While this is just the prologue to the actual story, it should be clear that this work is inspired by one of my absolute favorite fairy tales, the Prince Lindworm of Danish lore. I'm inordinately fond of monstrous creatures which are not malicious in nature and ultimately get a happy ending, though in this case I've decided to sorta deconstruct what happens when a monarch who's been a dragon since birth is suddenly thrust into life as an aristocrat... especially once his asshole brother gets involved. ;P
With this, tags for butt abuse stories are officially in place. Here's to writing more stories of this nature in the future!
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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: 3,151
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Prologue
To begin this story with the words “Once upon a time” would be hopelessly trite, but such a starting phrase would be nonetheless appropriate for the realm of Wyrmwood. For this magical kingdom was one of the many crowning jewels of a period when fantastic creatures, enchanting spells, and all manner of mysterious things still existed, things which have long since vanished from history and remain today only as legends. Wyrmwood itself was situated in a beautiful forested expanse of land bordering vast stretches of farmland, in what was to become present-day Denmark. It is possible that the kingdom may have become integrated into the Danish government once magic faded from this world, for no records exist of a violent uprising or subjugation by another empire. But this story is not about when the kingdom ended. In fact, it concerns the rise of one of its most famous rulers, and how in his youth he came to rule this beautiful place with a hand not of iron or silk, but of talons and scales.
Once upon a time (just to use that tired cliche), Queen Erika of Wyrmwood, who had been unable to bear children, sought the aid of a creature who lived in the forest not far from the kingdom. The creature may have resembled a green-skinned, hunched-over old crone dressed in black robes and a distinctive pointed hat, but appearances can be deceiving. For though people referred to Oili as a witch, she was not human, but a massive animate humanoid mushroom called a spore hag, and far from senile and predatory, she was kind and sympathetic despite her homely appearance. She was also blessed with immensely powerful magic, as spore hags are, and when she was told of Erika’s troubles, she understood what to do. A day of brewing and incantations later, the queen was given two onions, one red and one white. Oili instructed her to eat them with a saucer of milk under the light of the next full moon, but also warned her to peel the onions first. Erika nodded in understanding, and waited along with her somewhat skeptical husband for the full moon to come.
At the night of reckoning, the silvery light from the heavens bathed the couple as they stepped outside with the required ingredients. The queen had however forgotten the warnings of the witch and so ate the red onion without peeling it first; she did not like the way it tasted, however, and after washing it down with the milk from the saucer, she carefully peeled the white onion before eating that one. Sure enough, nine months passed after that with the queen’s belly beginning to swell, the movements of two beautiful children palpable within. Eventually, when her waters broke, her lady in waiting, Turid, was there to assist with the birth. For she more than anyone knew how to ensure that the queen could bear her offspring in safety, having helped with pregnant livestock many times in the farm she had come from. But something was wrong. The first baby did not feel soft or plush or delicate. No, it had scales like a snake, and two small and underdeveloped front legs without any hind feet. And its lizard-like head had knobs of bone that betrayed its true nature. Turid let out a scream of horror at this realization, unable to believe that the queen had given birth to, of all things, a baby dragon.
Upon asking the still groaning queen of what had happened, she was told of the ritual and asked not to destroy the accursed child, but to send it away so none would see it and bring a sword against it, for dragons were beasts to be feared by most of the kingdom. To this Turid agreed, but she would swear she saw a look of sorrow upon the queen’s face as she left, another handmaiden entering to take her place and assist in the birth of Erika’s beautiful blue-eyed and thankfully entirely human son…
Twenty years passed since then, during which the king eventually passed away and left his remaining son, Prince Osmond, as the heir to the throne. Prince Osmond was thrilled to soon have power over the entire empire, and throughout his teens he practiced exercising his power and authoritative immunity whenever he got a chance. However, while the kingdom awaited the ascent of its new monarch, a presence lay watching in the forests beyond. Watching… and waiting.
One midsummer’s day, Turid’s husband Colden, a shepherd out in the countryside, found that one of his precious sheep had gone missing – as had his even more precious daughter, Ingrid, a raven-haired and dark-eyed woman of nineteen years, with a curious eye and a love of all creatures great and small. Only skid marks and scratches in the ground leading into the forest betrayed the identity of the culprit. Fearing the absolute worst, he rushed into the forest with his pitchfork in his hand. For many hours he looked, becoming more and more despondent, until as the sun began its descent across the late afternoon sky, a sudden rustling noise caught his ear. With a cry of fury he spun around and thrust into the bushes with his pitchfork. But instead of a horrid roar like he was expecting, he heard a high-pitched and very familiar shriek of pain. It was only an instant after that when the foliage before him exploded.
