Chapter Text
Chapter 1
As Steve lay on the ground, struggling to breathe through the pain in his gut, he conceded that spitting on Rumlow was a stupid idea. But since Rumlow was leaving him to be eaten by a dragon, he had no regrets—getting punched was worth the look of shocked disgust on Rumlow’s face.
Over the sound of his own gasping breaths, he became aware of a susurration coming from the mouth of the cave behind him, like dried rushes being dragged slowly over stone. The dragon. This was it.
Maybe he’d get to see his mother again. He would’ve liked to have said goodbye to Sam, but he’d left the village months ago. He wondered how long would it take for Gabe and Jim to realize he was missing. A week or two at least, since life and responsibilities had started taking up more of their time.
Enough. Stop putting it off. Softly, whispered in his mind, he heard his mother’s voice: You always stand up, Steven. He groaned and got his knees under him, grateful that his hands were tied in front of him, and not behind. By slow, painful increments, he stood up.
Stars swam before his eyes as he swayed on his feet, balance made precarious by his bound wrists and ankles. He could already feel the hot dry draft of the dragon’s breath against the back of his neck. He looked out across the empty clearing, at the trees just turning golden in the early autumn, and tried to draw some peace from the beauty of his surroundings. With a shaky inhalation, he shuffled around. He got an impression of leathery wings and inky blackness and—
He blinked. “I thought you’d be bigger.”
Horror crept over him as he heard the words leave his mouth.
The dragon’s head reared back and its eyes flared silver, tail lashing back and forth like an angry cat’s.
Not only was he going to die, he was going to die horribly.
He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the dragon approach. Then came a loud inhalation which ruffled Steve’s hair. Oh gods, he’s smelling me. Please don’t let me smell tasty. His knees felt like water, and it was all he could do to remain standing. The dragon sniffed at him a few more times, then something cold and pointed slid between his wrists and sliced right through the ropes that bound them. The same thing happened to the ropes around his ankles. He gasped as blood rushed back to his extremities, bringing with it a flood of stabbing, jabbing prickles.
He waited for something to happen. Nothing did.
Steve opened his eyes. The dragon was sitting on its haunches, head cocked like a very large and curious bird. It studied him with silvery gray eyes that held a disturbing intelligence.
Now that Steve could get a better look, he realized the dragon wasn’t small at all. It was about double his height, and had a body corded with thick ropes of muscle. Jet black diamond-shaped scales covered it, all except for its left foreleg, which was armored in some kind of shiny silver metal. A red crystal star that caught the sunlight was affixed at the shoulder. A crest of long, spear-like scales flared out from its aquiline head.
He’d heard many stories about dragons when he was growing up, on long winter nights when folk gathered around the tavern fireplace to share warmth and each other’s company. The stories all told of the dragons’ strength and aggression, of the destruction they left in their wake. Yet the dragon in front of him didn’t seem all that aggressive or destructive.
<Are you my tribute?>
Steve looked around wildly. He’d heard a voice, but the dragon hadn’t opened its mouth. The wide clearing in front of the cave was empty, and Rumlow and Rollins should be halfway back to the village by now.
<You’re very small…> the voice continued doubtfully.
He turned back to stare at the dragon. It was definitely the dragon speaking, its head now canted forward in an attitude of polite inquiry. Somehow it, no, he—that voice was very male—was putting words right into Steve’s head. He’d never heard anything as clear as that voice before. It was smooth and deep, with a hint of gravel, and it made all other sounds seem soft and muzzy in comparison.
Then the dragon’s words registered—the slight emphasis on the word ‘small’.
His fists balled up at his sides. “I’m not that small,” he shot back. He regretted the words even as they left his mouth.
<Do you want me to eat you?>
“No, but—” He broke off his instinctive response. All his life, he’d believed in doing what was right… he was not about to stop now. Wincing at the prickling pain in his feet, he straightened up to his full height. “Yes. If it means you’ll leave this place.”
<But you don’t look very filling.> The tip of the dragon’s tail twitched. <I don’t suppose you’re a virgin?> he asked, sounding hopeful. <I’ve heard they taste better.>
He gritted his teeth and refused to answer. The dragon could very well find that out for himself. He stared at the dragon. The dragon stared back. Then the dragon got up, turned around, and went back into his cave.
Steve gaped as the long, snakelike tail slithered out of sight. Was he not good enough to eat? He was a virgin, gods damn it. He had a sudden impulse to chase after the dragon to inform him of that very fact. He shook his head. Being tossed around in the back of Rumlow’s cart must have turned his brain to mush.
