Lady of His Wildest Dreams

Maggie is everything Dexter McCulloch ever dreamed of.  And she is his.  After dreaming of her for so long, Dex can’t quite believe it. 

Of course, Maggie isn’t her real name.  But his pet name for her seems fitting, since she had been the Lady Margrait, once upon a time…

***

Perched on the harsh, unforgiving coast of Northern Waldraineshire, Castle Marwyndeloch was a place of little cheer.  King Cuináed had long mourned the death of his beloved Queen Marín.  Indeed, since her death, sorrow had lain like a shroud over all the realm, though none of the bereft subjects was more so than the heartbroken king.  Even his daughters could bring him no relief, so deep was his grief.

Shortly after his mother’s death, Prince Artair left the kingdom behind, and rode off to take his place in a war raging to the south.  He left his two sisters, the beautiful Princess Margrait and the not-so-comely Princess Beatrice behind to comfort their father, but no matter how great their efforts, the good king would not be soothed.

Soon it came about that while riding out to hunt, King Cuináed happened upon a lady of pleasing countenance.  She had paused beside a cold stream so that her horse might quench his thirst.  Astride the steed of pitch black, the woman sat, regal in bearing and appealing in her beauty.  The king was mesmerized and all thoughts of his grief fled him.  Upon greeting her, he learned that the lady was Fiona of Pictonland.  She had accompanied her father on his quest for wild boar, and had lost her way while riding in the woodlands of unfamiliar Waldraineshire.

The king, being a noble and a gentleman, was obliged to rescue her and thus he did, bringing her back to Castle Marwyndeloch with him. Things came to pass as they do, and soon enough, King Cuináed and Fiona were wed.

The princesses were pleased to see their father happy again, and made welcome to the new queen.  A great celebration was caused to happen and all the King’s court were invited to the Great Hall to make merry. 

Now it was that, though the new queen was a lady of some beauty, her candle flickered when seen in concert with that of Princess Margrait, the more beautiful of the king’s daughters.  Knights and nobles alike showered Margrait with attention at the banquet, and barely noticed the new queen. Such displeased the king’s bride and, alas, this was not a woman to bear displeasure lightly. 

Unbeknownst to the king, he had taken a formidable witch as his wife. That night, while all the denizens of Castle Marwyndeloch slept, the new queen went to the bowels of the castle, and there within the cold walls of a storeroom, she conjured a revenge to be visited upon the lovely Margrait.  Thus, the princess spent her last night as a beautiful woman as well as her last night in the castle.  For when she awoke, she was in a cave at the shoreline.  She discovered herself to be covered in scales from her head to the end of the fearsome tail that now followed her ever she went.  And so, the Waldraine Wyrm was born. 

 ***

The Legend of the Waldraine Wyrm has long been Dex’s favourite.  Ever since he was a lad, he’s been a dragon sort of bloke, even when his mates all fancied dinosaurs. 

And Maggie is quite the best of all.  She may have been born a refined lady and Princess of the Realm, but now she is a force to be reckoned with, a lady with attitude.  She was wronged in the past, but it will never happen again. Our Maggie is the Waldraine Wyrm, a dragon of the fiercest order.

***

And a wondrous dragon she is, he thinks as he looks at the image of Maggie painted on the front of his Spitfire, her eyes blazing and flames belching from her snarling mouth.  When he flies Maggie into battle, it will be easy to imagine that the legendary Waldraine Wyrm is beneath him, carrying him to victory. 

“Today,” he whispers to Maggie as he climbs aboard for the ride of his life, “I need every bit of your ferocity.  Today, we’re going to meet Jerry.”   

Today is Dex “Dragon” McCulloch’s first mission since his deployment to No.92 Squadron in Northolt.  Dragon knows he’s still wet behind the ears; he’s only been at Northolt a few weeks, and has yet to fly in combat. Still, he ‘s browned off hearing others call him a sprog, and he’s determined to show them just what he is made of.  Operation Dynamo is his chance to do that.

After weeks of being attacked by Jerry and pushed to the coast where they are flanked on all sides, Allied forces have no option but to cut their losses and evacuate.  The War Office has called for the evacuation of the British Expeditionary Force in an operation called Operation Dynamo.  The troops have been crossing the Channel at Dunkirk under heavy fire from ground artillery and air attacks by the Luftwaffe.  No. 92 Squadron moved to RAF Hornchurch several days ago, where they’ve been waiting for the go ahead to enter the fray. 

The day dawned to reveal good flying weather for the first time and the call came to scramble.  Dragon and his mates poured from the barrack and ran to their planes.   

Now Dragon settles into the pulpit and gives Maggie a pat on her taps. “This is it, Maggie.  Time to show them that the Waldraine Wyrm is the wrong dragon to mess with.” 

“Come along, Sprogs.  Belt up and into the air with you.” Squadron Leader Roger Bushell’s voice meets Dragon’s ears as he straps on his helmet.  “Our lads are waiting.”

Dragon takes his place in the line of planes waiting to take off.  In front of him, Spitfires lift into the air in rapid succession.  And then it’s his turn.

Dragon aims his Spitfire down the grassy field, an eye on his mates to either side of him.  He eases the stick back slowly, and Maggie takes flight.  The squadron swings wide and heads toward Dunkirk.   

Just as Dragon catches first sight of Jerry, a Luftwaffe bandit at ten o’clock and closing fast, the receiver at his ear crackles to life and he hears…

***

“Dexter! Dexter, you get inside this house right now.  Tea is on the table.  I’m not going to call you again.”

“Bugger!” 

Dex swings Maggie around, and pedals home.  He leans her against the fence, gives her another pat and goes in to eat, muttering, "Ah, well, not today.  But we live to fight another day, Milady.”

*****************************************

Written for The Tenth Daughter of Memory.