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Deep below miles of stone, in a hall of ancient riches, evil sleeps waiting for those who are brave and true to come and slay it. So say the songs, but they never said that those who came would be good or noble.
So when said brave and true souls sought out a burglar for their campaign, they knew that they need not be picky. So they chose, or rather Fandalg The Silver chose, the bastard son of a human lord. Raised with his mother, in her small community of hobbits, the young halfa had learned the secrets of the quiet life of the county, most notably, how to disturb the quiet life with mischief, crime, and strange contraptions. So it was that, with a bit of coercion, a true thief had been added to the party.
Morgan’s bare feet clung to the gold beneath his feet unsteadily. The coins offered poor purchase as they shifted beneath his weight. The clinking obnoxiously loud in the endless cavern.
Surely a handful of coins could be satisfying enough for any other employer. But, no. It wasn't enough to simply steal from the hoard of the last living dragon, they had to have Morgan steal a specific gem, a specific cursed gem. Why would anyone want something that was literally cursed?
Perhaps it would have been easier if he'd been given more of a description than "large, white jewel." Or if the dragon had ever bothered to organize this god damn nearly endless cave. Seriously, they get that it's a hoard but there should at least be piles rather than an endless uneven field of coins. It's not like he didn't have the time. He had been under here for at least three generations, what else was he doing? Morgan should just grab the next white rock he sees and just leave, whatever “good” he would be doing for the world, (he hadn’t really paid attention to that part, or any part for that matter,) it wasn’t worth being dragon food.
Speaking of that, where was this flying lizard? Shouldn’t a dragon be easy to spot?
He picks up another priceless relic, that is still not the right stupid fucking gemstone, and part of the hill of coins begins to flow downwards, disturbed by the removal. And that is when everything goes to shit.
The glittering gold cascades down to reveal ashen red. Leathery scales glinting in the torchlight. A shut eye lid as big as Morgan’s head twitches ever so slightly. The burglar scrambled backwards to the nearest pillar, pressing themselves to the stone and trying to steady their breath and failing. Perhaps he would have had better luck in that regard if he could stop staring at the single eye, a moment away from opening. A few yards away, (yards, yards!) treasure bursts upwards. Blasted away by two large nostrils drawing in a slow breath. How had he not heard this thing breathing? Had it been breathing?
Morgan shuffled his way around the pillar, trying to time it to the dragon's breathing. He’s only half way around, when he hears the clinking of more coins shifting. Not from where the beast’s head rests, but from the other side of the gigantic pillar. It’s with a slow panic, the kind that can only come when you know what horrible thing is waiting on the other side of a door, that Morgan turns their head.
Spikes part the coins, like sharp stones rising out of the sea. They are as tall as the thief, and just as wide. And now that Morgan is looking he can see the shape of the dragon buried underneath the gold. The dragon’s tail surfaces from beneath the gold, dusty red and as long as a tree is tall, and Morgan had thought that his traveling companions had been exaggerating when talking about the enemy they were facing. But the dragon's body easily stretches from one side of the hall to the other, hell, Morgan wonders how it lived in such cramped quarters.
Cramped quarters.
He is calling a hall that could have the whole of the Shire inside of it without making a dent “cramped quarters.” Morgan covers their face with their hands, trying not to groan. Why did he take this job? Fuck them and their stupid pride.
More coins clink as the head to the thief's left shifts. Morgan turns to see it trying to nuzzle back under the gold, with all the energy of a man waking up from a very nice nap and trying to cling to that last bit of rest. They rise to their feet, trying to back away slowly, while the round bits of precious metal beneath him flee, like their nonexistent lives were in danger, and not his very real life. Of course the gold has no consideration for if he stops breathing or not, so it’s not a surprise when Morgan slips and falls down the rest of the ridge on his back.