He was free, he realized. If the dragon didn’t want him, he could return to the village. He thought about it, thought of walking away and returning to his small cottage in the woods.
But if he wasn’t accepted as tribute, the village would pay the price. The stories were all clear on that. So either Rumlow would find someone else, or the dragon would start hunting livestock, or worse, people. Everyone else had families, people who depended on them, people who would miss them. Everyone except him.
The dragon didn’t seem unreasonable. Perhaps he could be bargained with? In what had to be the stupidest decision he’d ever made in a lifetime of making stupid decisions, he resolved to follow the dragon into his lair.
The cave mouth yawned, dark and forbidding before him. He stared at it, willing himself to take the first step.
<Well? Come on, tribute,> the dragon said.
He was so stupid, he thought, as he hobbled into the cave mouth. So, so stupid.
๑ ๑ ๑
The cave had been a favorite playground for Steve and Sam growing up. It was large and roomy, and even had an underground river that surfaced along one side of the cave, ran alongside the back wall, and disappeared into the other side. The high vaulted ceiling, with an opening above the river, made the cave perfect for cookouts, and kept it from becoming dank.
They particularly loved the forest of large blue crystals that grew near the river bank. The crystals were magic, they decided, and would imbue them with special powers; the power of flight for Sam, and strength for Steve. When Jim and Gabe could join them, battles were fought on the pebbled shore and high-pitched war cries echoed throughout the cave.
Being familiar with the interior of the cave, it was easy to spot the signs of the dragon’s occupancy. The most obvious one, of course, was the dragon himself. He lay curled up on a nest of blankets at the center of the cave, the silver gleam of one eye just visible through a slitted lid. There was a large book stand in front of him, on which rested an open book.
Dragons could read? Steve was so lightheaded from hunger he almost blurted out the question, but caught himself at the last moment. Glass balls that glowed like sunlit mist were scattered on high ledges around the cave. He’d never seen anything like them. The light they gave off was warm and even, so different from the guttering flicker of a candle.
Steve stepped in front of the dragon. “I’m here,” he said. “What now?”
<You can sleep there for now.> The dragon pointed towards the back of the cave with his tail.
Steve turned to look, and was surprised to make out a camp bed. A sturdy, comfortable-looking camp bed… in a dragon’s cave. He turned back to the dragon in confusion. “Why is there—”
<I doubt you can return to the village,> the dragon continued, cutting him off. <They’ll just bring you back.>
Steve blinked and shook his head, distracted by the ringing that had started up in his ears. “And then?”
There was a sly tone to the dragon’s voice when he said, <Who knows? I’ll get hungry sooner or later.> The dragon closed his eyes and let out a long, sighing breath. <There are clothes in there.> The dragon’s tail lifted and pointed at a leather pack near the bed. <You can use them once you wash.>
Wash? Was this like washing rutabagas before eating them? Was he the rutabaga? Spots danced before his eyes, then his knees gave out and the floor rushed up to meet him.
๑ ๑ ๑
He woke to the sound of running water, and his body aching and throbbing in time with his heartbeat. Given the choices he tended to make, waking up in that condition wasn’t all that unusual. The gnawing ache of hunger was also distressingly familiar.
What was unusual was the bed he woke up in. It was far more comfortable than what he was used to, and the wool blanket that covered him wasn’t threadbare and itchy. The bedding held a faint trace of an earthy, comforting scent—like pine logs burning in a fireplace. He stroked the blanket, enjoying its soft warmth as he blinked himself fully awake. From the angle of light, he estimated it was late afternoon.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, something clamored for attention. After some thought, he realized what it was. Dragon. He sat up as fast as his aching body allowed. The interior of the cave spun like a wobbly top and black spots buzzed before his eyes. Food. He needed food.
<Recovered from your faint, I see.> There was a rustle as the dragon turned a page with the tip of his tail.
“I did not—” Steve clamped his mouth shut. Was he really going to argue with a dragon?
The dragon swiveled his head to look at Steve. <You most assuredly did,> he said with relish.
Was the dragon teasing him? Like a cat toying with a mouse? Fists clenched and teeth gritted, he made himself stand up and walk over to the dragon. “Are you hungry yet?”
The dragon’s silvery eyes gleamed. <Why do you ask?>
“We had a bargain.”
<We did?> the dragon asked, with every appearance of innocence.
“Yes. You eat me, you leave this place.”
<Oh, that bargain. I don’t recall agreeing to it.>
“Would you agree to it now?” Steve snapped. He wanted it to be over. He wanted the dragon to agree, and then he wanted the dragon to knock him unconscious before his courage could fail him.
