Chapter Text
"He will be pleased with you, my dear."
The woman who slips on your shoes won't stop telling you this. No one has stopped telling you this. Since you awoke this morning, it's all you've heard. While you bathed your last bath, while your hair was combed one final time, while you're dressed in your last set of white robes, while your body gets weighed down by all the gold clasped to your wrists and shoulders for the first and final time.
You hear it until you can't anymore. Until their murmurs are lost to the autumn winds of the mountain, as the procession stays and watches you proceed further up the path. Before the maw of a gaping cavern.
Then you're the only one left to remind yourself as you take one steady step after another into the darkness. Towards him, the being you belong to. Your promised destiny.
He, who is bigger than you could've ever imagined, is waiting for you there. A dragon covered in violet and black scales, with the greenest serpentine eyes. A noble being from legends with steps that shake the earth and fire on his tongue.
You hope he is pleased, you think as you close your eyes against the smell of ash.
Beneath the darkness behind your eyes, you hear his massive body scrape the sides of the cave. You picture yourself crushed beneath boulders and dust. You keep your eyes firmly shut.
Air brushes past you like a whip. Displaced from his tail, thrashing. You picture yourself pierced upon it. Your eyes stay closed.
His lumbering walk echoes across the rock. A pounding, steady tempo that rattles your brain. You picture your body torn to shreds by his talons. Your eyes remain shut.
The noise is receding. The echoes quiet down to silence. The only noise left to ricochet in your skull is your own pounding heart.
You open your eyes.
He is gone. Returned to the dark from which he emerged.
You don't know how long it takes to finally come to terms with the fact that he has left you. The sun is still at your back, a reminder of the unblocked escape.
You follow after him instead, wishing the light a parting goodbye.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You walk blind. Steady, sweeping steps are your only guide as you slowly chase after your promised resting place.
But then your eyes start adjusting and adjusting further still. You realize that must mean that there is light where you are headed.
You don't know whether to be disappointed or embarrassed that you said your final goodbye a bit too soon.
Your path starts to expand, widening until you are standing before the bowels of a massive open cave. A hollow impression that travels all the way up to the top, where a single opening lets the sun touch the bottom.
You've never seen so much gold in your life. You didn't even know so much gold could exist at once in the same place. It is scattered and stacked everywhere. It reflects the light coming in from the top across the entire expanse of the cavern.
It even reflects off the bright green of his eyes.
He lies in the center of his riches, nestled in a spot in the ground that dips lower than the rest. Like it's been eroded to his shape from repeated use.
His head is raised while the rest of him remains prone. His body encircles itself into a pose reminiscent of the cat behind your care home, napping in the fields.
You're not sure where to go, what to do. You didn't plan to still be alive to be able to think these sorts of thoughts.
You move to hug the wall, pressing your back against the nearest surface. Taking care not to touch even the slightest bit of treasure. You let your legs give out and slide yourself to the ground with a heavy slump.
You're asleep before you even realize it.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You awaken, and you know you haven't been unconscious long. The light still sits the same amongst the gold.
But he has moved closer. Perched as still as a statue. With eyes only for you.
You've seen something like this before. The cat that slept behind your care home would hunt the mourning doves in a similar fashion. By staying very still until the opportunity to strike arises.
The scent of brimstone tickles your nose. Your robes are the same color as those mourning doves. But unlike them, your wings have been clipped a long time ago.
There is a grave tension in the air that stops you from closing your eyes. You always pictured your final memory being the darkness, but the sight of the light gleaming off his scales isn't so bad either.
For a stretch of time, nothing happens, no one is moving. Does he wish to give chase? Is your form so boring that he requires further entertainment?
But then you start to really take notice of his positioning. The way his body is turned to the side, as if he wishes to shield the sight of his riches from you. Much more defensive than you initially thought. Then you remember that you are technically in his home. You are a guest in his territory. And the mistress always told you that a proper guest brings gifts upon arrival.
Slowly, you raise your hands. He is so still that if it weren't for the way his eyes track your movement, you'd think he was rooted to the ground. Behind your neck, you unclasp a chain of gold. Holding it high for him to see before lobbing it towards the nearest pile.
For the first time, you are privy to the sight of him blinking.
Your body takes that moment to remind you that you should be sleeping. Now that the air no longer smells like it will spark, you close your eyes and retreat back to unconsciousness.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
When you next open your eyes, it's because he is moving. A combination of both stalking and slithering through his collection of artifacts toward the exit at your side. He barely regards you as he passes. You listen to his steps get further and further away.
You wonder if you should follow.
Your body decides for you. It begs you to sleep, and thus you do.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
Something is thrown at your feet, yanking you from your dreams.
