Title:  Dragon Slayer

Author:  Miss Murchison

Rating:  It's from the POV of a young child, so it had better be G.

Disclaimer:  All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc.  Only the lame plots and dialogue herein are mine.

Notes:  This is the fourth epilogue to Chiaroscuro, taking place several years after the last one.  Of course, there are spoilers for the rest of the story.

The family is visiting Poland.  Joy confronts something terrifying and confusing for the first, but surely not the last, time.

About 2900 words.

Thanks: To Keswindhover and revdorothyl for the beta.

The coast was clear.

Joy evaluated the terrain carefully, just like Mom said you always should before a campaign.  She turned in her chair and looked around her.  Long shadows of ancient buildings stretched across Castle Wawel's courtyard, zigzagging over the lumps that Willow the aunt said covered the ruins of even older towers and stuff.  The air smelled clean because they were way up high and there weren't any cars or anything around, just some people and these really old stone walls.

The umbrellas in the small café by the "modern" part of the castle were bent over to keep the light from going straight into people's eyes.  (Joy had figured out on this trip that "modern" was a tour guide's way of saying, "has indoor plumbing.")  Mom was sitting at one of the round tables, her back to the setting sun, her ankles propped up, her hands crossed over her huge tummy, her eyes closed, and her mouth complaining.   Joy slunk down and slid her chair a little ways from the table, trying to make it seem like she was looking for some shade. 

Daddy was talking to the waiter, trying to order some brand of local beer he hadn't tried yet.  There was already an empty bottle in front of him, but Joy guessed there were lots of beers in Poland and Daddy still had a ways to go if he was going to drink one of each kind before they left for England.

Mom's half-full bottle held only that silly bubbly water.  Joy frowned at it.  She disapproved of that stuff.  Fizz belonged in soda, not water, and asking for bottles "nie gazovana" had been one of the first phrases she'd learned in Polish.  Right after how to buy ice cream.  Poles might do strange things with water, but their "lodi" was the best, right up there with Dove's and Ben and Jerry's.

Joy, like Daddy, picked up languages fast, human ones almost as quick as demon ones.  Mom didn't.  But she looked too sleepy right now to ask for Joy's help translating anything, and, besides, Daddy was right there.  And he was all focused on beer instead of Joy.

The aunts were off with the twins, going through the crypts and chapels of that huge church again, staring at the statues on top of the tombs of dead kings and queens.  The twins loved looking at all the dead people.  Joy got that.  She'd loved graveyards and crypts when she was 5 years old too.  But now she was older, she was interested in more interesting things.

Like dragons.  

No one else had wanted to go with Joy to see the dragon again.  They said it was starting to get dark, and there wouldn't be time.  But she knew they just didn't want to climb down one long set of stairs and back up another.  At least Aunt Willow and Aunt Tara didn't, and Mom's ankles definitely didn't.  Daddy would have done it, even if it meant passing up the beer, but the closer Mom got to having the new baby, the closer he stuck to her and the harder it got to talk him into more interesting stuff.  Joy stopped thinking about the dragon long enough to worry Daddy was only going to have even less time for his biggest daughter when the baby was more than just a lump in Mom's tummy.

Mom shifted and muttered.  Daddy stopped worrying about beer to bend over her, asking for about the sixty bazillionth time today if she'd had a contraction.  Mom snapped at him, then apologized.  Joy slipped her bottle of sensible, non-fizzy water back on the table and then slipped away herself, pausing only to make sure that she grabbed the bag with the dragon statue Daddy had bought her in the gift shop.  She couldn't trust anyone else to look after it.

She knew the dragon wasn't real, of course.  Not the one in the bag, and not the one outside the cave under the castle.  She was 8 years old, and not a little kid who thought that just because a place was called the Dragon's Lair there must be a real dragon.  There was only the metal one down by the river, and it spewed flame because there were gas lines up its butt or something, like Willow the aunt had explained.  And explained.  And explained.

But it was still pretty cool, even for a fake dragon, and the Lair was cooler still.  Joy was pretty sure that the dragon had been real once.  She wondered if it had been really killed by a shoemaker or a prince, or a shoemaker who became a prince. 

That was a weird thing about fairy tales.  Sometimes, princes were the heroes, and other times shoemakers or tailors managed to figure out stuff that heroes couldn't and got rid of the monsters.  Except, Joy had started to suspect that it really hadn't been shoemakers or tailors who did that.  She guessed it was really Slayers, but the tailors had taken all the credit.

Joy's parents were Slayers, and she'd be one someday soon.  So learning about dragons wasn't kid stuff for her.  It was job training.

There wasn't anyone on line waiting to go down to the Dragon's Lair.   Just an old guy in a kiosk collecting złotys.  There were old people in kiosks all over the city, all over Poland.  All they did all day was collect złotys for stuff.  They even charged for toilet paper in some of the big bathrooms. The twins had thought that was hilarious. 

"Cześć!"  Joy had learned that it never hurt to smile and say "hello" to old people.  If you said it in a perky tone, and even better with a foreign accent, they usually thought you were cute.  Getting old people to think you were cute was half the battle most of the time.  Grandparent types would let cute kids do just about anything.  She concentrated hard on being an adorable little blonde, blue-eyed girl.