The dragon tilted his head and studied Steve. <Is there any reason why you’re in such a hurry to get eaten?>
There was a sincere curiosity in the dragon’s question that pulled an answering honesty from Steve. “I want to protect my village,” he said. “And this is the only way I can.”
<By letting me eat you.>
“If that’s what it takes.”
The dragon studied him for a long moment, then his voice turned sly. <We could make a different bargain…>
He eyed the dragon. “What kind of bargain?”
<Hands are useful things.> The dragon held up his right foreleg and flexed glossy black claws that were at least two inches long and looked razor sharp. <Good for rending and tearing, not so good for picking strawberries. You stay here and be my hands and I’ll leave the village, and everyone in it, alone.> His tail swished back and forth as he spoke, making a soft scraping sound that was oddly soothing.
“And the livestock.”
<And the livestock.>
The dragon’s easy capitulation made Steve even more suspicious. “What do I need to do?”
<Hand things. You know…> The long, scaly tail flicked idly back and forth. <Fetching and carrying, writing letters, brushing blood off my teeth, things like that. Nothing dangerous, I assure you.>
Steve wasn’t exactly sure brushing blood off a dragon’s teeth counted as ‘not dangerous’. “Dangerous to you, or to me?”
<Dangerous to you. I won’t let you come to harm.>
“I won’t do anything immoral.”
<Understood.> The dragon watched him, perfectly still for once.
The secret amusement in the dragon’s tone set alarm bells ringing, but try as he might, he couldn’t see where the trap lay. It wasn’t as though he had any other choice—he would do what he could to protect the village and the people who lived in it. Not getting eaten was an added benefit he couldn’t ignore.
“Done,” he said.
<Done.> The triumphant note in the dragon’s voice sounded rather like a cage door closing. <You may call me Buchanan,> he continued, grand and gracious as a host welcoming an honored guest.
“Oh,” Steve said, suddenly awkward. “I’m Steve.”
<Steve,> Buchanan said slowly, savoring the syllables.
A shiver ran through Steve at the intimacy of hearing that voice in his head. The shiver turned into a pronounced sway as his head spun from hunger.
Buchanan eyed him. <You should probably eat before you faint again.>
“I did not—” Steve swallowed the rest of his words and walked away with as much dignity as he could muster. It wasn’t a lot, considering how much his knees were shaking from a combination of hunger and shock. Mostly shock, if he was honest with himself.
๑ ๑ ๑
<Are you sure that’s enough?> Buchanan asked Steve as he carried his plate over to the small folding table.
He looked down at the two slices of bread and salt pork on his plate, more than he usually got to eat for lunch, and then at Buchanan. “Are you trying to fatten me up?”
With an exasperated sigh, Buchanan went back to reading.
Steve looked around the cave while he ate, gaze alighting on the bed, the table, the pack full of human clothing. “Is there someone else living in this cave with you?”
<Why do you ask?>
“Well, you have all these things for people.” He waved a hand at the evidence of a human occupant.
<A dragon can always do with a pair of hands.>
He straightened. “So there is someone else living here?” How was he to keep his end of the bargain if the dragon already had someone helping him?
<Only you, Steve. The one who usually helps me is… away at the moment.>
Steve relaxed at Buchanan’s words. “He won’t mind that I’m using his things?”
<I’m sure he won’t,> Buchanan said, with a furtive humor that Steve found worrying.
“You didn’t eat him, did you?”
Buchanan turned to look at him. <Where does this constant fascination with being eaten come from?>
He flushed. “Well… we’ve all heard the stories.”
<Old stories, I’d wager,> Buchanan said scornfully, flicked his tail, and went back to reading his book.
It was true that the stories had the smooth worn edges of constant retelling, and that Buchanan hadn’t caused any trouble since he’d arrived a week ago. Yet everyone in the village had seen the dragon flying overhead and become terrified. Which was to be expected, since no being that gave off the sense of coiled power that Buchanan did, and was possessed of wings and fangs and two-inch long claws, could ever be anything but terrifying. It was more that he didn’t act terrifying, which seemed an important distinction.
Another thought occurred to Steve. “How did you get me into the bed?”
Buchanan’s eyes gleamed when he coiled his tail around the book stand, picked it up, and waved it about. <Like that,> he said. <Although you were a lot floppier, so there was more dragging and shoving involved.> Then he put the book stand down and carried on reading.
Buchanan could have left him on the floor where he’d fallen, but hadn’t. For some reason, the image of Buchanan wrestling his unconscious body into the bed with nothing but his tail, and then pulling the blanket over him, wasn’t as disturbing as it probably should have been. “Thank you,” he said.
Buchanan nodded and turned back to his book.
