Dragonelf and Friends (and Swords!): a Fantasy-Romance Saga, Part 5

"Would ya look at him? So soft and peaceful," George whispered, brushing a fleck of dirt from Seamus' long, honey-colored eyelashes. "The spitting image of his mother."

"The drooling image, I should say," Legoless remarked with a laugh.

He held onto Seamus' ankles, while Heather gripped the tall, sleeping elf's impossibly smooth hands. They had already carried Seamus ninety yards closer to the Bridge of Melancholy Grompers.

"Fozzy Meringue! He must rub fairy butter into his skin every single night. It's hard to hold on, his hands are so silky," Heather complained. She strained to lift Seamus' upper half high enough to keep his precious golden locks from dragging in the dirt and underbrush. "He's heavier than he looks. Must be all the weightlifting and swimming he does. He's nothing but flawless skin and lots and lots and lots of lean muscle."

George curled up on Seamus' broad chest and gazed into his fair, relaxed face. "What a complexion these young elves have! Ethereal. Glowing. Like there's magic in his blood."

Legoless cleared his throat.

"Your skin was once like his," George acknowledged, bowing her head reverently. "I haven't forgotten, sire."

"He has no idea who I am," Legoless grumbled.

"So tell him when he wakes up," George suggested.

Legoless shook his head. Sorrow and regret tugged at his weary eyes. "I don't think he's ready."

Heather groaned loudly, and lowered Seamus' head and shoulders into an abandoned wigaboo's nest. "I can't carry him another step," she sighed, collapsing in the downy-soft nest next to Seamus.

George chuckled. "Perhaps you'd prefer some time alone with the snoozing prince, while me and Legoless defeat the Grompers ourselves."

Heather laughed. "Yes, please."

"We're nearly there, child. The Grompers know we're coming. That's why they're so quiet now," George said, wiggling her tiny nose as she sniffed the air.

"They know we're not afraid," Legoless added.

"Uh. Yeah. Right." Heather sat up and shoved sweaty strands of long brown hair out of her face.

Legoless dropped Seamus' outrageously-expensive gelfskin boots in a pile of Poff manure. "Our plan will work. If not," said the old elf, patting Heather's shoulder, "We won't be around to know we failed, now, will we?"

Seamus furrowed his brow and muttered in his sleep. "Dreamweaver!" he called, reaching out his hand.

"I'm closer than you think, dearest. Beyond the Bridge of Melancholy Grompers resides a fairy who calls herself Princess Laurel. Loathsome, hideous creature. Her breath stinks of cheap bubbleweed and bort-and-leek stew. She once spat in the eye of a Talking Tree, and lost an eye in return. She's going through a nasty divorce. Her Gromper husband cheated on her with an ancient, toothless Toadstool woman."

Dreamweaver glittered in a patch of light that Seamus couldn't touch. "You must kiss her, Seamus. Skillful usage of your exquisite tongue is entirely optional. It won't be pleasant, but you must kiss her for at least two minutes to break the spell which binds her to her wretched swamp for eternity."

"Why me?" Seamus whined.

Dreamweaver sighed. "Because I said so."

"But what if Laurel is better off in her swamp? I certainly don't want her moving to Poshollow! A one-eyed fairy?! Gross!"

"The Pigeontoed Dwarf who stole me is engaged to Laurel's niece."

"Isn't there an easier way?"

"Only a descendant of Aidan Dragonelf can break the spell-because it was Aidan himself who cast the spell. I was there."

"If my father felt Laurel deserved to rot in a swamp for all of eternity, well, she must've done something really, really bad."

"She was more beautiful than your mother. That was Laurel's only crime."

"Excuse me! Last time I checked, my mother had both of her original eyes. And a kick-ass figure for an elf pushing 440."

"Laurel was once a great beauty. Like a winged lily, but even sweeter. She drove your father mad with insatiable lust. She used to sit on his windowsill and sing 'Gracious Breasts Like These' as your mother slept."

"He should've killed her."

"Fairies aren't easy to kill."

