A/N: Not for the first time, despite having other fics that desperately need updating, I got another idea.

This one is based on the fairy tale Sleeping Beauty and its Disney version. And, of course, my own spin on it involving Chelsie. Despite it being a fairy tale, it does involve a little seriousness – we live in serious times, and this story reflects that. A little. There is more happiness in here than not. It is a fairy tale, after all.

The usual spiel: I do not own Downton Abbey or its characters. The same goes for anything Disney: DON'T SUE ME. I'm not a dragon; I don't have any hoard hidden somewhere.

This one is dedicated to the wonderful Hogwarts Duo. She was my first introduction to this world that is the Chelsie fandom, and I owe her more than I could ever repay.

This is about overcoming fear, and facing dragons, and finding friends, and finding love. Always love.

Fog clings to the walls of Downton Castle, obscuring the men on the top of its solid walls. Dawn is breaking far away in the east. Servants carrying torches scurry about in the courtyard around Charles. They all glance his way, never looking at him long, then they hurry along with their duties. Some people try to smile at him, some only nod solemnly; some even look like they are holding back tears.

Charles turns toward the road. Though it's too dark to see much yet, he can't help looking north. Towards the Great Forest. And what lies beyond it.

Swallowing hard, he feels his heart racing.

Is this the day I die?

"There you are," a familiar voice says. Charles's younger brother Robert emerges through the fog, lines visible beneath his eyes. Next to him is his servant Bates. Robert takes the torch from him, and Bates limps away after bowing to both men.

The two brothers face each other for a moment before Charles thinks of something to say.

"Did Bates wake you?"

"No. Cora did. She didn't think saying goodbye last night after the banquet was good enough." Robert turns, looking up at the castle. "She told me to tell you she's praying for you."

Looking up, Charles sees a pale figure in one of the windows. His sister-in-law Cora raises her hand in farewell, and Charles returns it.

"I'll need every prayer I can get," he says to Robert. "Tell her…that I wish I could have known her longer. Tell her that she is stronger than she knows. And tell her to please kiss Mary and the baby for me."

He tries not to let his voice wobble. Little Mary, his eldest niece, is the apple of his eye. He might be king, but many servants at the court whisper that she rules him. And baby Edith has just smiled at him for the first time a few days before…

"Now, it's not all as bleak as that!" Robert cries. "Remember the news that came only days ago – there is some hope. And this isn't your first fight with that bloody dragon. You've fought it twice before-"

"I was with Papa the first time. You were with me the last time, as were Bates and Watson," Charles reminds Robert. His heart aches thinking of their father. He thinks of his old servant Watson, and his belly flips over. The man was burnt to a crisp in front of him. "I was lucky to escape with my life. Both times."

He thinks again of the letter he received. He wants to hope, to believe the vile creature has been wounded, but he wonders if it is too good to be true.

Wounded creatures are the most dangerous.

"If Bates hadn't thrown himself in front of me, you would have come home alone." Robert steps forward, his expression determined. "Let me come with you, now. You don't have to do this by yourself."

Charles draws himself up to his full height. "Yes, I do. That dragon has destroyed much of our land, and for all this winter and spring it's been laying waste to Dalrida-"

"It knew how to demoralize the people there, the same as here," Robert interrupts. "It killed their king first, poor man. Papa's greatest friend…at least King Stefan was able to shoot the beast before it ate him. Or so the bards sing. Papa would have preferred that sort of death, rather than wasting away from dragon pox."

"By pox or flame, it will destroy what's left of our people if it isn't stopped," Charles says. "Every day more people die. What sort of king would I be if I let others fight it for me, instead of facing it myself? What sort of man would I be if I didn't try to avenge our father or King Stefan?" He reaches out and touches Robert's shoulder. "You are my heir. It would not be wise for me to take you north again. If I don't come back, the kingdom is yours, yours and your children's. And think of this," he says, raising his eyebrows, "if the dragon killed us both, who would keep the peace between Mama and Cora?"

A smile grows on Robert's face. He leans forward. "If you gave me the choice between staying here and coming with you, I'd rather face the dragon."

Despite his fears, Charles smiles too. "You can tell Mama that after I've left."

Bates appears with his horse. "Your sword and shield are in the bundle, milord, as you said you wanted." He hands Charles his quiver and bow. Charles fits both over his shoulder, and mounts the horse. He can't help but look back at the castle one more time.

His mother, the dowager queen Violet, stands in a window with her servants. Charles can only nod at her.

Robert extends his hand, and Charles takes it. "All the luck in the world to you," Robert says, his voice gone soft. "I-I'll do my best here."

"I know you will." Charles wheels his horse around as more servants emerge through the fog.

"Good luck, your Grace."

"We're praying for you, your Grace."

Charles rides slowly through them, nodding and occasionally murmuring thanks. He rides out of the gates of the castle, leaving the silent crowd behind, and takes the road north.

A breeze rustles through his black curls. Fog surrounds him, and Charles shivers in the damp. It is normal for fog to descend from the mountaintops. But it is not normal for him to ride to battle the dragon without his helmet and armor. He isn't used to riding in plain leggings, a tunic and belt, and boots – let alone wearing someone else's clothes (he wears Bates's old clothes). He has learned some valuable lessons during the fights with the dragon.

