Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The first rule of stealing from a dragon’s hoard is to make sure the dragon is not present. Sure, there are plenty of stories about stealing from sleeping dragons or besting them in games of riddles, but despite all evidence to the contrary, Morgan does not actually have a death wish.

Vast wings blot out the sun as they unfurl, casting the world below in shadow. The enormous beast leaps off the walls of its lair and into the sky, tearing through clouds like a furious river overflowing. All the stories and rumours Morgan has gathered can not compare to the real thing. The creature is truly massive - Morgan had thought, it’s a dragon, of course people are exaggerating, but no. There’s no words for how impossibly huge that thing is or how small it makes you feel. Nor had they been able to convey how beautiful it is. Terrifying, yes, beyond belief, but with every black scale catching the light like obsidian in the sun, with the dark red glow of inner fire shimmering just beneath them… Morgan can’t help but find it beautiful, too. For a while, they can barely move, arrested by awe. If all they get out of this journey is the memory of seeing the Great Dragon, it will be a successful one in their eyes. But that is not the bet, and they’ve made it this far, so. Time to get to work.

The lair looms above them, just where they were told it would. Some have said the dragon lives in a castle, while others say it’s a fortress, and others yet claim it’s a cave carved into the mountainside. Morgan has heard stories mentioning palaces, cathedrals, even ziggurats. As it turns out, they are all correct. Like the pieces of a stained glass window, all kinds of materials and multiple styles of architecture are slotted together into a behemoth of a building. It has buttresses and pillars and wooden beams. It is anachronistic with wild abandon, and Morgan has never wanted to break into a place more in their life . They immediately start looking for the most viable entrance, as there is no door or gate at ground level. Morgan thinks that if they were the biggest lizard on earth designing their own living space, they wouldn’t have bothered with doors, either. There are, however, several windows, and several plausible routes to get to those windows with enough footholds. Embedded in the structure are also a variety of spears, axes and rusty swords, which will only make it easier.

The climb is long and complicated with several backtracks and spears snapping off, but it’s no biggie. Morgan has plenty of practice scaling smoother buildings, and if all goes after the plan, this will be their best heist yet. They haul themself over a gargoyle and roll in through a window, cold stone floor steady beneath their heaving body. When they sit up, they find themself gaping at a hallway lined with paintings. Faces of saints and kings stare lifelessly at Morgan as they bring out a bundle of parchment and some coal, ready to take notes and draw maps while they venture deeper into the labyrinthine lair. The first hallway combines with another, paintings grow larger, and mozaic adorns the ceiling. With rising excitement Morgan finds more and more hallways, each one filled with art from a different time and culture, at least from what they can recognize. Their parchment is already covered with shorthands when they find the first actual room. It’s big, with multiple chandeliers lighting up the pile of armours, shields and weapons. There seems to have been an attempt to organise them, to mount blades and breastplates to the walls, but there’s a shortage of space and an overflow of collectibles. Reverently, Morgan runs a finger across a scimitar they’re pretty sure originates in an empire wiped out centuries ago. It’s in perfect condition.

The second rule of stealing from a dragon’s hoard is to take something the dragon won’t miss. Or at least not miss enough to come back to get it. This was going to be the tricky part, as accounts on dragon behaviour are… mixed. Some stories tell of dragons who keep track of every golden coin they own, while others recall dragons so covered in their treasure it falls and flakes off their scales wherever they go. Maybe it was individual preference, but studying dragon behaviour was getting more difficult by the decade, so it was hard to tell. There weren’t a lot of them left. And those who were, well. For all the stories about the Great Dragon, the Dark Devourer, the Serpent Beast of the North, very few had met it and survived. Seen it at a distance, certainly, but up close? Rooms went silent thinking about it. Which is why it is absolutely critical to find the perfect proof that Morgan had, if they were going to convince the Bandit King. They don’t think it’ll be too hard, considering the things they’re finding. They can probably pick up any trinket belonging to a lost civilization and call it a day, but that would put an end to their exploration. Just now they’re passing through a chamber housing a whole ship , and the next room - it’s a throne room. Not a room containing a single throne, mind you, but a hall filled with hundreds of thrones, all stacked on top of each other to form precarious towers. Morgan grins. They never want to leave this place.