"They're easy in a lot of other ways."

"Do you understand what you must do, Seamus?"

"I really miss Clara Pillymount. She wore the sexiest little buttercup dresses, and loved to massage my neck. She did this one thing with her wings...Do you know where she is, Dreamweaver?"

"Kiss Princess Laurel. She'll tell you where to find me."

"What about Clara Pillymount?...Dreamweaver? Where'd you go?"

Seamus' eyes twitched, but never fully opened. His head rolled back and forth as he mumbled, "Dreamweaver? Clara?" His hair snagged in a Snarky thistle.

"Grab him by the elbows," Legoless told Heather.

Heather cursed and yanked on Seamus' wrists until the Snarky thistle released the elf's golden hair. George hopped off of Seamus' chest, grabbed a stick, and stabbed the thistle until it stopped spitting.

"Elbows," Legoless said again, and this time Heather obeyed, gently feeling her way down Seamus' smooth forearms to his elbows, and holding on tightly.

"That's better," Heather sighed as the back of Seamus' left hand brushed her breast.

"We're nearly there, I should say," George remarked, scampering up Seamus' long leg to reclaim her resting place on his chest.

"Aye," Legoless agreed. "I smell the Grompers."

Heather glanced over her shoulder, crinkling her nose in disgust. The dirt beneath their feet grew moister with every step. Soon they were trudging through mud, pushing through a warm, thick fog, inhaling nothing but the Grompers' rotten fish stench.

"You really think this is gonna work?" Heather gasped, trying to breathe through her mouth. She let her gaze fall on Seamus' peaceful face, and felt a stab of guilt. "Maybe we should've let him tell a joke. How bad could it have been?"

"Deadly. For all of us," George replied.

"Just follow my lead," Legoless said, lowering his voice as dim lights suddenly appeared in the trees surrounding them.

The Talking Trees were waking up. Their glowing, ancient brown eyes blinked in unison.

"Grompers ahead," one of the Trees warned.

"Wouldn't you like for us to eat you instead?" another Tree asked, licking his splintery gray lips.

"You promised not to eat us as long as we cross the Bridge in the next three hours," Heather reminded them.

"Of course. Thanks for the horses," a particularly old Tree wheezed.

"Succulent," intoned a younger Tree. "But I've always preferred human flesh. Lots of bones. I love the crunch."

"Yes! Give me the red blocks!" George cried. "All of them!"

"She picked a great time to fall asleep," Legoless muttered.

Heather batted away a Talking Tree's twiggy, prodding fingers with her elbow.

"Keep moving," Legoless quietly commanded. To the Trees, he cried, "Fare thee well, friends!"

The Trees guffawed mightily, raining down leaves and dandruff. Heather started sneezing. George kicked and clawed at something only she could see, growling, "It's mine!"

"The Grompers can't wait to greet you," one of the Trees snickered. "Good luck."

Legoless scoffed. "We don't need luck!"

"But a miracle would be nice," Heather murmured.

"We'll be fine," Legoless soothed, once the Talking Trees had closed their eyes and disappeared. "The Grompers are easily deceived."

"Easily deceived?" a deep, gurgling voice echoed, less than a foot from where they stood.

Heather froze as a cold, slimy tongue tasted her cheek and ear. The light shining from her enchanted fingertip flickered and went out.

"What have we here?" the creature asked, crushing a hundred flash nuts in one enormous, grayish-green hand. He dropped the nuts into a small lantern, where they rumbled and popped brightly. In the soft, flickering pink light, the creature looked almost human. Until he opened his mouth to snarl. His teeth were wildly-misaligned black daggers. His gray tongue unfurled-all twenty-eight inches of it-and flicked Legoless' forehead, then George's paw, then Seamus' throat. He continued to lap Seamus' throat until the elf's radiant skin dripped with thick, reeking saliva.

"Stop that!" Heather gasped.

The long tongue retracted. "He tastes the best," the creature sneered, drooling as he lowered the lantern to get a better look at Seamus' face.