It's a branch of mulberries. Well, an entire bush of them. There is dirt still clinging to its roots.
You look up and spot the beast returning to its preferred spot. Taking practiced loops around the depression in the ground before slumping down with a deep huff.
The weight of his large body hitting the ground displaces some of the gold off his piles. You watch as coins and cups and jewels alike fall from their pillars, landing in spots where others just like them lie.
Maybe those treasures would've been at the top, once upon a time. Maybe they, too, had once been knocked from the tops of piles by the force of his settling.
How long has he been here for his habits to have been recorded in the very rock he sleeps on?
His eyes are closed now, and you think about closing yours too. Instead, you reach out to pluck the nearest berries from off the branches.
Idly, as you chew and contemplate his intentions, you wonder if this means he is displeased with you. Does he wish there was more to you? The mistress made sure you were more than amply fed before the parade.
You eat until your fingers are stained, until your body commands you to return to unconsciousness and leave these worries behind.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
It is the middle of the night, and you're only awake because your bladder demands it. You shuffle blindly through the dark just to do your business.
Eventually, you return, stopping to watch the way the moon's faint glow is reflected in the gold scattered across the space. You can't make out the beast, though. He must be too well hidden in the shadows.
Hoping you have not awoken him, you return to your spot and shut your eyes.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
Opening your eyes, you are greeted with his stare, already trained on you. It only takes you as long as it does to realize what he wants because of the lingering fog of sleep behind your eyes. But then you're unclasping another golden adornment and chucking it towards his collection.
You think, as you close your eyes, you hear him make a noise like a huff. Almost like a content sigh.
It feels comical to even consider. So much so that you can feel your painfully cracked lips lift in an amused smile before slipping back into unconsciousness.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You are not hungry, you conclude as your body forces you awake. But god, is your throat sore. And painfully dry. You lick your lips and wince at the responding sting.
It is night now. Thus, it takes your eyes longer to adjust to the subtle light of the moon and stars.
You have never been thirstier in your life. It's just about all you can think about. You didn't think you'd have to think about it, honestly. You didn't think you'd still be alive to be able to think.
You're not sure what your continued survival means, whether he's displeased or waiting for the right moment or not. At this point, it doesn't matter because you're just so damn thirsty.
You don't bother with being quiet, too busy staving off your raging headache as you stand on wobbly legs. Nor do you check to make sure the beast is even there.
All you concern yourself with is making it out of his cavern. Trying not to trip on your billowing cloak. Trying not to fall face-first because you're walking blindly through the darkness with a swimming head and a hollow stomach. You're not sure where your own swirling vision ends and the caves' pitch blackness begins.
Eventually, you can make out the end of the cave. Where the opening breaks off into a dirt-laden path that leads into the surrounding forest.
You try to remember where you could potentially find water. Except your feet get tripped up underneath you, tangled in your dragging train. What little breath you have gets knocked clean out of your lungs as you meet the ground.
And don't get back up.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
In your dreams, there is a breeze. Then a surge. A whirlwind that penetrates beneath your robes and makes your skin prickle with goosebumps.
In your dreams, there is a man. The most beautiful man you've ever seen. His hair is as dark as the night, second only in color to his horns. And his eyes are the most striking green. But unlike other men, this one even has wings. Spinal, webbed wings like those of your beasts.
He reaches for you with elegant hands, nails as long as talons. Mistress would not be pleased to know you have let a stranger touch you, dirty you.
But you cannot find it within yourself to care. Not when this stranger's touch is so light, like he's scared to break you. The last time you were treated this gently, it was the day you were to be sent as an offering.
Maybe this man could be your end. The beast obviously does not want you. But this man is collecting you in his arms like you are something precious.
The scenery blurs and ebbs. You're not sure where he is taking you, but his skin gives off the most comforting warmth. You hadn't even realized how cold your bones were. How numb your fingers feel.
But then something cold touches your lips. His finger, damp with liquid, traces and smooths over your cracked skin.
Water.
The next time he brings his hand up, you are ready. You drink from his palm, cupped full of cool water. So frantically, you end up vomiting it all back up. But he is patient and instead feeds you water in small increments until your head no longer pounds.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You are warm. The mistress must've started a fire. You probably fell asleep in front of the hearth again. She will surely scold you for possibly letting ash dirty up your hair.
It takes a mountainous amount of effort to peel back your lids, crusted as they are with sleep.
You are in the middle of a very familiar cavern. Surrounded by hefty piles of gold and jewels. The sun is high in the sky, perfectly lined up to shine its rays straight down into the belly of the cave from the opening above.
