The Golden Dragon's Princess

In the evenings, around the hearths of home, we teach the rules by which we share this world with the brethren through story. Tales of lovers separated by misfortune, the vain punished with disfigurement, of knights enchanted into forever sleep, and of princesses locked into towers.

We seek out Seers to foretell the future, and mages to bespell swords, but are wary of the Fae with their costly altruism and deceptive beauty, the mischief of household imps, and sirens who sing ship to wreckage.

Most of all, we fear the dragons, beasts of mighty wings and magical power, who demand virgin sacrifice, and turn the bravest knight to ash.

-

My foot slipped on a piece of armour, unseen beneath the ash and dirt. The movement spilled delicate white finger bones out onto the path, reminding me of the children's game. But this was not a night or place for games.

The evening air was sharp. Winter was setting in, and the tips of the mountain range were capped white. There was no snow here, but the air held the bite and scent of it, where one could detect anything at all above the stink of rotting flesh, sulphur, and char.

I had overcome my horror of bones and corpses within a few minutes of setting my feet to this path. There was an abundance of them upon it, in varying states of decay - knights, and other fortune seekers, who had come in pursuit of the riches that lay above and the glory of slaying a dragon.

I suspected that the ash and dust that coated my boots, the hem of my skirts and my cloak, had once been men, and that they had been the lucky ones, incinerated under dragon flame. These others, either they had caught the tail of the flame and had died of their wounds, or some other ill had befallen them. I did not want to scrutinize them too closely in order to determine how they had died.

The dragon had left them on the path on purpose - warning to those who came this way. Was I foolhardy to ignore the warning? I wondered. I would like to think it bravery that motivated my climb up the steep path, but in truth it was desperation.

Nearer to the mouth of the cave, the bodies thinned. Not so many made it this far, I decided, or the dragon turned the ones who did to ash rather than have them rot within smelling distance of his home. The path dipped and turned, pressing narrowly against the rocky cliff, and dropping away steeply below.

Fear made my lungs tight. One careless step, and I would fall to my death. I pressed my back against the mountain stone, and edged my way closer, as the wind picked up my cloak and my skirts and pulled against me. Foolish princess, I told myself. Why had I not worn trousers and tunic to flee Uyan Taesil in, instead of this gown? It had been designed for courtly riding, not for adventures, and the seams had ripped beneath my arms, the waistline sagged where I had torn stitches when I had stepped on the hem, and the fine fabric was stained and generally bedraggled.

I was both grateful and concerned about the dragon's absence thus far. Did he not know that I approached? Or was he not at home? Had he moved to other dwellings? The villagers had not been helpful. They had reached an accord with the dragon in recent weeks, and did not want to disrupt it, even if I were a more unusual dragon-seeker to those they normally saw.

But then, if he came, between the narrow ledge that the path had become and the dragon's fury, I would have little chance of survival. The path curved, and then snaked out again, and I could see the entrance to the cave.

I edged my way slowly closer. It was a large entrance. It would have to be, I thought, for a dragon to fit within. There were scrape marks in the rock from his scales rubbing against them. The ledge before it was large, too – more than big enough to accommodate a sizeable dragon landing upon it. I breathed a sigh of relief as I stepped upon it and wondered how often such a thing occurred. Foolish princess, relieved to reach the dragon's cave.

The moon was not bright, but it illuminated several meters into the tunnel, after which, it plunged into darkness. The tunnel ran deep, and for the first few meters, the walls were uninterrupted, and then I could see openings into smaller caves, and the hint of things within them. What sort of horrors lay inside a dragon's cave? I wondered.

Did the dragon sleep inside?

My breath was overloud in my ears, but I could not hear anything else that would give indication of anything within the tunnel. Surely if my breathing were so loud, a creature the size of a dragon would take great big sighs of air that could easily be heard from where I stood.

I edged into the tunnel cautiously as the darkness deepened. My boot slipped again, and I looked down expecting to see armour, but instead saw gold coins gleaming in the moonlight. Scattered, perhaps, when the dragon came and went.