"How are ya, Dingo?" Legoless asked, as if he'd just spotted his old buddy in the frozen foods section of Grub-4-Less. "Where's Mort?"

Dingo hissed, genuinely startled. "I wondered if that were you, Legoless," he said with a frothy, liquid laugh. "Ain't scarcely enough blood left in your withered old veins to feed my wee son. But this young elf here-he is a prize, to be sure. I thank ye for bringin' him along. And knockin' him out for me. Now if you leave him here, you and your lady-friend and squirrel can cross the bridge at once. You folks is lucky. Mort woulda made ye tell a joke."

"What's goin' on, Dingo? You was s'posed to tell me when they got here!" Another Gromper, thinner than Dingo, but with the same bald, earless head, tiny black eyes, and tattered loincloth, came clomping across the bridge, through the dense fog.

"Shizzle," Dingo growled. "I told him his singing was givin' me a headache. Shoulda known he wouldn't stay away for long."

"I heard that!" Mort yelled.

Seamus had started snoring. Legoless and Heather plunked him (and George) down in the mud, inches from Dingo's pointy toenails.

George sniffed in her sleep and squeaked, "That's the coolest Lego bus I've ever seen!"

"What's a 'Lego bus'?" Mort asked.

"It's that insane old squirrel again," Dingo said. "Pay her no heed."

"Legoless!" Mort cried, delighted. "You came back!" He skipped the remaining wooden planks in the creaking old bridge and squished through the mud toward them.

"Watch it," Dingo cautioned, stopping Mort before he squashed Seamus' face. "Legoless brought us dinner. Look at him. Ain't that the tastiest thing you ever saw?"

Mort shrugged his burly green shoulders. "I've sorta got used to human blood, now that elves are so scarce. Human blood gives me bad gas, but it goes down real smooth-like." He eyed Heather greedily, and took her hand. "I don't believe we've met. I'm Mort. Mort Jenkins. I bet you wouldn't give me bad gas," he said with an awkward wink.

Heather shuddered at Mort's cold, clammy touch, but didn't pull away. Legoless raised his eyebrows and nodded to her. Heather caught his eye and shook her head fervently, mouthing the words, I can't!

Legoless narrowed his eyes and nodded again. Heather sighed angrily, turned to Mort, and, through gritted teeth, said, "Oh, Mort, I can't believe how strong you are! You must work out every day!"

"Well, I take Sundays off, a'course, but...Hey, don't think just 'cause you're cute and attracted to me that I ain't gonna suck all your blood out through your eye sockets," Mort said.

Dingo choked out another horrible, gurgling laugh, spraying them all with his fishy saliva.

"Don't think just 'cause I'm a woman," Heather replied, reaching casually into her purse, "I won't hack off your filthy tongues with my axe!" She tore loose from Mort's slimy hand, crouched over her sleeping comrades, and clapped her hands together.

And in a cloud of swirling dark sand, Heather, Seamus, and George disappeared. The Gromper's flash-nut lantern sizzled and extinguished, but not soon enough. Mort and Dingo seized Legoless by the arms.

"So you brought a sorceress along, did ya? That's breakin' all the rules, Legoless, old pal," Dingo growled, dripping on the elf's cheek and mustache. "You're a bit crusty for my taste, but Grampa Gromper knows how to soften ye old elves up."

Legoless wiped the foul drool off his face. "Aye. It's better if you take me to Grampa Gromper at once. He'll want to hear my joke-it involves Crotchese transvestites and exploding cucumbers."

He didn't struggle as the Grompers escorted him down the steep, slippery embankment, toward the fast-food restaurant called "Grampa Gromper's Grab 'N' Go," where a large, elf-sized pot of swamp water was just beginning to boil.

( Click here to read Part 6, "Seamus' Golden Underwear" )

In case you missed Parts 1-4 of "Dragonelf and Friends (and Swords!)," here are the links:

Part 1: Barbarian Surprise

Part 2: A Night in the Ghastly Belly of James Woods

Part 3: A Fellowship of Freaks

Part 4: In Search of a Good, Raunchy Joke