Morgan grunts and squints up at the large face as the bright burning eyes open, not yet looking in his direction, and the Burglar needs to make a decision. Either he can put on the ring in his pocket, subjecting himself to the fiery gaze of something that feels like drinking hot metal and being covered with thousands of burning pins, or leave the ring where it is and catch a different gaze, just as fiery. The dragon finally raises itself completely out of the riches. Fuck it. The ring's metal is cold on his finger and the world goes hazy with magic.
“Well,” the dragon says, voice rolling across the air, smooth as stone. “Thief, I smell you. I know you are here, I can hear your weak heart straining to keep you alive. Show yourself and I will relieve it of its burden.” Morgan is silent, also able to hear his heart, the dirty trader. The dragon's nose grows closer. “Where are you?” Golden eyes, stare right at him. “Where are you?”
Nope. Morgan thinks, and scrambles to run away from the maw of teeth. Gold slipping and tumbling as he sprints. It’s overshadowed by the crashing coming from behind him and the dragon gives chase, a slow laugh echoing from its mouth.
It’s not all that much of a chase. The dragon glides across the gold on his stomach, like a serpent through grass, elegantly and with purpose. The coins parted for him in a way that makes Morgan ache with envy as he stumbles, trips, and rolls in his poorly thought out escape attempt. It’s only seconds before he is trapped against another pillar, breath heavy on his tongue, the dragon encircling him easily. There's no direction that doesn’t lead to scales or spikes or leathery wings and claws. The dragon has not seen them yet, but there is no chance of escape.
“Come now.” the dragon speaks again, “Don’t be shy. Step into the light.” No. Nope. No way. He is not going anywhere. The dragon grumbles, annoyed. Too bad, Morgan has never been a team player, especially when the team is trying to kill him. Rumbling, the monstrous thing rolls his long neck as if trying to shake out a stiff joint. Despite his displeasure, when he next speaks Morgan can hear a smile in his voice.
“There is something… strange about you, Thief.” The dragon begins to twist and rap closer to the pillar, its head disappearing around it to reappear on the other side, ever so much closer to the invisible halfa than before. “Something you have perhaps? Is it made of gold? As you can tell I am quite fond of all that glitters and shimmers, but we both know that is not why you have it. No, there are things far more precious than gold. Don’t you agree?”
Precious. The word sizzles through the air, repeating endlessly.
Precious. It burns in Morgan’s ear.
Precious. It burns something far deeper inside of him.
Precious
Precious Precious
Precious
Precious
Precious
Precious
The eye sees him.
Morgan yanks off the ring, it wasn’t doing him any good anyways. The dragon’s eyes sharpen as they land on him.
“Ah, there you are, Little Thief in the Shadows.”
Morgan knows a losing fight when he sees one, not that he even needed eyes to see that this would not go in his favor. But he is stubborn and has a tongue made of silver, and god dammit he’s a fighter. He’s not down yet, and he is going to do everything he can to talk his way out of this cursed mountain and never come back.
“Thief? No, I did not come to steal from you, oh Dragon of the Mountain. I just wanted to see your might for myself. There are so many stories of your… greatness, I did not believe them.”
The dragon scoffs and uncoils himself, the room shaking as his tail smacks against the pillars, winged arms pushing himself upright in front of the little liar, claws gripping the ground.
“And do you believe now?” The beast roared.
“Yes,” Morgan gasps. “The tails fall short and the songs pale. Your terror is so much greater then any could hope to capture, Oh Dragon of Death.” At least that is not a lie.
“Do you think that flattery will save you?”
“No-no. I know it wouldn’t, Dragon Of Wealth.” Great job making him think that you’re not here for the gold, Morgan.
“Did these songs not teach you my name, Little Snake?”
What?
A name? Did the others mention a name? They always just said the beast or the dragon, there was never talk of a name.
“No, they-they did not, oh lord. I thought that you were far to magnificent to need one-”
“Oh, please. All things have names, from me to the dust in your lungs. Mine is Alex, use it rather than these foolish titles.”