A mine, I thought, from the tool marks in the walls, though I had never been in a mine before. The marks could equally be dragon claws, I amended. But the village below was a mining village, and it made sense that this would be an abandoned mine.

The cave had a smell, not unpleasant like the corpses on the path, but something that reminded me of the temples of Seigradh, the smoky tones of dracaena and cinnabar, mixed with something that I could not put a name to. It surprised me that a dragon's cave would smell of incense. But then, what had I expected it to smell like? Sulphur, char and burnt corpses? I imagined that the stench was as offensive to dragon's noses as it was to mankind's.

Several meters in, there were smaller caves to either side. One contained an upholstered chair and table, and shelves of leatherbound books, another held chests and bolts of luxurious fabrics, many with gold or silver thread, and the finest muslin. A bed was within another, nearer to the main cavern, decadently dressed in furs and silks. What use did a dragon have for a man-sized bed? I wondered.

My eyesight was adjusting to the dark as I drew closer to the main cave. The amount of gold underfoot was increasing, interspersed with both cut and uncut gemstones, their colours lost to the monochrome of the darkness. I crunched one under my foot and froze. Hopefully it was not priceless, I thought ruefully as I scuffed the stone fragments to the side. But then, the dragon must damage quite a few of the stones himself, coming and going, and would not be angered by my accidental crushing of one... Two, I amended as another crack occurred underfoot.

The scent of incense was gradually growing stronger.

The tunnel opened into a massive chamber, darkness and shadows in greys and blacks indicating its vastness. In the centre, the treasure pile was of bewildering scale. I could build a small castle from the gold, with windows made of gemstones, furnished with gold and silver plates, cups, and utensils.

There were several thrones around the chamber, wine bottles and books at their sides, as if the dragon regularly had visitors to join him around the treasure pile, for book discussions over wine.

Another small cave towards the rear of the cavern held signs of being used as a kitchen, with a fireplace venting up into a natural opening in the rock, a table and two chairs, shelves on the walls containing crockery, and several chests pushed up against the wall. Did his book and wine visitors stay for dinner? What did a dragon serve?

One chamber had pierced through to a natural spring, and claw marks showed that the dragon had gouged out a bowl for it to collect in. Did he drink from it? Or, perhaps, his book and wine visitors bathed in it, I thought facetiously, as it would make a generously sized bath.

The one thing the dragon cave lacked, and the one thing I had come for, was a dragon.

Where was he?

I had not imagined it this way and was unsure of how to proceed in his absence. In my mind, there would be fire, and roaring, and I would valiantly yell my needs at him, moving him with the plight of the brethren of my kingdom, and hopefully saving my life just as he was about to turn me to ash. I would mount his back and we would immediately fly to the Fae Court, and by midday tomorrow, the Fae would march to war saving Uyan Taesil and my brother...

Perhaps not the most realistic of imaginings.

I decided the best thing to do was take one of the thrones and wait for him. I would be in the open, not hiding, and therefore he would not mistake me for a thief. I sat to wait. The arms of the throne were smooth beneath my hands, as if from frequent use, and there was a bottle of wine by the chair that still contained liquid. It had been an exhausting climb, so I poured the wine into one of golden goblets and drank it cautiously. It was a good wine, well-aged, and with the heat of potency behind its smooth berry accents. I poured myself another.

The night aged slowly. I wandered the caves, investigating the contents as much as the poor light would let me. The kitchen smelled of drying herbs, but the fireplace was cold to the touch. A fire had not been lit there today.

I washed my hands and face in the pool of water and tried to tidy my dress. It was a hopeless effort however, it was unsalvageable. There were clean dresses in the chests in the cave where fabrics were kept, beautiful dresses in expensive fabric, cut in styles of eras past, but I would not steal, even with the temptation of a bath and clean clothing.

I lay down on the bed. The incense scent originated from the cushions. It was caught in the fabric, not overwhelming, just pleasantly present as I lay my head down on the down-filled pillows. It smelled, I thought, quite wonderful actually. Masculine.

