[ WP ] Due to a misunderstanding the hero arrives at the tower , defeats the princess , and marries the dragon .

I still do n't know quite what to think about that week. Neither does Foxfire, and it's been over forty years. 
 
 For reasons owing to politics, misogyny, diplomatic relationships between duchies, and a well-meaning but totally misguided attempt by my father to keep my awful uncle's hands to himself, my father, the king, had me sent to a remote cloistered convent called the Red Tower. As you might imagine, the building is made of red limestone. 
 
 The nuns are not the stereotypical humble women in headscarves... quite the opposite. They are the inconvenient women: too loud, too smart, too powerful, too well-educated, and, well, some of them will never consent to having a husband, if you get what I mean. The powerful men who control the Duchy could not keep their control of the Duchy if they did n't keep these women quiet, so at the first hint of any sign of independence, the daughters of the wealthy, genteel men get packed up and sent on a red horse ( it's traditional ) to the Red Tower, never to enter polite society again. 
 
 The nuns' hands are not idle. Every inch of the Tower is covered in artwork, from carvings and frescoes to tapestries and stunning stone mosaics that one nun from far-away Persia made. Every inch of the land around the Tower is exquisitely tended to, with gardens that my childhood self could only dream of. The animal pens are clean, the animals themselves are all slick-coated and shining. The art, herbs, simples, perfumes, woolens, tapestries, and fine cheeses made by the nuns keep them living in comfort and style. Compared to the keep where I grew up, the Tower is a palace of luxury. The nuns refused to live in shit like my uncles. 
 
 Neither the blessed relief of being away from my uncle nor the luxurious surrounds of the Tower were the reason I was thrilled ( privately, of course ) to be sent to the Tower. The reason I was thrilled was because I could be educated by the Librarian. 
 
 The Librarian is a dragon. She is the colour of mist, with luminous green eyes matching those of her namesake. She speaks every language known to humans, including many whose last human speaker died before any living human's grandparents were born. 
 
 Anyway, enough backstory. For everyone's convenience, especially hers, Foxfire would take a human shape to walk around the Tower. Ergonomics are a thing, and after a thousand years at the Tower, it was just easier. She was in her human form when the army attacked: stocky, of middling height, with pale skin, hair the colour of mist, and luminous green eyes, wearing the same wool robes as all the rest of us. The only obvious mark that she was a dragon was a line of faint silver scales on her brow, a crown of light. 
 
 `` My lady, my lady!'' 
 
 Sister Clemente shook me awake. `` My lady!'' 
 
 I groaned and rolled over in bed. `` What's happening?'' 
 
 `` The Tower is being attacked,'' she hissed. `` Get up, get dressed, and take shelter.'' 
 
 That shook the fog of sleep off of me. `` Who?'' 
 
 `` Someone with gold and green banners,'' she said. `` An army, with pikes and horses. Get a move on, I have to wake the others.'' 
 
 I jumped out of bed and started throwing on anything I could get my hands on. 
 
 The Red Tower is wealthy, and this made it a target for thieves. There were numerous defences in place for the casual thief and even bands of roving robbers. Armies, though? If an army came, though? The plan was to lock down as much as possible, everyone take shelter, and call for help. Two hundred nuns ranging in age from sixteen to sixty plus were not a match for foot and horse soldiers, and we all know it. 
 
 The stones of the floor were cold beneath my bare feet as I ran for the Library. 
 
 `` Hurry, child,'' called Foxfire. 
 
 `` I'm coming,'' I panted. 
 
 My job was to roll down fireproof metal doors ( built by a legendary blacksmith nun some hundred years ago ) to keep the books and manuscripts within from burning. Four, five, six, seven doors came down. They were heavy and cold and the old metal tore at my hands. 
 
 `` Now what?'' I looked around. There was no food and no water in here. And there was no good way to get to the kitchens and get some. 
 
 Foxfire sighed. `` We wait.'' 
 