The sights are familiar enough, but it's the angle at which you are looking at them that seems wrong. If you didn't know any better, you'd think you were lying where the dragon would normally be—
A beastly huff sounds from directly next to you. You can feel it kick up your hair from the force.
Slowly, you turn your head to the side.
Black scales, climbing horns, a snout as long as your body, lying resting against the ground. He slumbers not even an arm's reach from you.
You are not sure how you got here, but you think it's important that you leave.
Sitting up takes longer than expected, purely because whatever ache has taken itself up in your muscles refuses to make your life any easier. The mistress once told you that creatures such as him have such superior hearing that a pin drop could sound like a thunderclap. Keeping a steady eye on him, you push up on shaky arms, moving extraordinarily slowly. There is a sizable gap in the semicircle of treasure through which you can make your way out. You'll just have to be careful not to trip over any spare coins or jewelry.
Eyeing your escape path, you shift to your knees and attempt to stand.
A growl, deep and rumbling, sounds from behind you. Strong enough to rattle your very bones.
Freezing in place makes the noise stop. You dare to turn your head toward the being at your back.
A singular eye is open and watching.
A shudder runs up your frame, sucking all the warmth you may have had from your veins.
"... I was just—" Your voice croaked like the worst frog imaginable. It takes more than a few swallows to clear it. "I was just about to leave. I never wanted to invade your place of rest."
That only seems to perturb him even more, starting the growl right back up again.
This wasn't right, nor was it good. He was supposed to be pleased with you. You didn't want to be a poor guest to him, unwanted.
"I'm sorry," you try not to sound pleading. That never does anyone any good, you've learned. "I don't want to upset you. What should I do to make this better?"
He answers by swinging his long, spiked tail around and planting it right in the path of your escape route.
"... You... do not want me to leave?"
He doesn't respond, naturally, but he has yet to resume growling.
You have a hard time believing this to be true. Just a few days ago, he was defending his possessions against you; now you are a part of it. What could have changed?
His eye is still trained on you, watching for something. You follow where you think his gaze is going.
Tradition details that when offering a tribute, the vessel must be adorned with gold. Thus, your white linen robes and cloak have golden thread embroidered across them. Patterns such as flowers, branches, animals, some more abstract-looking than others.
The thread catches on the high noon sun, reflecting just enough to get his attention.
Hesitantly, you start shuffling back to your previous position. Lying on your side, head tilted up towards his gaze, you watch in wonder as he seems to truly relax once he deems you back where you should be.
That electric green eye closes, and eventually you decide that so should yours.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You wake to a similar sight as before. Talons scrape against the sedimentary floor as he leaves. Sustenance, most likely.
You can feel your heart beating in your chest, another reminder of the life you still have. There is also the strain in your gut. You wait for as long as you deem it safe before rising, semi-unsteadily, to go and quickly relieve yourself outside.
Once finished, you promptly lie back down when you return.
Again, you escape to the quiet darkness behind your eyes.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
The beast returns not long after with another berry bush. You grab what you deem good enough to eat as he makes himself comfortable.
You eat until your hands are thoroughly stained and join him in slumber shortly thereafter. Feeling tortured with unanswered questions and unresolved promises.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
Waking the next day, you eat more berries to try to quench some of the thirst in your throat.
The beast stays asleep. Except somewhere in your gut, you feel like he is more than aware of where you are.
But if so, then what is he waiting for? What else do you need to do to satisfy him?
Your eyes are heavy. You have never been more tired. You lie back on the stone floor and sleep.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You're not sure what to make of it, you think as you arise from another dreamless sleep with a dry mouth. In your head, you are aware that he views you as part of his collection. But it's not truly you he wants. It's your clothes. Yet he does not need to keep providing you with food to keep your robes in his stash. Does he know that?
It makes you feel like a fraud. A garnish with no true sustenance in the grand scheme of the main course. How long will this waiting game last, you wonder.
You cough, and it leaves your chest tight and achy. He gets up suddenly, startling you, moving to grab a golden cauldron of sorts before leaving without another glance. Only to return with it sloshing full of water.
It does nothing but make the guilt in your chest spread like mold.
"Stop it." You wheeze, and he listens. Just a few paces away from where he always leaves you, in his usual sleeping spot. "Stop giving me these things. I'm not what you want."
He looks surprised, if you can even call it that. But all you can focus on is ridding the clothes from your back.
"Enough of this prolonging, just kill me already." You choke on the strangled feeling in your throat, throwing aside your cloak embroidered with blossoms and bunnies. "You were supposed to be done with me days ago, and yet I'm still here."
"It's ridiculous!" The cuffs of your shirt are next, where they're stitched in gold. You yank until they tear.