I would not sleep, I told myself. It would be a very bad idea to fall asleep. But then, I did not think a sleeping woman would present him much of a threat. Still, not a good...

I screamed as I was hauled to my feet before my mind had fully awoken or my eyes adjusted from sleep to wake. A very big man with violet eyes, a wild tangle of golden hair, and a lot of naked flesh, dragged me through the tunnel and onto the ledge. He was growling as he did so, and his grip communicated his strength and his anger.

The muscles in his arms stood out against his skin as he held me out over the edge by my throat. I felt the wind grab my skirts, and saw it lift the golden strands of his hair. My feet frantically sought purchase and I managed to plant my tiptoes on the very lip of stone.

"Please," I gasped, clinging to the wrist of the hand that held my throat, his grip both my lifeline and my torment as I struggled to breathe. It was a very long way down, and the wind seemed determined to take me. All it would take was his fingers to release... "Please, I seek the dragon."

He snarled at me, his lip curling back from his straight, white teeth. The incisors and the premolar were longer and sharper than mankind. Even with such a savage expression on his face, he was ridiculously handsome for someone about to kill me. "Why do you seek the dragon?" He demanded.

"Where are your clothes?" Not, I reprimanded myself, the response to give when your life hung upon your words. It did, however, seem to puzzle him. He frowned as he brought me back onto the ledge and released my throat. I collapsed onto my hands and knees, gasping, and holding to the stone with gratitude, prostrating myself to maximise my contact with safety.

"Why are you here?" He asked me, his voice a dark growl. His hair fluttered around his knees in brilliant threads of gold that had never adorned the head of someone of mankind origin.

"I am from the Kingdom of Uyan Taesil," I sucked in air, my throat reluctant to allow it passage. It felt as if he still gripped me by it and I was certain that I would wear a bruise the size and shape of his hand around it come the morning. My heart still skittered in my chest like a panicked rabbit fleeing pursuit. "I seek the Fae Court. Our King Mathhian returned a month ago with a new bride. She has taken over the kingdom as he has declined from an ailment he contracted in his travels."

"And what has this to do with the Fae Court?" he demanded.

I pushed myself up to sitting and looked up at him from my position on the ground. He was very naked.

Very, gloriously naked, I amended to myself. There was just simply a lot of man, a lot of golden hair, and a lot of flawless skin. He was entirely indifferent to his lack of clothing, but I did not share the sentiment. It was the most unclothed I had ever seen a man and my eyes simply refused to stay where they should, the temptation was just too great.

His hair curled just as golden across his chest... and lower. I jerked my eyes back up to his violet eyes. His pupils were convex, which, combined with the purple eyes and the unusual shade of hair, indicated a brethren heritage.

"Our Kingdom has always welcomed the brethren," I told him, trying to recall the conversation and reply coherently. "And we have always lived together in accord. The new queen... She is torturing them."

He sighed out a breath. "The Fae do not care about mankind's worries," he told me. "Even when they involve brethren. They will only act if the brethren appeal to them to do so, and even then, it will be after due consideration. They will not act at the behest of a small girl."

"Please," I pleaded. "I must try."

"Go home, girl," he turned and went into the cave. "And stay out of the troubles of kings and brethren."

"I cannot," I protested. "Mathhian is my brother."

"All the more reason to go home and mind your manners, foolish princess," he said. His golden hair brushed the back of his knees in snarled tangles, and it cloaked his body from my sight as he strode away into the cave.

I rose to my feet and gave pursuit. He had lit a torch and was moving around the main cavern using it to light others that were mounted to the walls, spilling golden light into the darkness, and sending shadows dancing across the treasure pile. The light caught in the facets of the gemstones throwing a rainbow of lights around the chamber walls.

I paused in admiration of the prettiness, finer than the grandest of ballrooms, before I recalled myself. "Please, I must try. Let me stay until the dragon returns, I beg of you," I followed him as he moved from torch to torch.

"The dragon does not care for mankind." His hair was like spun gold. I wondered why, when there was a wealth of cloth in one of the chambers, he remained so determinedly bare.