“Having fun?”

Morgan nearly jumps out of their skin. They’ve been as vigilant and careful as possible, checking their corners and stepping quietly. Yet, peering at them from above, lounging in a gilded throne impossibly balanced on top of five others, sits a person.

Morgan, for once struggling to find words, opens and closes their mouth a couple times. “Um… yeah?”

Elegant like a cat, the stranger descends with a single jump. Long hair settles around them and their smile spells danger, and once again Morgan can’t help but find something dangerous strikingly pretty. They’re all sharp-edged features, wearing well-fitted clothes made of dark and expensive fabric, and most noticeably - the pair of brilliantly amber eyes currently fixed on Morgan.

“Well aren’t you brave, coming in here,” they say. Their voice is smooth and rich like honey.

“I could say the same for you,” says Morgan. “I didn’t expect to run into any fellow humans in here.”

“Indeed, that would be a very natural assumption to make,” says the stranger, and it’s entirely possible Morgan is imagining the glimmer of amusement that passes their expression. “Makes one wonder how one such as yourself has wound up here.”

Hubris, mostly , Morgan thinks. They need to calibrate just how safe they can feel around this person. Signs point to not very safe at all. “Well… I’ve heard tell that the collection of the Great Dragon is the finest in the world, and I wanted to see for myself if there is any truth to that. I guess you could say that I have a fascination for trinkets. That I am something of an enthusiast, even. A humble appreciator of fine items.”

“We might be of the same profession, then, you and I.” It’s impossible to get a read on the stranger’s intent.

“It’s definitely plausible.” Morgan decides to take a chance, holding their hand out. Their split second decisions have never steered them wrong before, have they? “The name’s Morgan. It’s very nice to meet a colleague out in the field.”

The stranger only barely hesitates before taking their hand in a firm grip, and Morgan is pretty sure their delight is genuine. “Likewise.”

Morgan notes that the stranger does not give them their name.

“So… is it?” the stranger says instead. “Would you say this is the finest collection in the world?”

“Oh, without a doubt.” Morgan completely forgets to be on edge. “I mean, are you seeing this? Some of this stuff dates back thousands of years and it’s perfectly preserved. There’s treasure from every continent and at least twelve different empires, several of which are long gone, and probably many more I can’t even recognize! There’s artefacts from legends! Paintings and sculptures that are thought to be lost to history forever!”

The stranger laughs in surprise at their sudden, hand-waving enthusiasm. “You’ve got a lot of experience raiding dragon hoards, then?”

“Well, uh, not really,” Morgan admits sheepishly. “It’s my first dragon hoard, but I’ve got some experience with rich people hoards, if you know what I mean. Not that I can even compare the two. To be honest, I’m probably going to die today because there’s no way I’ll be able to see myself out before the Great Dragon returns.”

The stranger quirks an eyebrow. “You’re not afraid of it?”

“Oh, I’m absolutely terrified. Sure, I might die a painful and violent death at the claws of the most vicious beast that’s ever lived, but not before I’ve surveyed the rest of this hoard.”

“Huh,” the stranger says, expression strangely blank. Then they smile, and for the first time it does not look like a threat. “Fear is the spice of life, I suppose. What if I showed you around?”

“You’ve… You’ve been here before?”

“I’m familiar with this place, yes. I also happen to know all the good hiding places, so if you’re willing to trust me…”

The thrill and strangeness of the situation pump through Morgan’s veins to the point of lightheadedness. “Yes.”


***

They pass through rooms filled with coins and currencies of all kinds, rooms filled with pottery and glassware from tiny flagons to massive amphoras, and rooms filled with strange machinery and inventions. There is a room for every kind of collection Morgan can think of. One of them even contains mummies in their sarcophagi and other preserved corpses, and a whole section of the lair is a greenhouse large enough to room a forest. Butterflies of all colours flit between lovingly cultivated shrubbery.

