Hi all! Here we are continuing my tradition of mixing my favorite fandoms with fairytales. This one is, if you can't tell, Mighty Max and Cinderella, which my brain also calls "Sworderella." Because that's how my brain goes sometimes.

As with all the rest of my fairytale remixes, you don't need any prior knowledge of Mighty Max for this one, but it's certainly more fun if you have it! Also, as an alternate telling of Cinderella and Mighty Max, this story has no relation to my Fate is a Gift series.

I think that's all for now.

Enjoy!

Once upon a time, in a far distant land, a great warrior led a band of honorable fighters in the defense of those who could not protect themselves. Many small villages were protected under the sheltering shadow of the Norn banner, and the warrior who led the army and protected the people was wise and fair.

As such, however, he was bound the by laws of honor to accept a challenge issued by any opponent. For many years, he successfully defended his leadership over the Norns and his protection of the peoples who lived upon their lands. But one day came a warrior unlike any seen before, a vile, fiendish creature who called himself Skullmaster. Skullmaster issued the challenge and, to the horror of the Norns, defeated his opponent in single combat, killing him with the final blow.

As per the laws of honor, the Norns and their lands became Skullmaster's, along with all that had been in the defeated leader's possession. Included in the spoils was the leader's young son, a boy called Norman.

Skullmaster was wise in the ways of the old magic, and he had some gift for foresight and prophecy. Skullmaster saw in Norman's eyes no power that might ever rival his own, but he sensed something unusual in the boy, something deep and true. Thus, making use of his ancient ways, he bound the boy to servitude, taking ownership of him through a magical means more potent than any slaver's collar and whip.

With the sword of Norman's father, Skullmaster gained control over the boy in the form of an innate ability to command him such that Norman could not refuse any order given.

His triumph assured, Skullmaster bade the Norns to abandon their ancestral lands and move to Skullmaster's own homelands amidst the fiery Skull Mountains, a hellish place populated by demons and monsters. Many of the Norns did not survive the journey, and many more perished in the first years living in Skullmaster's domain. But Norman, protected from the heat and the monsters by his unwilling pact with Skullmaster, was spared.

For twenty years, Norman lived under the harsh rule of Skullmaster in the Skull Mountains. He was mostly bade act as Skullmaster's valet and servant, but as he grew in age and size, he was also ordered to learn combat at the hands of Skullmaster's own men-at-arms. After all, as Norman could never act against Skullmaster under the magic that bound him, he could be refined into an unquestionably loyal bodyguard and protector.

Norman did not hesitate to study the arts of combat, and indeed, as his body grew strong and swift, his passion grew as well. Skullmaster was impressed by the boy's competence and allowed him great latitude in studying from any accomplished warrior within his lands.

Skullmaster was no fool, and so knew that Norman trained as ardently as he did not out of any sense of duty or loyalty, but in the hopes of one day revenging himself upon his master. But the magic that bound Norman was sound, and Skullmaster feared not its failure. So he indulged the boy's fury and his talent.

And Norman, for his part, accepted the opportunity that it was and continued to wait.

In the winter Norman achieved thirty years of age, a message arrived in the palace of the Skull Mountains. Skullmaster read it before his court at that evening's meal.

"The Lady-Queen Mujaji sends forth a challenge to any able warriors. She invokes The Dawning to begin on the Spring Equinox. At the end of the three days of challenge, any who have survived The Dawning may present themselves as Heir to her Dominion."

Norman, seated not at the table but along the walls in the far corner, whispered to the nearest serving-man, a half-demon twice Norman's age.

"What does this mean?"

The half-demon curled his lip at Norman's impudence, but he did not bespeak the master's own bodyguard and servitor.

"The Dawning is an ancient combat ritual wherein a monster is summoned from the nether realms known as the Conqueror. Any warrior may choose to enter into combat with it on the first day, and those who survive must continue to battle it on the second and third day. Any who flee will be instantly hunted and killed by the Conqueror."

"That's all? Just survive?" Norman asked.

The servant glared at him. "That, pitiful human, is enough. No warrior has ever defeated the Conqueror in centuries of Dawning challenges. But a few have survived the gauntlet to the end."

"Norman!"

Norman rose at Skullmaster's sharp command, inclining his head but otherwise remaining silent.