"But he lets you stay."

The man laughed, but it was not with humour. His laughter held the lush darkness of magic in its tone. "I am not of mankind."

"Please," I slipped on some gold and fell to my knees, picking myself up stubbornly. "I can help around the cave..."

We had done a full ring of the chamber, and he came to a standstill, looking out the tunnel at the night sky. I hoped he did not intend to drag me out of it again. He did not seem inclined to do so, becoming almost preternaturally still, his gaze fixed on something I could not see. If his chest did not rise and fall as he breathed, and if his hair did not move in the breeze that blew in at us, I might have thought he had become a golden statue.

He truly was a magnificent figure of a man, I decided. Taller than any man of my brother's court, wide of shoulder, and narrow of waist, with the musculature of the most accomplished knight, and a face a bard would sing sonnets about. He belonged in the dragon's cave, the most beautiful piece of treasure of all the treasures it contained.

"What help can a princess give?" He said eventually, with genuine curiosity, still not looking at me.

"What is needed?" I would try my hand at any task if it meant I could stay until the dragon returned. Perhaps, with the golden-haired man's help, I could persuade the dragon... "I will do anything that needs to be done."

"Is that so?" The man seemed amused, and he moved at last, turning slightly towards me. He cast an assessing eye over me from head to toe and back again. I swallowed realising the situation left me vulnerable should he decide to take advantage of it.

"The dragon won't want you here," he looked away at the sky again. "He is looking to take a wife from amongst the brethren. It would be difficult for him to explain to a woman he wishes to woo the reason for keeping another in his cave."

"A wife from the brethren," I repeated, wondering how such a thing would occur. Of course, the brethren came in many forms... I could not imagine it, however. I shook my head and drew in a breath. "I don't intend to stay for long," I promised. "Just long enough to hopefully convince him to help me."

"We'll see," he decided. "You may stay for the remainder of this night. If you prove useful tomorrow, we will discuss the next night."

"Do you know when the dragon will return?" Not this night, nor tomorrow night, from the sounds of it.

"The dragon returns when the dragon wishes to return," the man replied. "You may sleep in the bed."

"Are you his... friend?" I tried to work out what role the naked man held in the cave. If it were me, I would keep him around purely for the view, I thought wryly, but I doubted the dragon shared my aesthetic.

"The dragon and I are very close," he found this amusing, and his lip curled at the corner. I wondered if what a true smile would look like on his face, and rather thought I would not survive it decorously. "You should retire. It is late. If you are to be useful tomorrow, you will need to sleep tonight."

I decided to do as he instructed as he was being benevolent enough to allow me to stay, but it occurred to me as I approached the bed, that there was only one such in the cave.

"Is this... your bed?" I asked him, hesitantly. "I don't want to cause you to have nowhere to sleep."

"There is room enough for two," he replied. He had not moved from the entrance to the cavern.

"I can... sleep elsewhere. In the room with the cloth," I fretted over the indecency of sharing a bed with a naked, golden haired man, and what he might intend to do in it.

He laughed, the sound rolling over me like the scent of the incense, full of smoke and mystery. "Do not fear me, Princess," he said, turning on his heel and walking back into the cavern. "I will not touch you unless you ask me to do so."

I wondered what he meant by that as I lay onto the bed again, drawing the furs and silks over me. For a long time, I lay wary, expecting that at any time he would come to the bed and force himself upon me. But there was only the crackle of the torches as they burnt, the occasional clink of gold and jewels as he walked over them, and the whisper of pages being turned.

He sat on one of the thrones and read. At least that explained the piles of books and bottles of wine arranged around the treasure.

I fell asleep, only to wake as the mattress shifted and he slid beneath the furs and silks.

He was still naked, I observed with bemusement. Was he under a Fae curse where he could not wear clothing? That might account for his comfort in his own skin if he had had to acclimate to always exposing it and might also explain why he lived in a dragon's cave. If I were as beautiful as he and cursed to be unable to cover myself, I would find somewhere safe and isolated to live, too.

I fell asleep, speculating.