 We waited and waited. I passed the time by looking up heraldry banners to see who was attacking us. No luck... whoever it was either was n't in the book, or someone got something wrong. 
 
 Then came the blast. 
 
 I woke up on the Library floor. It was cold and dark. My head pounded like a chorus of anvils. Something sticky matted my hair. 
 
 `` Foxfire?'' I called. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 `` Foxfire? Anyone?'' 
 
 Desperation powered me to my knees. I could n't stand. My head, oh, my head. But I had to get out of here. Slowly, tediously, I put one hand in front of the other. Then one knee, then the other. Even on all fours I swayed and staggered. 
 
 `` Anyone?'' 
 
 I made it to the door of the Library before everything went black. 
 
... 
 
 Three days later, I woke up again, in an unfamiliar bed. 
 
 The sheets were coarse, heavy linen. The ceiling was whitewashed. I pawed at my clothes: clean linen robes. Not the woolens of the Tower. With my other hand, I felt my hair. It was clean and dry. Someone must have bathed and dressed me while I was... not here. 
 
 A shadow to my left moved, resolving itself as a lady's maid. Not one I remembered. 
 
 `` Are you well, My Lady?'' 
 
 I considered everything. `` No,'' I croaked. 
 
 She frowned, and departed. 
 
 `` Where are you going?'' My voice fell flat against the stone floors. The maid did n't answer. 
 
 An eternity later, she returned. To my great surprise and joy, Foxfire was right behind her. 
 
 `` Student,'' she said. 
 
 `` You're alive,'' I answered. Then I saw her wrists. Gold and iron bracelets shone in the morning sunlight. 
 
 `` You're... married?'' 
 
 The marauding army belonged to the younger son of a duchy two rivers over, who wanted his own chance at a throne. Being not too bright, he blasted open the library door and dragged off the unconscious woman with a crown to be married by a complicit priest who did n't seem bothered in the slightest that the bride was limp and drooling. Or the fact that the `` crown'' was an integral part of her skin, instead of removable metal. 
 
 `` Not my most dignified moment,'' Foxfire observed. 
 
 `` Did he... are you...'' My voice trailed off. 
 
 `` He did,'' she said. `` It's what he was expected to do, do n't you know.'' 
 
 I winced. 
 
 `` You should have seen the look on his face when I woke up and changed into my true form.'' Her eyes gleamed. 
 
 `` Oh.'' My head hurt too much to think much about it at the time. In hindsight, after I felt better? Goodness. 
 
 Foxfire smiled. With a lot of teeth. `` The priest that married us comes from a religion that says any congress with an animal is a sin unto death.'' She tipped up her chin. `` I told him, free the Tower, or I will see him executed in front of his own family.'' 
 
 So, that's how it happened. Foxfire stayed married to Prince Guillame, played nice for his father, forced his army to rebuild the Tower. Generously, she purchased land ( with money belonging to the Tower funds, but who cares ) far enough away from the Tower to not be bothered and opened a school for the army men. Less generously, and perhaps as a punishment, she chose to bear a pair of daughters ( daughters! so she could have her children close by ) by the hapless Guillame, further banishing him from his ambitions of power. It would have been breathtaking in its cruelty, except, well, he *was* the one who raided our home, gravely injured us both, bound her in a contract, and raped her while she was unconscious. I would n't go so far as to say it was well-earned ( that was n't fair to Foxfire ), but it was certainly a fine example of living well as the best revenge. 
 
 As for me, my father found me a scholarly son of a minor lord who had no ambitions for power whatsoever, much to my liking, and arranged us to be married. Foxfire came to our wedding, sullen prince and swollen belly and two cheerful daughters and all. My new husband, bless him, was over the moon at meeting a three-thousand-year-old polyglot polymath who was quite happy to teach him ancient Galician texts. And I was able to use my dowry to purchase a smallholding within a day's ride of the Tower, so to continue my studies. 
 
 A better life than I thought I would have as a young girl.