Joy stuck her free hand in her pocket and pulled out a bunch of coins.  She kept forgetting to sort out her small hoard.  There was a quarter, a shekel, a few euros, which she wasn't sure this guy would take, and yeah, some złotys.  She picked them out and handed them over.

He babbled something, but all she understood was "Smok Waweleski."  That was the dragon's name, so she just smiled back as hard as she could and said, "Tak!  Smok Waweleski!  Dziękuję."  It never hurt to say "thank you" to old people either.   She turned and headed for the Lair, trusting that no old guy would bother to chase a fast-moving kid at the end of a long, hot day, especially not one who looked like she knew where she was going.

And she did.  She'd made this trip three times already today, but it was darker and colder now, and that made it way cooler.  She giggled a little at her pun.  Not as good as one of Mom's, but…

She was on the staircase now, surrounded by the damp smell of the stone walls, clutching her souvenir bag as she descended the long, winding, uneven steps that led down to the Lair.  Being in here was like being in some fairy tale or old movie, but it was even creepier now that she was alone.  She straightened her shoulders.  But not too creepy for a kid who was almost grown-up enough to be a real Slayer.

Her sneakered feet thudded on stone, speeding up just a little bit.  Not because she was scared.  She just wanted to see the dragon.  That's all.  The dragon.

She stopped.  She was just a couple of steps from the bottom, and she could see the cave that was the old Lair, and then the dragon statue itself outside by the river.

There was something here.  It looked like a grownup in normal clothes, jeans and a rugby shirt, but its face was an icky color, maybe because of the weird lights they'd put near the floor of the Lair so people didn't trip and fall.  But Joy had a feeling it would be an icky color anywhere.  It was saying something to her in Polish, but she couldn't understand.  She was too busy realizing why her brain was calling it an "it" instead of a "him."

Joy knew all about vamps, and she'd seen some, but never up this close.  Mom and Daddy always made sure they never got this close.  

The thing was blocking her way out through the Lair. She could turn and try to run back up the stairs to the castle courtyard, but that was a long way with a vampire at your back.  And vampires moved fast, and she didn't think that old guy in the kiosk would be coming to rescue her.

It was saying something in a soothing voice.  "Jestem…" followed by words she didn't know.

She didn't know what it was saying it was, so she had no way of knowing if it was lying.  It didn't matter.  She knew the truth without hearing words.

She was still several steps above the vampire, and when it leapt at her, she jumped, up and to one side, as if she were in goal during a soccer game, straining to block a penalty kick.  The stupid vamp hadn't guessed she knew it would attack, and it had come barreling straight in, aiming low to grab a short little kid.

Damn.  She'd rolled and jumped to her feet in a kind of creavassey place, her back against the rough stone wall.  It was still a long dash between where she was and the exit, with the vamp turning back towards her, its face changing as it realized there was no point in hiding what it was.  It looked angry and hungry, and it opened its fanged mouth to roar at her.

She roared too, and was surprised to see the vamp take a step backwards.  She hadn't decided to change to game face, just as she didn't decide to jump the vamp or to raise the fist clutching her souvenir and slam the bag and its contents into its chest.  It all just happened.  She felt a surge of power and glee unlike anything she'd ever known as the vamp disintegrated in front of her.  

It was a good thing she'd picked the wooden statue from the gift shop instead of the metal one.  And she'd been right; her dragon had been useful.  Joy held up the little fire breather and said, with a wobbly giggle, "I think I'll call you 'Dragon Slayer.'" 

And then she was back in her human face again, and her human stomach was trying to move up into her mouth and make her throw up.

She ran.  She tore past the souvenir vendors and heard one of them yell, probably cursing her but she didn't know all the Polish curses yet.  As she raced past the dragon, its mouth erupted with its natural gas-fueled flames, but she didn't spare it a glance.  Her eyes were on the river bank, past the shadow of the castle, where there was still some daylight.  Not lots, but enough.  

She was so busy looking at the river that she ran into a bench put along the sidewalk for the tourists, and grabbed hold of its back, staring out over the water, breathing hard and trying to think about anything but what had happened in the darkness of the Lair.

The city of Cracow was across the wide river.  The river had a name.   It was the Vistula.  The city and the river were important for all kinds of historical stuff.  Willow the aunt had told her.  Joy tried to remember the things Willow the aunt had said earlier, when the sun was bright and high, and she'd been bored with everything that wasn't about dragons.

Joy started to cry.

And then they were there.  All of them.  The aunts Willow and Tara, and the twins Willow and Tara, and Mom.  And Daddy.  They were talking and yelling, and waving their arms.

Daddy wanted to pick her up and hug her and make a fuss over her, and for the first time Joy could ever remember, she didn't want him to.  She pulled away and threw herself into Mom's arms.

And Mom, who spent almost all day complaining about how much her back hurt and how she just wanted a little peace, picked her up and cuddled her like she was littler than one of the twins and said, "I'll take care of her.  The rest of you go buy the twins some ice cream and give Joy some space.  Yes, you too, Spike!"

