The Squire's Tale by Gerald Morris

Gawain paused briefly. "Now you tell me where you heard about the Seelie Court."
    "I met a ... a messenger from the Seelie Court today. In the forest."
    "You're sure this messenger was from the Seelie Court?"
    "He ... he said he was," Terence faltered.
    "So do they all, lad."
    "Oh," Terence said.
    "Never mind, Terence. What did he say?" Gawain asked softly.
    "He said ... he said that this quest wasn't over yet, and that you're to do whatever the first relative you meet tells you to do."
    "What relative?"
    "He wouldn't say, milord."
    "Is that all?"
    Terence hesitated, but decided suddenly that he should tell no one, not even Gawain, about the figures in the water. "Yes, milord."
    Again, Gawain was silent for a long time. Finally he said, "You did right waiting until now to tell me, Terence. Now, let's go to sleep. Tomorrow begins to sound promising." In a few seconds, Gawain whispered faintly, "I knew you were of faery stock. They'd never speak to you like that if you were not." He chuckled faintly. "Good night, little one."
    ***
    The next morning the three knights sparred with swords in the meadow, and the two squires busied themselves around the camp. Terence had just stepped toward the forest to gather a few more armloads of firewood when he saw the serpent.
    It was a thick serpent with an evil-looking triangular head. A faint trail of smoke rose from its flaring nostrils, and a ridge of tiny spikes showed along its back. Terence knew that he was looking at a dragon. It wound sinuously around a slim beech at the edge of the forest, arching its back luxuriously. Terence froze, then slowly backed away. When he neared the camp, he whispered hoarsely, "Plogrun!"
    Something in his voice must have alerted Plogrun, and in a second he was at Terence's side. "Glory and saints help us," he whispered. "That's the real thing, it is."
    The beast coiled and writhed from its tail to its head, then hissed loudly and furiously. Both squires jumped. As one, they turned and ran toward the knights. Terence arrived first, gasping, "Milord! Milord!"
    "What is it, lad?"
    Terence pointed at the serpent, still winding up and down the beech tree. The knights stared at it in silence, then, holding their swords ready, paced toward it. Terence gulped and followed. Plogrun fell in beside him, panting and muttering, "To save a lady, maybe, but why fight a thing like that if you don't have to, that's what I don't know. Live and let live, I say."
    They drew near the beast and stopped, each knight measuring it with his eyes. "It's a foul-looking monster indeed," Sir Marhault said.
    "Ah," hissed the serpent, "but the foulest of all are sometimes the best, Sir Marhault."
    They all jumped, and the creature laughed.
    "Have you ever heard of a talking dragon?" Tor asked.
    "Nay, Sir Tor. Never," Sir Marhault replied. Gawain only frowned.
    "Sure you have never known love until you have loved something foul," the serpent continued. "Which of you fine knights shall have me to wed?" The serpent slithered ecstatically around the slim beech, making low hissing noises and sending out fine steamy mists from its nostrils and parted lips.
    "You always were a twisted wench, Morgan," Gawain said suddenly. He grinned and added, "But if you've taken to wooing men in that shape, your age must be telling on you. Bags under the eyes, is it?"
    The beast's eyes flashed at him, and in an annoyed voice that showed no trace of serpentine hissing snapped, "I'm only a year older than you, nephew, and you know it."
    "But women show their age so much earlier, don't you think?" Gawain responded sweetly.
    The serpent hissed, but after a second it laughed and in the same voice responded, "I'm still enough of a beauty to make pompous knights babble of their victories to impress me." Slowly the serpent began to change: its long tail separated and became two very shapely legs, then an equally shapely woman's body began to appear. Finally, just before her body revealed itself completely, the