Rearing up from the bushes, towering two-score feet over the hapless shepherd, a terrible sinuous beast emerged with its throat inflated like a puffed-up wineskin and its fanged, bloodied jaws agape with a terrifying hiss. Its scales were red as rubies, with a pale pink underbelly and coal-black stripes, while its triangular, saurian head bore a crown-like cluster of fearsome horns, two spiny orange frills like immense ears, piercing green eyes with viper-like slits for pupils, and a crocodilian set of jaws full of razor-sharp teeth. Its long neck was like the body of a python and its actual body and tail were even longer still, a row of bony black spikes like giant fangs running down its back. Its lashing tail ended in an arrowhead-shaped blade of bone as sharp as a sword, and its large and muscular arms bore hands like the feet of an eagle, complete with immense curved talons which were holding the girl it had captured with surprising gentleness. The shepherd’s eyes widened as he took in the sight of the serpent, the lindworm, clutching his beloved daughter, and raised his pitchfork in a challenging gesture, ordering it to release her.
The dragon’s forked tongue slipped in and out of its snout before it spoke in a hissing raspy voice that he had hurt his closest friend and that if he knew what was good for him, he’d put the improvised weapon down, turn around, and walk away. To her father’s surprise, Ingrid frantically asked for him to follow the dragon’s instructions, gesturing towards four round holes in the seat of her skirt, the only evidence of serious injury. Colden gasped in horror at what he had done – in his irrational haste and rage he had accidentally speared his own child and more specifically her perfectly plump posterior! Dropping the pitchfork to the ground, he demanded an explanation. The daughter responded that she had met the dragon when both of them were very young, and once she’d discovered that it could speak, they’d formed a secret friendship that had lasted for at least a decade. Whenever she was allowed to go to the woods with friends, she’d sneak off to find him and talk with him for a while before heading back, keeping him from becoming lonely and savage as dragons that live in solitude do. The shepherd was relieved to see that Ingrid was alright but requested that in exchange for his life, the dragon would have to relinquish his daughter to him and never speak to her or anyone else in the kingdom again (and stay away from his or anyone else’s livestock besides), for once word spread of a dragon roaming these woods, every knight in the realm would be after his blood. The lindworm responded that he anticipated the inevitable, and wished in vain that the kingdom knew the truth: he was, in fact, Queen Erika’s bastard son, banished from birth for a transformation beyond his control. The shepherd didn’t trust the dragon’s words and insisted that his daughter be returned to him safely, and with great reluctance, the prince agreed, letting Ingrid return to the loving arms of her parent before speaking a final goodbye to his only companion. He then left Colden to tend to his daughter’s wounds, deeply saddened that he would never see her again – or so it seemed.
Despite this agreement, sightings of the dragon continued, with many of the realm’s citizens reporting to Prince Osmond that they had seen a flash of vivid red scales from the corner of their eye, or looked into the woods to see a pair of huge green eyes staring back at them. The handsome but egotistic royal saw his chance to be viewed as a hero, and so a few weeks after the lindworm had left the farm, he set out with an entourage of his knights behind him and headed deep into the forest. It wasn’t long before he found the dragon, but far from the slavering raging beast he had anticipated, the creature was subservient and quite tame. Shocking all present with his ability to speak, he simply asked to be left alone, even stating that if he was given the chance he’d gladly leave the kingdom entirely in exchange for his life. But when Osmond tried putting a rope around the lindworm’s neck, the great reptile blasted a jet of fire from his maw as soon as he turned to brag about capturing the “hideous creature”. It was a comical spectacle involving the hapless prince running around like a headless chicken, screaming his head off and trying to disperse the flames raging upon the seat of his trousers. Both his knights and the dragon himself got a good laugh out of it until Osmond finally managed to put the fire out by soaking his smoldering ass in a mud puddle. Getting up with a fiery expression, he rounded upon the lindworm and drew his blade to point it at the beast’s forehead, furiously asking why such a simple-minded beast would dare to humiliate him like this. The lindworm replied that he wasn’t so simple and spoke of who he really was. The blond prince’s eyes widened, and then narrowed, before the indignant youth sheathed his sword and declared that he would have his day soon enough, and that he’d be coming for his brother once he was better prepared. Then after that, he’d take one of the beautiful ladies of the kingdom as his queen and rule it without him. But as he rode away, the dragon responded with the promise that until he himself found true love, Osmond would never find his own, for after all, he had been the first of the two to be born.
This declaration soon became known throughout the entire kingdom, and could not be contested once the truth about the dragon was revealed. Women far and wide began to panic at the prospect of marrying a cruel and savage creature that would surely devour them the second their backs were turned, and refused to take up the challenge. A few more enterprising maidens however were not deterred. They wanted to make sure that the beast would never bother the kingdom again, but they didn’t clarify for what reason. They sought the advice of the witch, Oili, and advice they were given. Each time it was the same:
“Take with you ten snow-white shifts, a tub of lye, a tub of milk, and a whip with ten lashes. Wear all of the gowns over you, and when he takes you to his lair, ask that he remove a layer of his skin for each dress you remove. Soak the whip in the lye, and use it to remove his skin, then once all of his skin has been removed, bathe him in the milk. Then and only then shall he be yours.”