Since Buchanan didn’t seem to mind answering Steve’s questions, he decided to ask another. “Buchanan?”
<Mmm?>
“What are those balls with the light inside them?”
Buchanan looked at the ball nearest to him in surprise, as though he’d forgotten they were even there. <Glow globes.>
“How do they glow like that?”
<Dragons can create light. It’s a simple conjuring that even younglings can do. Our artificers bind them and trap them in glass.>
Dragons could do magic. Of course.
Steve felt like he’d stepped through a sidewise door and emerged into another world which ran widdershins to his own mundane one.
๑ ๑ ๑
He dug through the pack Buchanan had pointed out to him, looking for clothes he could borrow. Whoever had functioned as Buchanan’s hands before Steve had expensive taste, if the clothes and soap he found were anything to go by. He gathered up what he needed and, after a furtive glance at Buchanan to make sure his back was turned, stripped off his clothes. He hurried through his bath, wincing as the soap stung his cuts and the raw skin around ankles and wrists.
By the time he was done, he was shivering, and the tips of his fingers had turned a light gray. He hurried into the borrowed clothes and discovered, to his dismay, that they were made for a man very much larger than him. No matter how he folded the fine linen sleeves of the tunic, they kept unrolling, and the hose sagged around his ankles. He walked back from the river feeling like a child playing dress up.
The closer he got to the center of the cave, the warmer it became. It was Buchanan, Steve realized, he was the source of it. Steve slowed as he walked past Buchanan, trying to absorb as much heat as possible. Something coiled around his wrist, jerking him to a surprised halt. He looked down and saw that it was Buchanan’s tail.
<Why are you blue?>
“I’m not—”
<Do you argue like this with everyone?> Buchanan asked.
“Yes,” Steve admitted on a sigh.
Buchanan tsked. <I forgot how cold the water is. I cannot have my hands falling sick. You may sit here till you warm up.>
“I can—Hey!” Steve landed with a thump on the blankets when Buchanan tugged at Steve’s wrist with his tail. “I can take care of myself,” Steve snapped. He unwrapped the bit of tail coiled around his wrist. “You can’t move me around however you want.”
<I’m not worried about you, Steve.> Buchanan pulled his tail away and tapped Steve’s hand with the tip. <Just your hands. They’re for doing my work remember? Can’t have your fingers falling off because of frostbite.>
Ass, Steve fumed silently. He leaned back against Buchanan even though it felt like he was leaning against a giant pine cone. As warmth seeped into him, he had to admit that the dragon was probably right. The cave was cold, and with his weak constitution, it would be easy to fall sick.
<Next time, I’ll go with you. At least you won’t be so cold.> Buchanan ignored Steve’s attempt to interrupt. <Don’t worry. I won’t look. Your honor will be preserved.>
Bargain, he reminded himself, as he gritted his teeth. “Alright,” he forced out. “Thank you.”
Buchanan threw off so much heat that Steve soon went from being so cold he had a tight, sick feeling in his stomach, to warm and drowsy. Buchanan’s deep, even breathing, and the rushing of water over stones were the only things he could hear. When his eyelids began to droop, he jerked himself upright. Best not to fall asleep against a dragon. He studied the interior of the cave, looking for something to do.
Buchanan, or whoever had been helping him before, was not the most meticulous when it came to tidiness. Books were scattered everywhere in disorganized piles, several packs were strewn near the camp bed, and one very large and misshapen pack was thrown against the far left wall of the cave.
Steve himself wasn’t all that tidy either, but he had a job to do, and he intended to do it well. He got to his feet and started gathering up the books nearest him. There were books on astronomy and herbology and science and mythology. Each was beautifully illustrated and illuminated and most were too advanced for him. He knew his knowledge of letters was hardly more than basic, but seeing them drove home how little he knew of the world outside the village. He wondered if Buchanan would mind if he read them in his spare time.
He gathered up a respectable pile of books and started sorting them by subject. The whole time he worked, he could feel Buchanan’s eyes on him.
<Such an industrious pair of hands. I have chosen well.>
Steve glared at the dragon as he placed a book on astronomy on the astronomy pile. When he was done, all the books were stacked in neat piles on flat rocks to raise them off the cave floor. He was looking for more things to do when his eyes fell on the dragon curled up in the center of the cave. Cleaning dragon teeth might not be something he was quite ready for, but he’d groomed his fair share of horses at the Wilson farm—perhaps those skills could be applied to the dragon?
Buchanan watched with interest as he approached. Steve said, “I could… groom you?”