I awoke in a nest of golden hair, with my arm around his waist and my face pressed up against his back. He was still asleep. Apparently, with a naked man in bed with me, I became a cuddler. It was an inconvenient time to discover this inclination in myself, and potentially compromising if he took it as an invitation.

I hoped the dragon returned soon before I had to spend another night in bed with this dangerously beautiful man.

His hair carried the masculine, incense scent. This was his bed, he slept in here, and it was his scent that permeated the cave, I realised. I eased myself back from him carefully, alarmed, and embarrassed. I slid from between the covers, placing my bare feet upon a floor covered by a fur rug as luxurious as any in the castle of Vienthrey. He did not move.

I picked up my shoes and crept around to the tunnel and down to the main cavern. Daylight lit the entrance to the cave, but the interior remained shadowy. The torches no longer burned though I could smell the shadow of their smoke and whatever they had been dipped in to make them burn.

I washed my face and hands in the fall of the water in the small back cavern. The view through its doorless entrance showed me the thrones, and the mouth of the cave. There was no sign of movement from the cave containing the bed. No naked golden-haired man walked towards me.

I had to make myself useful, I told myself. I was not entirely sure how I would go about that, but I decided that starting breakfast would be a good beginning. I regarded the kitchen. I had never prepared food before, nor started my own fire. There was a first time for everything, I told myself sternly. How difficult could it be? I had to make myself useful or the golden-haired man would not permit me to stay, and I needed the dragon.

The maids had always made starting the fire look easy, but I could see no way to light it. Was there a secret to such things? Men had been lighting fires for as long as history was recorded, and yet, I was flummoxed by it.

"Poor princess," the golden-haired man observed from the doorway. He had put on a pair of dark trousers and a loose-fitting shirt that was untied at the neck, dispelling my theory of Fae curses. If anything, I noted, he was more beautiful, dressed. At least I could look at him closely now, without being inappropriate, and there was a lot to look at. It was like studying an artwork, a marble stature, or a painting by a master, he was perfection personified. "Kneeling in the ashes wondering how to make fire, something most of mankind conquer as children."

I rose to my feet. "I am a quick learner."

He arched a golden eyebrow. "You would be better to leave here and find a ring of standing stones. There is one on the Graceplains."

"I have been there," I told him. "Three nights over the full moon, I slept amongst the stones."

He regarded me with his unusual eyes inscrutable, that unnatural stillness settling upon him again. After a long moment, during which I squirmed beneath the burn of those purple eyes, he released me from their gaze, and stepped into the kitchen.

"You need to clean out the ashes of the last fire. Use the bucket and scoop to the side. Empty the ashes off the ledge. When that is done, stack the wood in the fireplace. Use small pieces that burn easily."

As I scooped ashes from the hearth, I watched him. He rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to reveal his strong forearms and flicked his hair over one shoulder as he laid various ingredients out upon the tabletop. When I returned from emptying the ash and stacked the wood ready for the fire, he regarded me again, his expression unreadable.

"Wash yourself," he indicated to the rear of the cavern.

A fire burned brightly in the hearth by the time I had washed the ash from me, and the torches in the main cavern were lit, making the caves as bright as day. I wondered what he used to make them, as they burnt smokeless compared to those in Vienthrey, and lasted by far longer.

He swung a pot over the cheerful flames. "Take down two bowls from the shelf, and two spoons," he told me, moving back to the table in order to tear the leaves from berries. "And place them on the table. Then stir the contents of the pot. Be careful not to set yourself on fire, nor upset the pot."

Both cautions were wisely delivered, I discovered, as stirring the pot meant leaning perilously close to the fire, my hair and gown seemingly drawn towards the heat, and the pot hung suspended from a hook which swung over the flames and rocked as I stirred. Oatmeal simmered within the bowl of it, looking both familiar and foreign to me in its current state.

"How do I know when it is done?" I asked him with worry.

"Does it look done? Has it absorbed the liquid?"

"Yes, I guess."

