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Cimorene walks into the bar with a grin, brushing off dusty hands on her blue dress....her...chainmail dress?

"What..."

She's suddenly wearing a golden skirt and cape with a chainmail vest and long black sleeves. She also has a very shiny crown and a pair of wings. Yes, wings. Rather large ones.

"Well," she says, looking around in astonishment, "So much for a quiet cup of tea."

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Mendanbar bites the insides of his cheeks rather hard, trying not laugh, and carefully extricates her crown and her chainmail from each other.

And then he laughs.

Free at last!

She dumps the offending garment (including the wings) onto the floor in a heap and scowls at it. It hits the floor with a loud, heavy sounding jingle. Strands of her hair stick out all over her head around the crown and she tries to put them back in place just a little, failing miserably.

At first she glares at Mendanbar for laughing at her. But it doesn't last for long. She cracks a smile and soon she's laughing along with him.

She had wings for crying out loud!

She did. And he still has a goatee.

"Much better," he says, pulling out a chair for her so that she can sit down.

"Now that you are once again wingless, can I get you anything? Something to drink?"

Still laughing she sits down with a huge smile as though she thought she'd never sit down again.

"I'd love something," she says, grinning, "whatever you're having is fine."

She stretches her arms over her head.

"Chainmail is heavy," she says at last.

And so are wings. Remind her not to make fun of Killer when the time comes.

Cider then. And a treacly, cinnamony, nutty pastry of some description.

"It's supposed to be heavy," says Mendanbar. "It has to protect you from . . . " he pauses, and grins at her " . . . things like dragons."

It must be confessed that he looks quite a bit like he could be standing outside Kazul's cave yelling challenges right now, given the armor and all.

Also, he looks like he could probably at least fight the King of the Dragons to a draw.

"Well, I hardly need protection from them, do I?" she says, smiling.

"Besides, I'm not sure how much good it would do. We have an awful lot of suits of armour in the treasure rooms, and quite a few of them look..." she thinks of a tactful word, "used."

If by used you mean bloody.

And she is not thinking about Mendanbar under those cicumstances. She's not. Really.

"It's like all things," says Mendanbar, practically, taking a sip of his cider. "If you go for showy and ornate, rather than practical and well made, well . . . you eind up eaten by dragons."

Mendanbar would probably happily rescue Cimorene from anything she wanted to be rescued from. Or from anything in his kingdom, whether she liked it or not, because that's his job.

Fortunately, this lets out dragons on both counts.

She takes a bite of her pastry.

"It's true," she says, "if someone came to fight Kazul in armour that was actually sensible then she'd probably think twice about eating them right away. If they ever got to fight her, that is. Which they won't."

And, on some rare (very rare) occasions, she might not even mind being rescued. But don't tell her I told you that.

"Of course not. Because you take care of your own knights and rescuers, even if it means fighting them."

Let us call it "offering assistance" perhaps, and get around the issue all together.

"Yes I would," she grins, "And you know that perfectly well. And some day, I'll be able to do it too. Perhaps I should get some sensible armour of my own. Though I might pass on the goatee."

Mendanbar throws back his head and laughs. "Please do," he says. "I would imagine that a goatee would suit you even less than it suits me.

"On the other hand, it probably would discourage most of your suitors."

"Hah!" she laughs, "You know, I think you're definitely right about that one, though I honestly don't think that's a step I'm quite willing to take."

"And I definitely think I prefer you without the goatee," she adds, helpfully.

Mendanbar grins. "I think I prefer me without the goatee as well. But as it doesn't prevent me from sitting down, and as I'm not anxious to try to shave in the middle of a tavern, I don't think it will hurt anything if I have it for one evening."

"Fair enough," she admits, "Though it's rather unfair that you only had to deal with a bit of facial hair while I was stuck with a giant set of clumsy and heavy wings. And chainmail!"

Mendanbar gestures to the fact he is also wearing armor.

"I may not have wings, Your Highness, but I did get rather more than the goatee."

Is he Highness-ing her? He is, isn't he.

"I suppose you're right, your Majesty," she grins, "After all, I don't imagine you wear armour very often, especially since you've cancelled all those terribly enjoyable jousting tourneys."

"Well, no," he says. "But then, I've never encountered an enjoyable tourney."

He grins at her. "And you really should just call me Mendanbar."

"Only if you stop 'your Highness-ing' me," she counters. It's only fair, you know."

"Very well," he says. And then, with a very bright grin, adds, "Princess."

She rolls her eyes at him, but she's smiling.

"Careful," she says, "or I may just have to write that steward of yours and remind him about that woman you mentioned with the twelve daughters who aren't getting any younger, you know."

"You could not possibly be so cruel," says Mendanbar, with an overly dramatic shudder. "Please, Cimorene."

A look of Great Benevolence passes over her face.

"Well, I suppose, I wouldn't." she says with a smirk, "That would be far too dreadful a fate for anyone to suffer. I can really imagine few worse things than twelve princesses trying to snag a husband."

That's like, her sisters! times two!

"And their mother," adds Mendanbar, earnestly. "You must not forget about their mother."

"Hmm..." she thinks, "Do they live anywhere near the Mountains of Morning? I might be able to convince a few of my rescuers to head over their direction..."

"I don't think it's too far," he says. "Though there's nothing to rescue them from, really. But I'd appreciate it if you could try, Cimorene. Really."