"Go to my chambers and pack my belongings for a long journey. We will depart for The Dawning at midday tomorrow."

Norman nodded and moved away to obey without question. As he exited the banquet hall, he heard one of Skullmaster's two lieutenants, a blood-skinned demon lacking in social graces as well as any sort of keen intellect named Warmonger, ask, "Master? Why bother attending such an event when we could just take Mujaji's land for our own?"

Norman paused to listen; he could hear the smile in Skullmaster's answer. "Because what the Lady-Queen Mujaji possesses may be far more valuable than a mere kingdom."

"But master," spoke the other lieutenant, a lava demon with a temper to match called Lavalord, "most who enter The Dawning are defeated and killed. Surely you would not take such a risk."

Norman smirked. Lavalord was shrewd enough to know that Skullmaster would never send either of his lieutenants into battle on his behalf, as he could not ensure their compliance should they win the tournament. Not that Skullmaster would send them, anyway. Lavalord was mediocre at best in the arts of combat - his real strength being his strategic knowledge and mechanical prowess - and Warmonger, while a formidable opponent, was foolish and weak of heart.

"Of course not," Skullmaster answered. "While I do not doubt I could endure The Dawning, I do not wish to reveal myself just yet. There may be others, old acquaintances, who will be watching for me."

"You could send Norman," Warmonger suggested. Norman silently reminded himself to hit Warmonger harder than usual the next time they sparred together.

"He is not skilled enough to survive, and I have a more important use for him," Skullmaster dismissed the idea. "But if we are present for The Dawning, we may yet find an opportunity for me to acquire what I seek."

As the table talk turned towards the upcoming journey, Norman slipped down the corridor to complete the task set to him. But he made a silent vow.

Whatever Skullmaster is planning for this innocent land free from him, I will prevent. Even if it costs me my life and honor, I will never permit Skullmaster to hurt another innocent soul. I swear it on my father's grave.

-==OOO==-

The journey to the land of the Lady-Queen Mujaji was long and arduous, but Norman was so relieved to be free of the Skull Mountains and back to where the sky was not clogged with smoke and the earth was not fire-reddened, he little cared.

While Skullmaster rode at the head of their column on a monstrous black horse-demon, Lavalord and Warmonger at his side, Norman was regulated to the back of the company as rear-guard. Each night they stopped, he was obliged to construct the elaborate tents for Skullmaster and both his lieutenants before standing guard before them. As often as not, he was not dismissed until there were only scrapings left from the evening meal and it was too dark to build his own tent.

But Norman was grateful for the clear stars above, and even in rain, would rather have taken shelter under a tree and slept in the wet than be denied the feel of clean air not burdened with sulphur.

The lands beyond the Skull Mountains, though cool with winter, were not like those Norman remembered from his childhood in the Norn lands. Here even winter was mild and many trees remained green and grasses stayed soft. There was less bounty given by the land, but the absence of snow or biting cold more than made up for it throughout the long journey. By the time they arrived in the kingdom of the Lady-Queen Mujaji, though it were two weeks yet to the Spring Equinox, it was summer-warm already and life abounded.

Upon arrival in the main city of Intuition, Skullmaster went alone into a building that flew a flag showing a blood-red dragon. When he emerged, he carried the keys to a city estate not far from the city's bustling center. Skullmaster gave orders that half his followers should camp beyond the walls of the city and wait for his instructions; the rest, with Norman amongst them, would make the estate their new home.

It would have been a grand house if it had been better kept. The broad foyer and sitting room and fine banquet hall and were all very nice with accents in marble and gold, but the kitchens were layered in dirt and dust. The stables had not been swept in decades, though they contained a great deal of space in the loft for most of those who remained with Skullmaster's party.

But Warmonger looked over the holdings and smiled darkly at Norman. "Looks like you'll be stuck with us in the house, boy."

Norman didn't bother rising to the taunt. He'd already noticed that the house had only three proper bedrooms. But it did have a drafty, cramped attic, barely large enough for Norman himself to stand up straight and certainly impossible to share. However, it was private and away from prying eyes, and that made it worth far more than the grand chamber in which he installed Skullmaster's belongings. Besides himself, the cook and a few other slaves had accompanied them to the house, so Norman knew he need not be responsible for all the work alone.