They are some of the cleverest creatures alive. Their hearing is keen, and they remember a man's scent forever. The last time Charles fought the dragon, he wore his armor and helmet, which smothered his scent. The hope is that this time he can fool the dragon into thinking he is Bates, for just long enough for him to defeat it. For all its ability to hear or sniff out its enemies, the dragon's eyesight is weak. The length of its gaze from afar is a deadly advantage. But up close, it is easier to confuse it.

Not that anyone with wits wants to get close to a dragon. Charles recalls the tale of five knights of Grantham, loyal to his father, who disguised themselves as large dogs to get near it. They got close enough to shoot it with several arrows. One man had even stabbed it in the foot before it had realized who they were – then it blasted them with flame. Only one knight had come home.

Despite the very real danger, people keep attempting to kill the dragon. Charles thinks of the news that has reached him just the day before. Sir Philip Tapsell, an arrogant lord from further south, has set out with great fanfare. He has made it known far and wide that he will rid the kingdoms of the threat. Charles thinks Sir Philip will only get himself killed – the man performs admirably in the joust, but tournaments are boys' play compared with dragons.

Passing the silent inn, The Dog and Duck, he wishes he could stop there for an ale. It would only tempt him to never go further, he knows. He reaches the boundary with Dalrida by the time the sun is well and truly up. The river Chatterer is low. Charles takes a breath once he's forded it.

I am in the queen's realm now.

The Queen of Dalrida is woman unknown to him, and yet she is someone who he thinks of as a friend.

She is meant to be much more than a friend to him.

King Hugh, Charles's father, and his friend King Stefan had arranged the betrothal of their eldest children, shortly after Princess Elspeth was born. Had it not been for the dragon Charles would have married her years before.

First my father died, then hers. The dragon destroyed half of Grantham's harvest. Now it's destroying the best part of her kingdom, the Great Forest.

Despite the dragon's most recent destruction, both Charles and Queen Elspeth had refused to put off their wedding any longer. Duty (and the dowager queen of Grantham) demanded it take place. It is a fortnight away.

Charles cannot think of a greater gift for his bride than the death of the creature which has caused so much misery. His only regret if he dies is that he will be unable to fulfill their fathers' wishes, to unite their kingdoms. Robert married Cora for her fortune; Charles will marry Elspeth for duty. Love is not something he expects, though he hopes for it. His brother eventually fell in love with his sister-in-law. The two are a happy couple.

Leaving the mountains behind him, he rides through rolling hills. The road stretches ahead to the beginning of the Great Forest. Charles's heart pounds at the sight of the tall trees in the distance. At the other end of it, a half day's distance away, is the dragon.

But Robert is right. There has been some good news about it in recent days. Elspeth had written to Charles seven days before to tell him that someone had managed to blind the dragon in one of its eyes. He has re-read her letter so often he knows it by heart.

…it seems that we have been wrong. The trick is not to go for plunging one's sword into the dragon's flank, hoping to get to its heart. It is now clear that its eyes are one of its weaknesses. Now that it has lost sight in one eye, it only has to lose sight in the other for there to be a real chance for it to be defeated at last.

You know from previous study that the dragon has other sources of life besides its heart: its two sapphires. You will be glad to know, then, that one of them has been removed in this last attempt. I have its head sapphire now in my possession. The one in its tail is now the only one that must be removed.

I cannot begin to describe the elation these events have brought me and my people. There is another reason for happiness – the person who blinded the dragon in its left eye, and cut the sapphire from its head, escaped. One less victim of the dragon's rage!

Though the terrible creature still lives, I feel its days are nearing its end…

Usually the queen's writing is strong and fluid; in this last communication, her letters were shaky, and several ink blots stained the heavy parchment. Charles thinks Elspeth felt such excitement that she could not write with her usual grace.

Though she does not seem the sort of person who lets events overwhelm her. Through her letters, Charles thinks of her as a steady presence, a solid leader of her people. He is glad to have gotten to know her through the words she writes.

Since his father died, Elspeth has given him more comfort than anyone else. He feels that even if the entire world were falling apart (and sometimes it has seemed like it was), she would never abandon him.

"I would have blotted the letter too, if it had been me writing it," he says to himself, his heart lightening at the thought of her and the news she'd sent. "Hope at last! I'm glad she wrote in haste – her news reached me before everyone knew of it."

He wonders, again, what she looks like. His only glimpse of her was at her presentation and the announcement of their betrothal. She was an infant and so was not interesting to him (he being a child, he was only aware there was some great excitement surrounding himself and her). He has vague memories of a stone castle, with colorful banners on its walls, of a crowd in the great hall. He remembers presenting the King and Queen of Dalrida with a golden box for their daughter.

There is a small portrait at Downton of her. Of course he doesn't know if the painter was accurate.

I have heard enough people say that her hair is red, or reddish-brown, or ginger, to not expect her to be golden-haired.

Whatever the true color of her hair, Charles cannot think too much of her.

First, he must deal with the dragon. Nothing else can matter.

Not even his bride-to-be.