King of Swords | Scent of a Lion

Harry was baffled. Here he was a handsome, successful, warrior-type with a six-pack that wouldn’t quit, and he could not get a date. No matter how polite or how many times he’d grin that reckless grin of his, women just didn’t go for him.

At first, it looked like speed dating might be the answer, but as soon as he sat down with a woman, she got up without saying a word and sat elsewhere.

His brothers tried fixing him up, but at the last minute, the girl would get sick, or remember she had to write to her mother, or wash her hair. He’d heard every lame excuse ever created. Clearly, something was wrong. Harry just didn’t know what.

Finally, tired of seeing her son so lonely and befuddled, his mother sat him down.

“Listen, Harry,” his mother began. She was nervously wringing her hands. “We have to talk.”

“Okay, Mom. Talk about what?”

“Honey, there’s nothing wrong with you that can’t be fixed,” she explained. “Here’s the deal: “You don’t smell so good. In fact, you stink.”

“Mom!” Harry was both insulted and embarrassed. “Geez!”

“Honey, it’s that darn lion skin you insist on wearing. That thing reeks!”

Harry looked perplexed, “So what are you trying to say? You think I should stop wearing it?”

“I know you should.”

“But Mom, I killed it with my bare hands,” he replied incredulously.

“Yes, I know.” Mom sighed. “That was a long time ago and it’s time to let it go.”

“Absolutely not!” Harry replied. “Somewhere there is a woman who can stand the smell of me. And I’m gonna find her!”

With that, Harry got up from the rock he was sitting on and walked into the forest. He had to let this information sink in. My own mother thinks I stink. Have you ever?

During his walk in the forest, he came upon a woman weaving something that almost instantly turned into spider webs. She had the longest, thickest black hair he’d ever seen. He watched her for a while and marveled over how beautiful her weaving was. “Cool,” Harry said quietly, but loud enough for the woman to hear.

She turned around, startled, “Oh, I didn’t realize anyone was here. Who might you be?”

Her eyes were as deep and green as the Aegean Sea. “Harry. My name is Harry. And you are?”

She got up from her weaving loom and turned to face him. “My name is Arielle. It’s very nice to meet you.” Arielle extended her hand to shake, but Harry bowed and kissed it. Arachne nearly swooned.

Harry noticed her reaction and smiled. “What brings you all the way out here to do your weaving?”

“Oh, well.’ She began. “My family has arachnophobia — fear of spiders. Since I weave the way I do, well, I have to come out here. My nickname is Spider Girl.”

“Ah, I see.” Harry nodded, “Let me ask you something, Spider Girl,” he grinned.

“Anything,” Arielle replied with a suggestive smile.

“Do I stink?”

She giggled. “No, of course not. Why would you ask?”

“It’s this lion skin. My mom told me it stinks and therefore, I stink.”

“Ah, well, I lost my sense of smell as a child. Nasal fracture.” she explained. “I cannot smell anything, good or bad.”

“In that case,” Harry smiled broadly. “Would you like to go out with me tonight? There’s something going on at the Coliseum. Maybe we can grab some moussaka before?”

“Oh, The Bouncing Boulders are playing tonight! And I love moussaka!” Arielle gushed. “I would be honored to go with you.”

“Great!” Harry beamed. “It’s a date! How ’bout Kalliope’s Kabaret at 7:00?”

“I’ll be there.”

He bent to kiss her hand, and this time she really did swoon.

“Until tonight.” Harry smiled and turned to leave and then turned back around. “Oh, and by the way, my nickname is Dirty, Stinkin’ Harry.”

Arielle laughed.

And that is how the sweetest love affair of Ancient Greece began.