At one point Morgan runs out of parchment to write on, but thanks to the sure steps of their guide they’re not at all afraid of losing their way. Maybe it’s foolish to put all their faith in a beautiful stranger they just met in the middle of a dragon’s lair, but they can’t help it. There’s something in the way the stranger pays full attention to Morgan's steady stream of ramblings that makes their heart ache - like it’s the first time someone is actually interested in what Morgan has to say. They weren’t lying about their fascination for trinkets - they’re mostly recounting the myths and histories of the treasures they’re looking through. Sometimes the stranger points at a specific item and asks, “what about this one?” and Morgan shares what knowledge they have, however incomplete. For hours they wander the halls and the corridors and the staircases like this, and it’s only when they sit down for the first time that Morgan remembers what they’re even here for.

The golden gaze of the stranger is unwavering. “You’re being very quiet all of a sudden,” they say, almost sounding a little disappointed.

“I, uh,” Morgan begins. They sigh. “So the real reason I’m even here is because of a bet.”

“A bet?”

“It’s a long story - well. Mostly a dumb story. I kind of told the King of Bandits that I can definitely steal something from the hoard of the Great Dragon.”

“Interesting. So how is that going for you?”

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I?”

“So you are.”

Morgan shifted around, not wanting to look the stranger in the eyes. “It’s just, and I never thought I would ever say this sentence in my entire life - I don’t really want to steal anything from here. Not because I’m afraid the Dragon would hunt me down, but more because… how could I possibly remove anything from this place? It would be sacrilege.”

The stranger made a non-committal listening sound.

“There’s that, and also… What could possibly convince the Bandit King I was really here? I might recognize old books and amulets from ages past, but the general population of the Village of Thieves wouldn’t. And they don’t really take my word for much these days.” Morgan drags a hand down their face. “I might have painted myself into a corner.”

“What did you even bet that makes this so important to you?”

Morgan looks straight at the stranger. “My pride.”

“Your pride.”

“Agh, it sounds so stupid when I say it. There’s nothing the Bandit King has that I want, other than the recognition I deserve. For years I’ve outclassed every single one of his underlings, but they keep laying claim to all of my accomplishments. I just need one piece of proof that I’m exactly as good as I say I am.”

“I see.”

“You’re judging me, aren’t you.”

“No, not at all.” The stranger rises to their feet, offering their hand to Morgan to help them up. “Come with me, I know the perfect piece of treasure for you.”

Wordlessly, Morgan follows the stranger, a little dazed. Their hand hasn’t let go of theirs, and it’s warm. Their skin is very soft against Morgan’s callouses. The stranger leads them up the longest spiral staircase yet, to the top of a tower. They enter something that resembles a bedroom - there is a bed, but it’s much bigger than a regular four post bed. There are multiple mattresses on top of eachother, and blankets and fabrics in a nest-like pile. The stranger lets go of Morgan’s hand to root around in it, furrowing their brows in concentration. It’s after they’ve stuck their entire arm up to the shoulder between two of the mattresses that their face lights up, and they reveal their find. It’s one of the Great Dragon’s scales. It’s the size of a food bowl and dark as night, but shimmers with oily colours as the stranger holds it out to Morgan.

“How about this?” they say, brimming with pride. “If this can’t convince them, I don’t see what will.”

“Gods above,” Morgan whispers in awe. “It’s perfect. Unless, uh, the Dragon kills me dead for taking it. Is that true, you think? That Dragons know exactly where every single piece of their hoard is?”

“It’s true,” says the stranger. “But I wouldn’t worry about this one, that’s just one of their scales, not Treasure.”

“How… do you know that?”

The stranger smiles at them, awash in the sunset glow filtering in through the tower windows.

“You should be going soon, but I’ll give you one more thing before you go.”

“You’re, um, you’re avoiding the question.”

The stranger’s soft hand tips Morgan’s chin up to meet their eyes, looking full of fire in the light, and Morgan is struggling to breathe normally.

“My name is Alex,” they say. “Call upon me should you ever need me.”