But he knew, too, he would have most of it - and certainly the worst of it.

"Norman!"

Norman responded to the roar by following it to where Skullmaster was settling his magical items in the bedroom he would inhabit; it was not a task he ever delegated to anyone, even Norman. They all came out of the same heavy black chest in which Norman knew Skullmaster kept the sword he had taken from the Norns, from Norman's own father.

As a child, only once had Norman dared to try to open the chest to lay eyes on his father's only legacy; he had paid for his trespassing with a beating that had nearly killed him.

Norman did not announce his presence at the door. In twenty years, he had avoided speaking to Skullmaster whenever possible. Because to speak to his father's murderer was to call him "master" and Norman would rather die.

"Go to the market. I want a feast tonight. See to it."

Norman inclined his head and left. On his way out of the estate, he made certain to stop and find the cook to alert him; as always, he was regarded with hostility by the demonic staff under Skullmaster. But that hadn't troubled him almost since his arrival in the Skull Mountains. As little as they thought of him, he thought infinitely less of them, after all.

The city of Intuition was lovely and Norman was content walking down the hill towards the busier areas. The streets were broad and lined with a colorful array of houses and shops. Gardens grew fragrant flowers and herbs, and even the cobblestones were a rich, warm hue in the bright sunlight.

Norman knew he looked terribly out of place in his unrelieved black clothing, much of which was worn and threadbare and faded at the seams. In a rainbow world, he was like a single thundercloud stomping along. And being easily head and shoulders taller than the tallest person he could see, Norman was certainly noticeable.

However, in spite of his obvious differences, the shopkeepers treated him with cool efficiency and little wariness. Norman acquired a huge basket that could be worn on the back and loaded it with the foods he knew the cook could actually prepare halfway-decently. While his own mouth watered at some of the variety on offer, particularly the succulent scent of tender, roasted meat from one of the busiest stalls, he kept to the fare more like that from the Skull Mountains.

One shopkeeper casually mentioned that the type of hard, gristle-ridden meat Norman ordered was usually kept only for working dogs, and Norman could only heartily agree that it was better suited to low beasts than men. He bought great haunches of it for Skullmaster and his demons and laughed privately when none could see.

Finally finished and unbothered under a load that would have any lesser human straining, he turned from the market to go back to the estate. It was along a narrower lane that he heard the shouting.

"For the last time, I said hand it over!" grated a low voice.

"And for the last time, I said no way!" The spirited reply was young and filled with bravado.

"You're going to be sorry, you little brat!"

At the sound of flesh hitting flesh, Norman found himself sprinting down the alley to one side where the voices originated. He made a tight turn and appeared in a dingy clearing between some close-in buildings. Four rough-looking individuals had gathered around a much younger fifth who was just getting up from the ground with a face flushing from a recent blow.

The one who had obviously dealt the strike looked up at Norman and sneered, "This isn't your business, barbarian."

"It is now," Norman let himself smile a little. "Let's dance."

The four ruffians immediately abandoned their prey and dove for Norman.

One of them didn't make it.

"Ooof!"

The kid at the middle of the fight looked up with a wry grin as he pulled back his leg from where he'd tripped one. "Sorry about that! Except, oh, wait. I'm not sorry!"

Norman couldn't help but appreciate the kid's guts, but he was more focused on the three before him. They weren't particularly skilled, but they were armed and armored and had numbers on their side.

"You know," the kid called as he grabbed a long piece of wood from a pile of refuse, "I bet if there were eight of you against him, it would be fair. Maybe nine. Ten at most for sure."

Norman lashed out with one hand and shoved the nearest attacker into the wall hard enough to leave an imprint on the bricks.

He looked over at the kid and winked. "Make it twenty and we're talking."

The remaining two ruffians dove for Norman simultaneously. One of them only managed a single swing before the kid got up behind him and hit him soundly with the length of wood, leaving the leader for Norman.

Without breaking a sweat, Norman neatly dislocated the man's arm.

"Now," Norman looked down at the attacker gone pale from pain, "I think you owe the kid an apology."

The other three bolted as soon as they collected their wits.

The kid shouted after them, "Serves you right, you jerks! That's what you get when you mess with me!"

