling about in anticipation.
A trumpet blast echoed throughout the room, and the herald spoke the announcement. “Presenting the bride and pending Crown Princess of Wyrmwood, Ingrid!”
The orchestra, currently at the sides of the room, played the classic wedding tune as Ingrid and Colden entered. The shepherd was carefully groomed and dressed in a silken suit provided by the royal family, but Ingrid was even more beautiful still. Her wedding gown, shimmering gold in color and inlaid with rhinestones of every color, was complimented by a tiara in her bun-tied hair that was studded with rubies, the picture of a classic princess whose love had tamed even the wildest. It was almost ironic, though nonetheless fitting, that her knight in shining armor and the dragon who had held her captive in his lair were one and the same.
The shepherd and his daughter stepped onto the dais, and Ingrid moved to stand in front of the once-draconic groom. She looked up at the officiant and smiled prettily.
And Oili, with Thought and Memory the ravens perched on her shoulders, smiled back.
“On this day,” the witch spoke in her ancient, crackling voice of great experience and wisdom, “we come to celebrate the union of two historic figures, who found love and courage in a dark time which was bought about, not by malice, but by the misunderstandings of those who differed from each other. Today, it is time for us to put these misunderstandings behind us, and let the magic of love prevail, as it did a month ago in the face of tyranny.”
The crowd applauded, and Erika wiped a tear from her eye.
“This castle was once host to a terrible monster with a heart and soul as black as night,” said Thought. “He used his authority as a disguise for his hatred of all who differed from him, as a cover to exercise his petty desires. But a noble beast, once native to the wild forests, bought hope to all within the walls of this kingdom.”
“His hope was bought about by the love of one who knew him for who he was: a kind and brave spirit with the strength, patience, and cunning of the fiercest of all the reptiles of the world,” added Memory. “At heart he is a dragon still, but it his his choices, not his nature, that define his right to rule all of Wyrmwood and protect it against evil.”
Cheers and congratulations rose up from the crowd.
“So, with that in mind… Let us not dwell on long-winded preludes,” said Oili. “Prince Erland, do you take this maiden to be your beloved princess, to protect and treasure, to covet and provide for, as long as you shall live?”
A clip-clopping sound from the entrance of the room drew the attention of more than a few guests. Jorunn, the ring-bearer, was riding into the ballroom on the back of Atgeir the unicorn. The gold-and-ruby sea serpent ring, of course, was on the tip of the resplendent creature’s golden horn.
“I do,” said Erland, grinning.
“Ingrid of the shepherd’s pastures,” continued Oili, “will you take this proud and noble apex predator to be your knight in shining armor, to assist and savor, to advise and comfort, as long as you shall live?”
The unicorn stopped in front of the dais, and bowed her head a little. That long sharp horn made Erland shiver and cover his rump, but it kept perfectly still as it held the ring within arm’s reach.
“I do!” replied Ingrid, smiling cheerfully.
Erland slid the ring off Atgeir’s horn, and Jorunn steered the unicorn away from the dais (the aisle had enough room for her to turn), before she turned her around again to watch the big moment.
“Then it is settled.” The spore hag smiled warmly, wafting a green mist that smelled of gingerbread from her gill-lined mushroom-cap hat. “By the powers vested upon us by the spirits and gods of yore,” she and her familiars spoke in unison, “we, as the emissaries of the primordial forces of magic, shall pronounce you two united as dragon and damsel.” There was a pause, and Oili added, “And in your traditional parlance, you may now kiss the bride.”
Erland couldn’t help himself; after slipping the ring onto Ingrid’s finger, he picked her up and spun her around in a beautiful display of color, the two of them laughing joyfully as the crowd applauded.
Then two things happened in rapid succession. The first was that Erland’s ill-fitting crown slipped off his head and clattered to the floor, and the second was that he lost his balance, causing the two of them to slip off the dais…
WHOAA-CRNCH-BMP-POINK!
“YYYYYYIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!!”
Everyone present roared with laughter, Ingrid pushing herself off her husband, who leapt to his feet and started hopping about and yelling in agony with the very sharp horn-like points of his crown embedded in his bottom. “OUCH OW OWIE OWWW! GET IT OFF MEEEEEE!!”
It took a lot of tugging from Ingrid and a panicking Destin, but in the end they finally managed to get the crown free…
SHRRRIPPPPPP!
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUCCCHH!!!”
Erland felt like his ass had erupted into flame, and also become rather drafty. He turned his head to see that the seat of his trousers had been torn off along with the crown, revealing the backside of his polka-dotted undershorts for all to see.
Cackles erupted among the crowd, and at least one chant of “I see London, I see France…” could be heard as well. The crown prince blushed furiously — but, being Erland, he wasn’t about to just stand there and take it.
“If it’s any consolation,” he said with a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “at least my royal britches are not actually expensive!”
And everyone in the room erupted into a gale of hysterics loud enough for the walls to tremble. Yes, including Oili, Thought, Memory, Erika and Sormr, Ingrid, and Erland himself.
The royal couple, swept up in the high spirits, finally gazed at each other lovingly, and next moment, the two of them had embraced and locked lips in a passionate kiss.
The crowd cheered, an eruption of jubilation that swept from the castle outwards to eventually include all of the kingdom. Fireworks-like magical sparks cast by Oili and some of the other mages in the backdrop lit up the ballroom as Erland and Ingrid cemented their bond of love. And deep within Erland’s soul, a serpentine reptile with ruby-colored scales and a crown of magnificent horns roared a triumphant, heart-shaped fireball.
Prince Erland and Princess Ingrid couldn’t be happier. Now that they had taken their rightful place as the future rulers of their realm, and now that its sources of corruption had been removed from power, a new era of peace and prosperity was well on its way. Erland’s natural clumsiness would never go away, but his kind heart and caring soul, be it sheathed in skin or scales, would be remembered just as fondly if not more so. There was still a lot of cleaning up to do around the kingdom, of course, but with the populace welcoming the two of them with open arms and thankful hearts, there was no doubt that their royal duties would be fulfilled in due time and for a long time to come.
This was what it truly meant to live happily ever after. Not because the Lindworm Prince fit right in with the kingdom of Wyrmwood, but because the kingdom fit right in with him.