He sighed and came to my side, the scent of incense drifting over me, and his golden hair swinging near the flames as he leaned over. I gasped and scooped it back for him. It was heavy, a thick silken skein, warmed by proximity to the fire, or contact with his body.

He looked down at me, and for a moment, I imagined what it would be like if he closed the distance between us and kissed me. I inclined towards him instinctually.

"I am not mankind," he said mildly. "The flames will not harm me. The oatmeal is done." He lifted the pot from the fire and carried it to the table.

I knew enough about metal and flames to know that the handle of the pot should have burnt him, and yet it did not. He scooped the contents of the pot into two bowls and filled the pot with water, returning it to the hook over the fire to bubble away.

I sat at the table as he added berries to the bowls and then sat across from me.

"Thank you for the meal, and for letting me stay," I said to him, trying to remember my manners and forget my wanton inclinations.

The violet eyes met mine across the tabletop. I wondered what manner of brethren he was. He was not a man, in the common meaning of the word. He had told me that much himself. Male. Oh, very definitely male, but not mankind. He ate quickly and neatly, with indifference to the heat of the food.

"When you are done," he stood, leaving the bowl on the table. "Clean the pot and the dishes and return them to their places."

I ate much slower than he, as the food was too hot for my tongue. When I was done, I regarded the dirty dishes and the kitchen feeling overwhelmed. Clean the pot and the dishes, he had said. It sounded so simple, and I understood the concept, but not how such things were done.

"In the chest near the wall, you will find a bowl for washing up in, along with rags," he was seated upon one of the thrones, reading, and spoke without looking at me. "Use the rags to remove the pot from the fire and empty it over the edge of the cliff. Refill the pot and put it back onto the fire to warm water. Put the warm water into the bowl and use a rag to wash the dishes."

I did as he had instructed, using one of the rags to dry the dishes after, and put them away on the shelves he had removed them from. I emptied the bowl of the soiled water off the cliff, and swung the hook away from the flames, hanging the rags to dry across the metal frame. It hissed as the hot metal and wet cloths came into contact.

"Do you read?" he asked. He gave no impression of looking at me but must be doing so to know precisely when I became idle.

"Yes," I drew near to him, fascinated by his beauty. His hair draped over the arm of the chair and puddled on the floor amongst the gold and gems in luxurious waves. It reminded me of a hearth story of a princess locked in a tower. I wondered if he had ever cut it. I had never seen a man with hair so long. On another man, it might have been effeminate, but on him, it was a glorious frame for his perfection.

"Just the common tongue?"

"Yes."

He sighed. "Your education is lacking."

"Amongst my people, that I read and write at all, is unusual," I protested. "I have studied all the classic works, the history of this world, and have a good understanding of mathematics and geology."

He made a noise of disdain in the back of his throat. "Mankind's concept of the world."

I did not want to argue with him, my presence in the caves was dependent on his good will, so I swallowed any further protestations. "Was there another task you wished me to perform?" I asked him.

"The treasure has become scattered. Retrieve it."

I went into the tunnel and began collecting up the gold. What appeared to be a small scatter was misleading. There was a king's ransom of coins and gemstones dislodged from the main pile. I gathered the pieces into my skirt. It seemed irreverent to simply pour the coins and stones onto the pile and I kept an eye on the golden-haired man as I did so. He did not look up from his book. The noise of them falling was impressive.

The gold was heavy in my skirt and there was a limit to how much I could collect in one go. I quickly became sweaty, dusty, and sore from stooping. I rested on my knees, stretching my back and shoulders out.

"There is enough gold here," I commented, "to make every person in the village below wealthy."

"I'm sure the dragon would be flattered to hear you say so."

"Why do dragons collect so much wealth?"

"Why do kings?"

"A king has a kingdom to support, roads to pave, buildings to maintain, armies to feed..."

"A dragon has a long life, and many children to support," the man replied.

"Many children?"

He lifted his eyes from the book. "When you live as long as dragons do, it is natural that you have lots of offspring."

"You would think dragons would out populate men," I observed.