However, each of the maidens, enthusiastic in their quest to rid the kingdom of the monster, failed to heed some remaining hints from the fungal conjurer. She could only watch helplessly as they set off into the forest… and never returned. For each time, when they soaked their whips in the lye and took them to the dragon’s body, the response was quick and brutal. Lashing out in self-defense, he slew and ate each of the bloodthirsty women in turn, heedless of how bitter and unpleasant they tasted. It was just as well, too, for had they taken actual husbands, they would very well have beaten them in their anger and bitterness, as so many men already did to their wives and children. It soon became clear that hatred was not the answer, and in time, those who spoke of going after the dragon themselves were thought of as being violent and selfish. More sensible people would only feel contempt for them and their insistence on a quest that seemed akin to folly. For how could even the cruelest of human hearts best the fury of a scorned lindworm?
One final maiden, however, had no darkness in her own heart, but was filled with fear and doubt. She too had sought the witch, and she was given the same advice – but unlike the previous women, she had stayed to listen to every word that Oili spoke to her. And so when she slipped into the dragon’s lair, she kept her head bowed in a posture of acceptance, not furious boldness. The dragon stared her down, sensing familiarity beneath those robes, and when she looked up to speak to him, his eyes widened in recognition. Her voice betraying not selfish determination but compassion born of pity, Ingrid told the prince that she had endured a long and depressing argument with her parents which had lasted for days before they finally relented, for even though they wanted her to be safe, she dearly missed her old friend and wanted to do everything she could to help him find peace. She asked of the dragon to shed each layer of skin for each gown she doffed, and further inquired if he was willing to let her use the lye-soaked whip to help him remove his scales. The lindworm was surprised at this, for no previous maiden had asked if they could flog him, simply acting in the hopes of subduing him like some beast of burden – or worse. But Ingrid replied that she wanted to help him in any way she could, so that he could return to the kingdom he loved so much, and so she could see her closest friend day after day. The sting of the lashes would fade in time but their bond never would – if only he chose to accept all that came with it.
The lindworm thought about this for several long moments, and then his eyes clouded over and his first layer of skin began to peel off. He turned his scaly back to her and said that whatever she was planning, she should do it now before he gave in completely to a bitterness formed from decades of isolation and scorn. For hours he felt the bite of the lye-soaked lashes, each layer of skin being painfully removed as she helped extract the bits and pieces from the places he couldn’t reach. Each time he removed a skin layer, so she removed a garment. Finally the last white shift was removed and there she was, as naked as the day she was born, and one final layer of skin was left on him, the creature now resembling a person-sized cocoon of scales more than anything else. She raised the whip high, tears of guilt trickling down her face, and bought it down as hard as she could…
CRACKKKK!
“YYYYEEEEEEEEEOOOOOOOOWWWWW!!!!!!!!!!!”
With a gasp of shock, Ingrid staggered back. The lash of the ten-tailed whip had torn a piece of snakeskin from the cocoon, revealing a splendidly rounded, deliciously firm, and perfectly human pair of buttocks… which were now sporting ten raw red lines where the lashes had made contact. The scaly sack of person struggled in place, lost its balance, and fell… accidentally landing slashed-bottom-first in the tub of lye.
SPLOOOOSHHSSSSHSHHSHSSSS!
“YYYYYAAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!!!!!!”
His second scream was definitely human and unspeakably loud, and in his panicked struggles he tore his way out of the rest of the snakeskin, such was the intensity of the pain induced by the caustic substance soaking into his wounds. A panic-stricken Ingrid rushed forward, grabbing his arm – and pulled the most beautiful young man she had ever seen out of the tub.
Brown-haired and blue-eyed, his musculature was worthy of a prince far beyond her wildest dreams, matched by a smooth, boyish yet chiseled face which was contorted with pain. With a strained voice he asked to be laid in the tub of milk, and thus Ingrid led him in, before proceeding to gently wash every part of her childhood friend, especially his lashed and chemically burned rear. When the deed was done, she asked how he felt after all of this. Turning and cradling her soft and beautiful face with a hand that was now entirely free of scales and claws, he responded that he had never felt better. All he needed now, of course, was a fresh set of clothes…
The next morning, Shepherd Colden awoke to a knock on his door. There stood his daughter in a pretty white dress, and next to her was a beautiful redhead wearing a pretty white dress. The shepherd, though totally confused at the sight which had turned up at his house, couldn’t help but burst into the hardest fit of laughter he’d had in years, and the prince felt his cheeks begin to burn.
“My apologies, sir, but… But you look utterly ridiculous in that gown! Though a little fetching, I’ll give you that, sir,” Colden wheezed once he managed to regain coherence.
“Please, call me, um… Erland. I like Erland,” replied the prince, deciding to avoid discussing the obvious. “Unless you think some other name w–”
“Erland is fine,” replied Ingrid, a warm smile on her face.
“I too think it suits you,” replied Colden. “But, pray tell, what are you two doing in such expensive gowns?”
Prince Erland could only pinch the bridge of his nose, a mix of hot shame and cool relief coursing through his now entirely human body. “That, my friend, is a very long story…”
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