Morgan has no answer. They don’t need to answer, because Alex is kissing them.


***



I don’t know what I expected, Morgan thinks for the hundredth time. They throw another pebble at the wall. I should have seen this coming. How did I not see this coming?

They had probably been too distracted thinking about soft hands, soft lips and gold eyes for the entire way back. They are still distracted thinking about it, to be honest, even locked inside a castle dungeon. They’ve escaped dungeons before, but what’s even the point anymore? Of course the whole thing was a trap. It hadn’t mattered what treasure they brought back, the Bandit King was a corrupt bastard with zero integrity who had only wanted a convenient way to collect the bounty for Morgan’s head. And he got a goddamn dragon scale out of it, too. All because Morgan was so starved for the slimmest shred of respect, and because they refused to acknowledge that they are never going to get it. Not from their family, not from their fellow thieves. The royal guards hadn’t even bothered to use a good knot to tie their hands together.

So even if Morgan escapes — which would take them about as long as it takes to produce a makeshift lockpick - then what? Nobody here appreciates their craft. They think about Alex again, and try to slap the blush out of their face. There’s no way they could’ve stayed at a dragon’s lair. That was like, rule three of stealing from a dragon’s hoard. But it’s whatever, they’ll get back on their feet soon enough, they just need to be a little dramatic first. Maybe take their customary dungeon cell depression nap. Or at least that’s what they’re considering, when the door to their cell opens unexpectedly.

“Get up,” a guard grunts at them. “You’re going to the gallows.”

“I’m what?”

“Going to the gallows,” the guard says. “It’s been a while since there’s been a good show in town.”

“Hey hey hey no wait,” Morgan protests, but the guard is already dragging them along. “You can’t do this! I haven’t done anything worth hanging for!”

“Stealing the Queen’s crown’s pretty hang-worthy.” Another guard joins in to restrain a struggling Morgan.

“Oh so now you believe I did it? I’m going to strangle the Bandit King.” Motherfucker.

It takes three burly guards to force a cursing Morgan up the gallows, and they don’t even give them a complementary sack over the head. The crowd is pretty middling, but Morgan spots the Bandit King in it. He’s just out there, in broad daylight, looking smug as all hell. If this is revenge for that one time Morgan cheated at dice, it’s a little disproportionate. How long has he been planning this?

When the noose slips around their neck, the panic finally catches up to Morgan. Oh gods, this is really it. All that whining earlier, about there not being any point anymore? Scratch that. Morgan does not want to die, respect or no respect. Not now, not when they just experienced that brief shining moment of companionship, not when -

“Alex,” they whisper. “Please, Alex, please help me.” They feel pathetic for thinking it’ll accomplish anything, but the panic is bigger than shame.

There’s a loud roar. The earth shakes.

Morgan makes a helpless yelp as the gallows fall apart entirely, and they find themself in a pile of planks and ropes on the ground. The crowd is panicking, screaming, and Morgan can almost make out the word dragon.

“Wha?” they say as the sky suddenly goes dark. And then, light.

Every building around them is alight with fire, and the heat hits Morgan like a wall. They hurriedly get the noose off of them, clamber over the would-be executioner's body and hops off the pile. The world is pandemonium around them, adrenaline courses through their body, they should be paralyzed with fear, and yet -

They spot the Great Dragon as it razes the castle to the ground. Massive bits of stone tower rain down upon the town. With another mighty roar the Dragon swoops down, towards Morgan. They should drop dead of fright, right then and there. But they don’t. They recognize the Dragon’s eyes, burning with rage like molten gold.

“Alex,” Morgan says to it, right before it lands. The impact of its wings fans the flames around them to reach even higher.

WE MEET AGAIN, MORGAN. The voice reverberates through Morgan’s entire being.

“How did you find me?”

A DRAGON ALWAYS KNOWS WHERE THEIR TREASURE IS.

“But I don’t have the scal-”

It’s like a pillar of black flames, and then Alex stands before them. The same Alex that Morgan had met at the lair, the one they had mistaken for human.

“I’m not talking about the scale,” they say.