"This isn't what was promised!" The bottom of your billowing skirt follows, with its golden-trimmed hem.
"I've been nothing but perfect, all this time!" A gold band.
"I've followed every rule, every command!" A ring. Then another.
"And yet for what? What was it all for?! What is my purpose if not this!"
You could spend a millennium screaming, and it would never be enough. Thankfully, your throat stops you before you can get that far. Too dry as it is to produce any more sound.
"Please," you whisper, barely more than a whimper. "Why... Tell me."
Nothing except your heaving, crackled breaths can be heard. Your head swims, and your eyes ache with phantom tears. Your arms shake against the rock while your head hangs between them.
Eventually, when you start to choke on the dryness on your tongue, he moves, approaching.
You close your eyes. Let this be the end of it. Let this tired body finally serve its purpose. Let it happen like you were always told it would. In the dark, at the hands of something greater than you.
He sets down the cauldron; you hear its clang and the subsequent patter of spilt droplets. Then, between one breath and the next, a man speaks.
"I do not have your answers."
Anything you were previously thinking is abruptly cut off as you jerk your head up, eyes flying open.
He's tall, much taller than some of the biggest men from your village. Hair as dark as the rock he stands upon, with pale, flawless skin to contrast. Atop his head are horns, black and spiraled like your beasts'. And much like your beast, he also has wings. Even scales. Black with undertones of purple when the light hits them just right. Gathered over his crotch and hips like a pair of undergarments, but otherwise speckled across his entire body.
He is gorgeous. Terrifyingly so.
"Drink."
While your thoughts swirled with how similar his eyes are to your beasts', the man grabbed a chalice out of one of the beasts' many piles of treasure and filled it with water.
"Wha...? Who—"
"Drink." He commands, pushing the chalice to your lips.
The first touch is your undoing; you guzzle down the entire cup. Or at least try to.
"No," he chides. "Slowly, in small quantities."
You listen, because what else are you to do? He nods, satisfied with your compliance.
"Um," you clear your throat after a chunk of time, watching with pinched brows as he begins picking up and sorting what you threw from your person. "Who are you? How did you get here?"
"What do you mean?" He asks as he regards one of your rings. "I am your supposed promise, am I not?"
Your head throbs for more reasons than just dehydration. "You... cannot be my beast."
"Your beast?" His gaze snaps to yours, sharp with dissent. "I am no one's beast, human child."
"I— I apologize." You stammer as quick as you can, startled by his anger. "I am just... You are a man."
"Never."
"... Then this form is...?"
"Not my true one, merely another."
"... I was not made aware you possessed such an ability."
"Not many humans live to tell the tale."
He's picking through a specific section, seemingly trying to find the best place for one of your bracelets.
"... I do not understand."
"That is to be expected."
There's nothing else you can think to say. Too many thoughts and questions to sort through to pick just one. So, you watch as he painstakingly places every bit of gold you had into what he deems as its rightful place.
All except your cloak, which he picks up, ponders, then lifts his eyes to yours. He closes the distance in steady strides, then kneels down as he drapes the fabric across your bared shoulders.
Immediately, you feel warmer. But whether that's from the heavy linen alone or combined with his proximity, which strangely oozes heat, is up for debate.
"Every single one before you has left."
You blink, confused and still reeling from his closeness, before the context hits.
"They enter my cave, I let them gaze upon me, then they react. Whether they cry, scream, plead, or vomit does not matter. I return to my horde, and they do not follow."
This confession leaves you shaken. Not one of the offerings given has been received. He has been displeased with all of them. But if that were the case, why does the valley still stand? It should've been razed to the ground by now. If the words of the ancestors are true, like they should be, offerings were the peace that tied the valley with the Ruler of the Mountain. Yet, this ruler, kneeling before you in a man's skin, hasn't been taking a single one.
"Except you."
You can't remember if anyone has ever given you such undivided attention.
"You are the only one who dared to follow me."
There is barely any visible expression on his face to glean what he is feeling in this moment. But somewhere in the back of your mind, you imagine him grabbing you by your hips and setting you upon one of his many piles of riches.
"I do not care what your feeble, human mind chooses to believe. The fact of the matter is that you walked in here voluntarily. Thus, you are mine to do with as I please."
He folds the outer edges of your cloak around you, covering your numb limbs in the thick linen.
"You lost your chance to escape the minute I saw you in the light."
His nails are as long as claws, sharpened to a point. Yet he uses them so delicately to push back stray wisps of hair from your vision.
"... What if I need to relieve myself?"
"..."
"Would you have me urinate in your home? Near your horde?"