And then everyone else was gone.  It was just her and Mom on the bench in front of the big river, except for some other tourists wandering around, who didn't count.  Mom took the dragon statue from Joy's hand and set it on the bench next to them, and then held her tight.  Joy cuddled up as close as she could around Mom's belly.  She felt the baby move a little, and then settle down, as if even the baby knew it had to behave when Mom gave an order.

"Mommy?" she said at last.

"Sweetie."  Mom stroked her hair and kissed the top of her forehead.  After a minute, she added, "You know I'm really mad at you for going off alone, but I'm really proud you too.  I can tell you killed a vamp, all by yourself."

Joy felt all the fear bubble up her throat again.  It tasted horrible.  "I don't want to have to do it again."

"I hope you won't, not for a long time."

"Ever."

Another long pause.  "Okay.  Why?"

Joy got the words out, even though the fear almost made her throw up instead.  "It smelled a little like Daddy."

Mom didn't say anything.  The stroking stopped for a second and then started again.

"It's because he used to be one, didn't he?"  Joy had always known that fact, from somewhere.  It had been whispered around her since she was a baby, and there was a creepy member of the Watcher's Council who had said things once, trying to scare her, until Aunt Dawn had shown up and told him off and taken Joy for a ride on the London Eye to try to make her forget.

"Yes.  The First Slayer was too."

"But not you."

"No, not me."  Another kiss landed on Joy's hair.  "But he changed, sweetie.  I didn't think he could, but he did.  He isn't one of them any more.  He's one of us."

"How?"

"I'm not really sure.  I can tell you more when you grow up, but I still don't understand it all."

This was way creepier than the thing in the Lair.  If Mom didn't understand, how was Joy supposed to?  "And why could he change and not that vamp I just killed?  How do I know I didn't kill another Daddy?"

Mom's arms were suddenly a lot tighter.  "You didn't.  I don't know how Daddy could change, but I do know there's no other person like him.  I can't compare him to that thing in the cave.  I can't compare him to anyone else."  She paused.  "Although he can still be a stinker sometimes."

Joy couldn't help giggling.  She looked up and saw the rest of the family coming back.  Tara the twin was talking to Tara the aunt between licks of ice cream, probably explaining everything in a way she thought made sense.  That was Tara the twin all right.  When she got scared, she made up crazy explanations and then got crazier ideas on how to fix them.  Usually this drove Joy nuts, because Tara's crazy ideas always meant trouble, but right now she wished she was kind of like that herself.

Willow the aunt was walking next to Daddy, who had Willow the twin in his arms.  Her head was tucked under his chin, and she was holding on too tight to even worry about her ice cream.  Daddy was holding the little plastic cup for her.  Willow the twin wasn't exactly a scaredy cat, but she did get creeped out when bad things happened, and she could be kind of clingy. 

Joy looked up at Mom and saw she was watching the others too.  "You got their names mixed up."

Mom only looked confused for a second.  Then she smiled a real smile. "I know.  Parents don't always know everything."

Joy finally forced herself to look at Daddy's face.  She sighed, and her stomach stopped trying to climb up to her mouth.   He didn't look at all like that vamp in the Lair.  He just looked like Worried Daddy. 

She tried to imagine the vamp in the cave standing out here in the little bit of daylight that was left, holding a kid like Willow and her melting ice cream, and worrying about a kid like Joy.

Nope.  No way.

Joy didn't understand it, but Mom didn't either.  And Mom was the best Slayer there had ever been, and even though she yelled at him a lot, Mom really loved Daddy.

Maybe this wasn't a problem you had to understand to solve.

Joy slid off Mom's lap and ran towards her Daddy, yelling, "Hey, if Willow doesn't want that ice cream, can I have it?"

The End

That conversation won't end the issue for Joy, of course.  One way to look at it is that she has just successfully repressed some very uncomfortable information; another is to say she's filed it away until she's mature enough to deal with it.

This story was just about the last thing I expected to find myself writing yesterday, but I woke up with it almost fully-formed in my mind, and I couldn't move on until I finished the first draft.  I'm fairly sure it emerged from my sleepy brain's processing the recent Polish elections (in which identical twins were running for President and PM) and a conversation with a friend about how children handle crises and how their family circumstances affect their ability to cope.

To see Castle Wawel and the dragon, click on this link and choose Kraków in the southern part of the country.  You'll get a menu on the top of the page that will let you see panoramas of the city, including the royal castle and the dragon's cave, which I have translated as "lair" because that's how my husband translated it for my kids.  And because, as Joy would say, "lair" sounds cooler. (Even if its history as a brothel and a tavern is better documented than the dragon tales.) 

Here's a close-up of Smok Waweleski breathing fire.  Tell me what child could resist that?

I blame any minor variations, such as the placement of a kiosk or bench, between the terrain in my story and in the views on the site on the fact that my story is set a few years into the future.  This also accounts for Joy's uncertainty about the use of euros.  Any big mistakes are mine, and certainly not the fault of my betas or my husband's efforts to fix my Polish grammar and spelling.
 

Please send feedback to: missmurchison@mchsi.com