Aspirational TV

I've discovered a wonderful new TV programme called Jane and the Dragon. It's about (ostensibly) a girl who wants to train to be a knight when everyone else, including her mother and father, wants to pigeonhole her into being a lady-in-waiting like her mother. Even her friends aren't sure about her ambition, but at least the rules are applied fairly by Sir Theodore, although he is a daft old ... knight. So she sets out to kill the dragon but instead befriends it and brings it back to the castle. Which isn't always appreciated as it should be.

Why she wants to be a knight when the examples around are less than honourable beats me, but I suppose it's better than being a lady-in-waiting, even if the young princess who smells of lavender is quite nice really.

There's a website although Jester hasn't fully finished it, so no link here. Google it and you'll find it. Programme is Saturday and Sunday mornings on Five.

In other news, I'm hoping to meet a man with seven wives.

Travelling On

The Black Knight returned from the Great Archery Tourney at the Seaside. He unstringed his bow, broke his arrows and burned his quiver. He took off his armour, which had never really fit anyway, and gave it to his squire.

He kept the sword, for he'd need that, and he bought a new lance. He whitewashed the shield and repainted it in rainbow colours. Ready now.

Lances Leaving

The Black Knight turned his horse around for a last look at the Great Castle. From here he could just see the Keep. As the last of the light glinted off his broken lance, a fire could be seen in the Great Hall. It seemed smaller and darker somehow.

The Black Knight sat still for a moment and reflected.

The jousting was complete, the banquet demolished. The parchments were all scribed and the banners furled. Not all the maidens were rescued and not all the dragons slain, and there were a few ghosts left too, but a quest had been made. A promise honoured. The Great Book held the story.

The enchanted cave, off to one side, was silent, waiting for another to carry the Golden Bough. In the twilight it looked more like a tomb. The Black Knight sighed as he remembered his days as a squire. He'd carried the standard once. No more. The flags were bright then, the days long, the armour polished, and the carousing ... oh, the carousing.

In the distance, from the stables, a soft neigh. Or was it imagination? No, it was the wind of change rustling the trees.

The Black Knight dipped his lance briefly in mute (and mock) salute, drew his broadsword and hefted it against an unseen enemy in the night, then galloped off without a backward glance. A mace at his side, an open field, witches in their lair, what else would be found?

There are always more windmills to tilt at.

Praying

Thinking

The Golden Bough

In order to be admitted to the Sacred Cave on the Island of Dreams, a Knight must acqure a fragment of the Golden Bough; without this entrance is refused. To obtain his personal token, he must travel to the Glade of Unkown Dreams and confront the mysterious Mindstealers.

The Glade is a secret area in the deepest, darkest part of the Connected Forest and is protected from all sides by the Fog of Unknowing, for the Mindstealers jealously guard their secrets. It is not known how many there are in the tribe, for they are shapeshifters and appear in different forms at different times. - sometimes as an evil, flesh-eating troll who regards the brain of a Knight as a particular delicacy, but they can also appear as beautiful maidens (who are reputed, howver, to appear in this way to catch doughty adventurers off guard) or as wise women.

Sometimes the Mindstealer who is summoned (by the Psychic Horn) will warmly present a branch to a traveller and sometimes it must be wrestled from his grasp in a terrifying ordeal. On a few occasions the Mindstealer will present an additional gift. Such was the reward offered to Dances With Snakes.

The Coming of Winter

Sometimes the Mountain Mistral blows unexpectedly through the Dark Forest and those Rangers out foraging for ironwood are caught in its icy blast. If they are fortunate the Ethereal Pixies will quickly bring warm blankets and help them to the safety of the Hearth Fire.

A Cold Retreat

Dances With Snakes was searching for his Magic Flute. It had Ethereal Quality, so it could appear in different guises; Rugged Earthiness, Airy Spirituality, Wooden Stolidity and many others. Today he planned to enter the Dark Forest so he packed it in his travelling bag in case he needed it to play an Enchanting Heart-Warming Tune.

It often seemed to present in a form suitable for the task. It had The Power of Love, but Dances With Snakes never quite knew what tune it would play. What would it be today?

Dances With Snakes

The trouble with dancing with snakes is that they can still bite you any time you let your guard down. And the poison goes deep. Time for the snake to dance to my tune.

Winter Tales

When the nights are long and dark, best beloved, the Knights gather round the great fire and tell the Squires stories of their encounters in the service of the Light. They tell of beasts: the Sloth and the Secretary-Bird, the rapacious Magpies and the Cawing Crows, Tin-Men and Cavemen, and sometimes of rogue Knights.

But the stories the Squires love best are of the monsters that have been faced, and sometimes bested, and they quake at the tales of those Knights who have been defeated.

The Knights tell of the Harpy, with her sweetly charming singing, who beguiles unwary Squires before carrying them off to faraway places from which they cannot return. For lo, the Harpy has talons of iron which sink deep into the flesh and leave a permanent mark, it is said. And if perchance a Squire or a Knight should sense the danger and resist then the singing becomes a foul screeching which is heard across the land, and souls shiver in fear of her terrible revenge.

Then The Knights tell of the Fifteen-Headed Hydra that all Knights are required to face, before initiation, in its deep dark lair. Sometimes the stories tell of more heads or of fewer, but it is always known as the Fifteen-Headed, that breathes flame from any of its heads at random. Even though a Shield-Bearer always accompanies the prospective Knight, many do not survive the encounter; the Knights tease the Squires with the tale that the Shield-Bearer may not act and is only provided to return with news of unsuccessful forays.

A futher story may be told of the Clockwork Swordsman who wields a rapier sharper than wit, and who seeks to pierce the heart and draw blood from all who are sent to face him. When he has tasted blood, he sends the Squire back to the Training Ground with a permanent scar. Many do not survive this but fade away and are not seen again.

Some Knights tell of encounters with a Great Bear, who welcomes Knights into his big warm strong embrace and hugs them harder and harder until all life has been squeezed out.

Some tell of Clouds of Doves who coo gently in the courtyards, but fly away in adversity.

There are many more stories of distant monasteries with peculiar practices, each with its own unique chimeras.

But the most terrifying monster is the Snow Queen, who kidnaps those who have received the distorting mirror into their hearts; she removes them to her lair and attempts to instil her coldness into them, taunting them with further cracked pieces of icy glass. The sojourn in the Ice Palace, where no warmth may penetrate, is daunting indeed to those without a thick skin and warming blanket. Her glacial breath, it is said, can freeze the blood even as it runs in the veins. Even her frosty gaze can chill a man to the bone.

Yet we have heard, best beloved, that the Snow Queen is vulnerable; that at the Passing-Out Parade she has melted, and transfomed into a warm, gushing flood.

But the most terrifying report is that within an hour she always refreezes into a being as hard and and cold as before, and more angular than ever. She cannot help herself. It is her nature.