"You will go outside to take care of yourself. But if you do not return within the hour, I will fly down to the valley and make sure nothing remains."
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You awaken early the next morning, so much so that the sun has barely begun to shine.
You want to sleep. And keep sleeping, maybe forever if you can help it. But your eyes do not want to shut either.
Thus, you lie awake until the sun can be seen through the opening above. Feeling exhausted and jittery all at once. Dazed and melancholic for no particular reason, yet every single reason.
Eventually, your bladder demands attention. And as much as you don't really want to give it any, you know he will be displeased if you wet yourself like an unruly child.
You stand, bundling your cloak close against the chill over your skin. Curiosity wins out, so you turn to look at the being that has now decided to hold you hostage.
His eye is already open, watching. Back in his draconic form.
"... I need to pee."
He grunts, but doesn't shut it.
When you return, it is with an empty bladder and especially cold fingers. The temperature has taken a dive since you last went out. With the wind being just as unforgiving. Soon, snow will begin to fall.
You didn't think you'd ever see snow again.
Curling up on your side, as tight as you can, you close your eyes. And slowly, eventually, go back to sleep.
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
You're cold. It's the first thought churning in your cotton-stuffed mind. You can barely feel your fingers. Your teeth chatter to an almost painful degree.
You flip over to your other side, facing him.
He isn't there. You think you're seeing things at first, considering how fuzzy your mind is with sleep. Better yet, the lack of light for you to see. But even after your eyes take the time to adjust to the night, you don't see even the faintest reflection of his violet-black scales.
Your heart lurches as you sit up. Where could he have gone? To eat? But you didn't hear him like you usually do. Has he left? For good? But his treasure is still here. He wouldn't leave without it, surely.
Before you can panic any further, you hear the whip of the wind. Or rather, the sharp snap of someone cutting through it. Turning your gaze up, you see your answer.
In a split second flaring of his wings, the beast in a man's body hovers above you.
"You are awake," he comments. For a second, you fear that you should not have realized he left. But his expression is blank, like usual. Merely observing you.
He drops suddenly, and you reach out in a rush of adrenaline. He lands on his feet like he didn't just fall from an impressive height. Not even a wince to tell otherwise.
"... It's c-cold," you stutter, feeling the need to explain yourself.
He doesn't say anything at first. You imagine he's taking you in. Your hunched-over form, swaddled in your cloak, gritting your teeth to try and stop their chatter.
"... I see."
You think that's the end of it. Ready to try and resume your fetal position in the hopes of maintaining some warmth, you're interrupted by a lightning-quick spark of light and a rush of wind.
The man has turned back to its true form, with its massive wings and scaled body. He looms over you. Then looms closer still.
You close your eyes instinctually.
It is not what you expected, because you feel the strangest sensation against your back. Like a snake in its musculature, but so much bigger. Then you're being pulled from off the ground, abruptly tugged forward.
Something between a yelp and a gasp leaves your mouth before you're shoved into the hardest wall you've ever been against. Except it's not a wall, it's him. His tail, which pulls away now, had dragged you into the bend of his neck. Leaving you encircled and pressed up against him.
You're not sure what to make of this, and open your mouth to ask as such.
But... oh, he's warm. Borderline hot. You have to move away from any direct contact for fear of giving yourself a burn. He's like a fire. Like the hearth you so loved to sit and nap in front of, consequences be damned.
You realize that he's looking at you, gauging your reaction. Hesitantly, you nod.
He lowers his head at that, securing you in the circle of his long neck.
You stay there, for what other choice has he given you, in a mishmash of thought.
He truly does not intend to do anything with you. This being, a dragon with claws that chip at rock with barely a graze and a jaw that could swallow even the largest of animals whole, wants for nothing but to keep you alive. For how long, you wonder. Will there come a time when he gets truly sick of you? Will you have to wait it out, convince him of your true purpose? Should you even try? What right do you have to speak with a powerful creature such as him like an equal?
Maybe this is your true purpose? To join his horde. Be at the mercy of his whims until you're old and gray.
Your shivering eventually ceases, and steadily your skin begins to warm. But deeper still, in the hollowed-out cavity of your chest, something like hope pushes up through the bed of decay that it was buried under.
As quick as it buds, you stamp it out. Crushing it beneath your heel.
You have no use for that, you remind yourself. Replaying the words of the mistress.
'Remember, child. All your hopes should be buried by the time you stand before him. If not, he will know. And never forgive you.'
Desperately, swallowing around the tightness in your throat, you close your eyes. Until your lids hurt from the force, until your heart stops its insistent beating, until the tiny bloom is nothing more than a faint echo, barely even a memory.