…….Alex?Out of all the names for a creature of death and fire, whoever named it went with Alex? Wait… who even named dragons? Their parents? Did dragons have parents?
“Now you have my name, yet I don’t have yours. Let us right this. Who are you, and where are you from?” Alex leaned closer, cruel interest coloring his voice. Morgan, his heart still burdened and daring to hope that he could last even just a few more minutes, saw that the monster’s scales were speckled with golden sparks.
“I come from under the hill.” Morgan gasped out.
“Under the hill?” The dragon sounded almost disappointed with his answer. Well excuse Morgan for not being an exotic snack for his royal lizard. Bad thought, Morgan. Don’t sass the dragon. “Well, Little Snake from Under-Hill, what may I call you?”
Oh. Morgan shuddered, oh he was playing a game. A game of words with a dragon who wanted to eat him, well that was a step up from bald men in caves who wanted to eat him.
“Um… in-in the shadows of this world I am the Metal Weaver.” True, his mechanical inventions were always sold to the criminal underbelly.
“Impressive,” Damm salamander sounded anything but impressed. “What else?”
“Uh,” Think think, come on. “Luck Summoner.” Out of all names his stupid brain could have thought of- “Riddle Twister.”
“Any others?”
“...Pot runner?” Morgan winced at the memory. Fucking Chad always getting him into something.
The last one caused Alex to rearback, a laugh of shock causing the floor to shake.
“Oh that is an interesting one.” He slithered on his belly knocking around more pillars, Morgan was starting to worry that one would come loose and bring the mountain down on both of them. “And what of your dwarf friends? What deeds do they claim?”
Oh shit, Morgan was in so much deeper than he thought. They stuttered for a moment before forcing a sentence.
“Dwarfs? Um, no. I know no dwarfs.”
“Still lying then? I know that they sent you in here, too cowardly to come in themselves.”
“Not lying, I would not lie to you oh Alex, greatest of Deathbringers.” Morgan was still not over that name. Alex? Really? The dragon shuttered in weariness at the title.
“Do all thieves have as good manners as you? Or am I just unfortunate enough to have met the only polite one?”
Morgan… didn’t know how to respond to that. Normally people with power enjoyed having their ego stroked, even if they knew it was all horse shit. This whole conversation was throwing him off balance. Why wasn’t he dead yet?
“I know the smell and taste of a dwarf. Did you know that they taste like Pulled Mutton? I would have thought something more earthy, but no.” Alex almost seemed happy to share this information with the half-hobbit thief. Said thief didn’t know how to respond to this sentence either. “Greedy little bastards,” The dragon continued, Morgan flinching backwards at the anger in its tone. “They always flock to gold, like flies to infection.” Alex swiped at said gold with disgust at the thought. The move knocked Morgan over, head over heels he rolled away, tumbling and spreading out his arms to catch himself only to get pushed back down by a wave of coins.
“Did you not think that I knew they would come?” Alex asked, uncaring of Morgan’s struggle. It followed him down the gold hill, knocking and shoving against the stone holding up the roof.
“Hey!” Morgan tried to yell as one of the commons cracked and became dislodged, thank whatever was out there that the roof held. Alex did not hear him as he continued to monolog.
“That a pack of idiots would try to take my home? Their great King of the Mountain is long dead!” Morgan crawled backwards to avoid getting buried again. Oh hell, the flaming prick was still moving and wasn’t slowing down. “I am here now! I am this Mountain’s king now!” Fuck he needed to run. Morgan barely managed to get to his feet and bolt towards the stairs.
“I kill where and when I wish!” Please let that not be here and now. The golds’ movement was actually helping him this time, pushing him forward.
“Their defenses were nothing but brittle stone, while mine were iron!” Morgan’s arms pinwealed in the air. A single long reach from Alex’s clawed wings covering what had taken the thief at least thirty steps.