<What a wonderful idea,> Buchanan said. <You shall do this bright and early tomorrow morning.>
He hoped the villagers appreciated how much he was putting up with for their sakes. At the rate he was going, his throat would be sore from all the words he was swallowing.
๑ ๑ ๑
Here was a fact that Steve never expected to learn firsthand: a sleeping dragon resembled a cat that had curled itself up into a ball, chin resting on tail. As Steve watched, Buchanan began to stir; his wings twitched, then eyelids slid slowly up to reveal clear, silver eyes. Their gazes locked for a moment before Steve looked down at his plate, cheeks hot at having been caught staring.
Buchanan yawned, the forest of sharp teeth in his mouth glimmering in the watery morning light. He uncurled himself and stretched his wings out before pulling them back in. <Steve,> he said, in a sly, sleepy tone that made Steve immediately wary.
“Buchanan.”
<I believe there was mention of grooming last night?>
Steve nodded.
<Well, then.>
Buchanan got up, stretched his neck and tail to the accompaniment of little popping sounds, and walked into the river until he was submerged. Without meaning to, Steve held his breath while he watched the shifting surface of the water and waited until Buchanan breached the surface, like a monster rising from the depths. Water cascaded off him as he raised his wings and emerged from river.
<Don’t dwaddle, Steve,> he said, as he went past, his armored leg making a distinctive clank as he walked out of the cave.
Steve hurried after him with a rag and a frown. When he was just out of the cave mouth, he had to duck when Buchanan shook himself like a dog and flapped his wings, making water droplets shimmer around him in a sparkling cloud. Little curls of steam wafted off him as he settled on the grass near the entrance and said imperiously, <Here.>
Yes, master hovered at the tip of Steve’s tongue, but he stifled the impulse. Buchanan would almost certainly take a liking to the title and insist that Steve continue to use it. That was to be avoided at great cost. Using the rag in his hand, he began wiping Buchanan down, not surprised to find that the heat of Buchanan’s body had already dried up all the water. Whoever had groomed Buchanan before Steve hadn’t been particularly diligent, if the amount of dirt trapped between his scales was anything to go by.
Steve worked his way from shoulder to haunches. He studied the diamond-shaped scales that covered Buchanan, already planning out how to capture their grainy surface and the ridges at their edges using his charcoals. If he had the chance to get close enough to a dragon to do a detailed study, he was not going to waste it.
Buchanan’s breaths grew deeper and slower. He slipped into a half-doze as Steve worked, eyes going slitted and unfocused. About halfway up Buchanan’s neck, Steve hesitated, then switched over to the left side and worked his way down again. Snout and face and teeth could wait for another day when he was less wary of bringing his tasty virgin flesh near Buchanan’s abundance of sharp teeth.
Steve stopped when he reached the armored foreleg, uncertain how to proceed. Buchanan said in amused tones, <Go ahead.>
“Should I take the armor off first?”
<It’s not armor,> Buchanan said. <And it doesn’t come off.>
Steve’s gaze snapped back towards the leg. If it wasn’t armor, and it didn’t come off… “Is your whole leg metal?”
<It is.>
The leg moved like its flesh-and-blood mate. How was it possible that it was made of metal? “How does it—” He cut himself off, embarrassed.
<I will tell you about it one day.> Buchanan closed his eyes. <But not today.>
How did Buchanan lose his leg? How did the metal leg work? Who made it? Did it hurt? He pressed his lips together to hold back the questions flooding his mind.
It was the same light color as the silver of his mother’s locket, but he’d never seen any silver as durable and reflective as the metal of Buchanan’s leg. Not a single spot of rust marred its surface. The leg was constructed of rings of metal which fit together smoothly, starting from below the knee. Above the knee, the rings overlapped to allow greater range of movement. The blood-red star near the shoulder joint was made of a faceted crystal that caught and refracted the light in its clear depths.
It was a marvel. Perhaps even magical, he realized, recalling the globes in the cave.
When Steve was done, Buchanan looked himself over with a pleased air. <You have done a fine job, Steve. I thank you.>
“You’re welcome,” Steve said, flustered by the easy praise. He staggered backwards when Buchanan snapped open his black, leathery wings with a loud swooshing sound.
<And now to breakfast,> Buchanan called out, as he took off from the clearing.
Steve shielded his face when the backwash kicked up the autumn leaves littering the clearing floor. “I just cleaned you,” Steve shouted after the departing dragon.
<We can do this again when I come back,> was the infuriating reply.
Steve watched him fly away, impressed, in spite of his irritation, by the beauty and grace of Buchanan on the wing. It was only after he went back into the cave that he realized Buchanan didn’t seem at all worried about Steve running off while he was away hunting.