Norman loomed over his opponent and spun him around. "Apologize."

The kid presented himself to the man who had hit him, hands on his hips and flashing a jaunty, laughing smile.

"You are dead meat when I get my hands on you!" the goon menaced. "You'll be sorry you ever-"

That was as far as he got. Norman hefted him by his belt and threw him bodily after his retreating brethren, hitting them just as they were about to leave the alleyway, and all four went down and did not rise.

Norman turned to the boy.

He was thin as a stick and wore the clothing of a peasant - brown and tattered and patched. But his blue eyes were clear and his bright blond hair shone like the sun.

The kid, however, backed up carefully from his rescuer. "Thanks, I guess." He seemed to grow nervous. "But, uh, I could have handled it. I know the ancient art of, uh, Foo-Doo. Yeah, and I can rip out your eyes and show them to you before you die!"

Norman laughed. "But if you rip out my eyes, how can you show me anything?"

The kid blinked. Then he laughed too. "Okay. You got me." But his posture didn't relax. "You're not gonna...you know?"

Norman frowned. "No. I don't know."

"Oh." The kid rubbed his hands together absently. "They say, uh, people who, uh, have that are really bad news. Eat your babies and suck out your brains kind of bad."

Norman looked down at himself to where the kid's eyes had fallen. "Ah."

The heavy basket of food had shifted its weight during the brief skirmish, and one of the straps that held it on Norman's shoulders had pulled until it ripped a tear in the thin fabric of his shirt. Through the hole, the mark of Skullmaster was visible where it had been branded on Norman's chest as if he were cattle when he had been a child.

"Are you a demon?" the kid asked.

"No," Norman shook his head. But between the mark, his ratty clothing, his matted beard, and the fact that his hair always hung in long, stringy clumps across his face probably explained some things. The shopkeepers would have seen a barbarian just as the ruffians had, but the kid had spotted the mark that portended something so much worse.

Seeing the kid was still nervous, Norman held out a hand. "I'm Norman. I'm a slave under Skullmaster of the Skull Mountains. But I'm a Norn."

Immediately the kid's face softened with understanding and regret. "Sorry to hear it," he said sincerely, stepping closer again. "And, uh, thanks for saving me. Especially after I thought you were a demon." He put his tiny hand in Norman's huge one and shook as best he could. "I'm Max."

"What did those guys want with you?" Norman asked.

Max shrugged flippantly, but his eyes glowed absolutely rascally. "Nothing much. Just a ticket to be in the stands for The Dawning."

Norman raised an eyebrow. He had some idea of how much a treasure of that sort would be worth.

Max coughed. "It's, uh, possible I mentioned it to my friends while I was running errands."

A thought struck Norman. "They wanted to take it from you. Did you steal it from them?"

"No!" Max's face went angrily indignant. "It's mine!" Then, his eyes sliding away, "It would have been my mom's."

Norman felt a pang. He knew those hunched shoulders, that sideways look of fragile defiance. He'd worn them himself for many years. Rather than push Max to say more, he simply nodded.

"Where're you headed?" he asked. "I'll keep you company."

Max turned back and managed a jaunty smile. "Thanks, but I better get going. Plus, won't you be late getting back to Skullface or whoever he is?"

Norman snorted. "No one will notice if I am late. No one ever notices me."

"Oh, trust me, big guy. If you wander around the city looking like your head confused a bramblebush for hair, somebody's gonna notice. On the plus side, with everybody in the Seven Lands coming in for The Dawning, you're not even the worst we've seen."

Max started towards the alleyway that led to the street but turned back and ran an appraising eye over Norman. "You know, there's a barber down Mayberry who owes me a favor, and I mean, you did help me out before I got clobbered. He can probably do something about that mess if you want."

Norman hadn't thought much about his appearance for the last two decades, but he vividly recalled his own father's well-groomed beard and hair.

Before he could answer, Max continued, "Look, tell you what. Meet me tomorrow outside the baker's shop at the corner of the market nearest the river and we'll go together. I'll be there all morning. Okay? See you then!"

And the boy flashed him a last impish grin and darted down the alleyway. Norman followed a little belatedly, but by the time he reached the street, the blond head was lost in the crowd.

Norman looked after the boy for only a moment before turning back up the hill to the estate.