“No weapon even came close to breaking through my scales!” Morgan managed to climb on to the first stair.
“MY TEETH ARE SWORDS!” They were almost to the first twist in the stone incline.
“MY CLAWS ARE SPEARS!” He was on the first landing.
“MY WINGS ARE A HURRICANE!” A gust of wind knocked the half-hobbit forward, a dark shadow flying above him. When they rose they saw Alex gripping the stairs. Staring down at Morgan with smoke billowing out of his mouth, its body spread out showing off every red, sparkling scale.
“I AM FIRE!” The self proclaimed King of The Mountain called out and…
Morgan had never been the smartest person. He was stubborn. He was angry and sensitive. But he had learned patience and self-control, and he hadn’t truly lost himself in rage and frustration in a long while.
But…
Morgan hadn’t slept in at least a week. He had been trapped with self-righteous heroes, with no time to breathe, let alone think, and had been in constant danger since this whole job started. He had been humiliated, threatened, teased, and had to deal with the worst caffeine withdraw of his life. So now, as he stared into the face of a quick, painful, inescapable death, Morgan felt the last bit of control crack open.
“I AM… DEATH!” Alex the Dragon cried.
“WHAT YOU ARE IS A DRAMA QUEEN, YOU PRICK!” Morgan the Burglar yelled back.
There was silence.
Then Alex, the Drama Queen, started laughing, smoke still curling from his mouth. Lowering himself from the aggravated stance, his tail swung around to cover its mouth, trying to stifle the noise. But then he looked at Morgan and the laughter grew louder. The cave echoed with the bellows, and the coins vibrated underfoot. It was loud, barking and squeaking out without any control. Rising and falling with the air the beast took. The dragon was beginning to shake with the force of his giggles. He lowered himself further down to the ground, slipping a little on the steps. Everytime the laughter would weaken, Alex would look back at Morgan and it would be picked back up as strong as before. The beast eventually had to lie on its back wings out spread, his laughter soundless as he could no longer take in air between fits. All the while, Morgan stood frozen in front of a belly laughing dragon.
“It wasn’t that funny.” The burglar managed to get out. It only spurred the lizard further into his jolly madness.
“Oh, Pot Runner, you are a brave man.” Alex rolled over, to look at Morgan rightway up. “So, they sent you in here for that jewel, right?”
…No point denying it now.
“Yeah, the big and white one. Told me it was cursed.”
“Wait, really?” Alex looked shocked at that. “They said that?” Morgan’s brow furrowed.
“Yeah, why?”
“Because it’s not cursed! That old king made that up, so he could do whatever he wanted and not get blamed for it, and so no one would steal it.”
“Wait, really? Cause they were going on about it for a while.” Alex rolled his eyes.
“Why would they even want a cursed treasure?”
“That’s what I kept thinking!” Morgan shouted. Finally someone said it. …Wait… “So… are you going to kill me now?”
Alex paused, like he had forgotten that part too.
“I mean yeah? It would kind of be anticlimactic if I didn’t.” Damm it, why did he have to open his stupid mouth. “Although, I wasn’t lying about that ring of yours. It is very valuable. So I wouldn’t be opposed to a deal of some kind.”
Oh hell, maybe Morgan was a Luck Summoner. They picked up the ring and held it up to the dragon. One claw came down and gripped it gently, then tossed it away into the sea of gold. Gone and lost. Alex slid off the stairs.
“Good bye, Thief.” Morgan paused, not wanting to push his luck further but…
“You do know that they are just going to send me back in here, right?” Alex fixed them with one glowing eye, and a cruel grin under it.
“That sounds like a you problem. Ta-ta now.”
Morgan managed to control himself till they made it to the top of the stairs. They then turned around and yelled out: “YOU’RE AN ASSHOLE, YOU KNOW THAT?” Not waiting for an answer before he bolted away.
The Burglar smiled when he heard the Dragon laugh.