A knock on her chamber door snapped Princess Victoria from her thoughts.

"Enter," she said.

Through the door came her father clad in his ceremonial armor, green heavy plate trimmed with gold. His crown rested on his brow, the emeralds in it sparkling in the sunlight. His face was grim.

"Daughter, I'm... I'm afraid Ser Enoch is in great peril."

Princess Victoria's heart skipped a beat, and chills began dancing down her spine as a heavy weight formed in her heart. Ser Enoch had served the crown faithfully his entire life, and saved her life times beyond counting.

The Princess rose from her chair and rushed to her father.

"What has become of him?" she inquired, her voice wavering.

Her father slid his crown off his head, as if he could not bear it's weight at present.

"A dragon has him in it's clutches. Ser Enoch rode to it's lair in search of the arms and armor of Ser Driscoll the Deadly, rumored to be buried in the creature's hoard, but it's power proved too great..."

The King looked into her eyes at last. His eyes, green as summer grass, were full of sorrow.

"If our scouts are to be believed, he is being held prisoner, and his wounds are grave. He may not last long."

The Princess set her mouth in a hard line and spun on her heel.

"Ser Enoch has rescued me many a time, I shall at last begin to repay this debt."

She turned back to her father, her own green eyes full of determination.

"I shall go to him, and fight this dragon."

With that, she stormed off, forming a plan within her mind.

She first stopped at the armory and informed Rory, the royal smith, that she required arms and armor.

Rory provided, of course, and the Princess shed her emerald-green finery and gold jewelry for boiled leather, a shirt of chain, and a suit of green plate mail. Her helm was carved to resemble the head of a falcon, the animal on her family's coat of arms. She wore a longsword and dirk on her swordbelt, and a kite shield slung on her back.

With the clanking of steel now replacing the whisper of satin and silk in her footsteps, she made off down the hallway, and into the barracks.

Her father's soldiers stared at her, so she removed her helm and spoke.

"Men, Ser Enoch has been bested and captured by a dragon. I am going to get him back. Will you ride with me?'

The men of the royal army stood and cheered, and began donning armor and sliding blades into scabbards, so Victoria went off to consult the steward.

When she arrived at his chamber, Lord Josiah, her father's steward, was bent over a letter at his desk.

"My lord?" Victoria called.

Lord Josiah turned and rose, bowing slightly.

"Princess, you look splendid in your family's armor. how may I be of assistance?" he asked in his course voice.

"Could you provide me with a map to show me where Ser Enoch was going?" she asked.

Lord Josiah understood. "The dragon lair, yes. I have a map just here..."

Lord Josiah shifted the mountain of papers on his desk before producing a worn, grey map.

"Here it is, Princess. I wish you good fortune. May you and Ser Enoch return safe and sound."

Victoria examined the map for a bit, smiled and curled the map up, and tucked it into her pack. "Thank you, my lord. I must be off now."

By the time she had made her way to the stables, her men were already gathered there, armed, armored, and horsed. They had brought a division of archers as well, and Thomas the Acolyte.

Victoria went and embraced Thomas warmly.

"I'm glad you're coming with us, Thomas," she said.

The Acolyte smiled sheepishly. He was clad in a mage's robes, and a simple iron staff was slung over across his back.

"Of course, Princess. Ser Enoch was always kind to me."

Victoria pulled her helmet on and lifted the visor, and stood where everyone could see her. Even her father the King and Lord Josiah, who stood silent on the battlements to her right.

"Ser Enoch, a faithful and true knight of this kingdom, is in mortal danger!" she shouted. "We will ride north, to the lair of the dragon who has bested him, slay the beast, and rescue our brave knight!"

Her men cheered, some reared up their horses, and Thomas raised his staff, shooting sparks from the end.

Victoria mounted her own horse, a well-bred and well-groomed warhorse clad in green steel, and led her procession of soldiers and friends down the road to the northern mountains, veiled in mist and snow.

They rode for three days without incident, and arrived at the foot of the mountain pass. A cave