"There are very few dragons left in this world because of men," the man's voice became cold, and the hair along my arms stood on end in reaction. "And what few there are left are subject to the sport mankind has made of stalking a dragon in his cave." There was a tone in his voice which told me he spoke from personal experience and regarded the dragons as lost kin.

"I'm sorry," I apologised, regarding him with puzzlement. What manner of brethren was he? I wondered again. Some connection to the dragons, to be sharing a cave with one and to be so personally affected by their losses. In the stories, however, the dragons were always solitary. It was hard enough to imagine one with a wife and the many children that he spoke of, let alone with a mysteriously beautiful, golden-haired, book obsessed companion.

"When you have finished, sweep the cave floor. There is a broom in the kitchen," he returned to his book, ending our conversation.

I had never used a broom, but it did not take long to gain an understanding of the mechanics. I began at the back of the cavern, pushing dust and rocks forward out of the various small caves, around the piled treasure, and down the tunnel. Sweeping uncovered more treasures, and two other caves, the entrances hidden in the uneven walls. I swept them out as well, not entirely sure if sweeping achieved much. Dust and dirt surely were a normal part of caves, part of the nature of them.

"Return the broom to the kitchen and begin sorting the treasure. Gold into one cave, gemstones into the other," he instructed calmly the moment I ended my task, without raising his unusual violet eyes from the book.

I regarded the impossible pile of treasure with dismay. It had taken a lot of labour to retrieve the items that had been scattered down the tunnel. To move this pile seemed an impossible task. It reminded me of the hearth stories of tasks princesses were set in order to retrieve from the Fae their stolen lovers. If it were a hearth story, I told myself, there would be three impossible tasks for the princess to surmount.

I began to sort the treasure and soon amassed two piles. Handling such wealth overwhelmed the mind, I thought. I stopped seeing the items beneath my fingers as precious, and instead viewed them much as I would if he had placed a pile of stone, seed or feathers, like from story, before me, and told me to sort them.

In story, however, the princess had magical aid with her impossible tasks. Birds to sort the feathers and seed, a wand to move the rock. I had no such assistance. The beautiful golden-haired man offered none, sitting in his throne and progressing slowly but steadily through his book.

What I needed was something to carry the treasure in, I decided, and retrieved the bucket I had used to clean the ashes, and the bowl I had washed the dishes in.

I sat near to where the golden-haired man lounged on the throne, thinking that it best to work within his eyesight so as not to be accused of stealing, and began to sort the treasure into the different containers. When the containers were full, I carried them laboriously into the caves hidden in the walls and emptied them within. They were very heavy, the gold one more so than the other, but both were considerably heavier than the dimensions of the buckets would imply.

Towards midday, the golden-haired man rose and went into the kitchen area. "Wash your hands and come eat," he called out eventually. I went, with gratitude to be released from my task, and washed my hands before joining him in the kitchen. We ate boiled grains and vegetables.

"I did not expect a dragon's cave would be like this," I said to him as I waited for the food to cool to edible temperature and watched him eat, neatly and efficiently, without any indication of enjoyment or attention.

"What did you expect a dragon's cave to be like?" He considered me with narrowed violet eyes.

"Well, a little like this," I gestured to the main cavern. "The caves, the hoard. But, not these side caves, the library, the bed, this kitchen..."

"The dragon is preparing his cave for a wife," the golden-haired man replied as if that explained it all. I tried to imagine what that meant, seeing as he said it so expectantly, but I could not imagine a wife and children that would result.

"You said the dragon wanted a brethren wife. Why not another dragon?"

"There are very few dragons left. There is no choice but to take mates from outside the species."

"They can do that?" That sent another baffling array of imaged through my mind. How was that possible? A dragon was a dragon... Most of the brethren were more similar to mankind than to dragons. Maybe an ogre... but still, my mind recoiled from the thought.

He raised his eyebrows at me. "Have you never heard of halflings?"

"Well, yes, I guess," I admitted. "But I can't imagine what a half-dragon would be like."

"A half dragon is just like a full dragon."

"But..." There were many questions that arose from that statement. I had met halflings, and they were not as their parents. A half-Fae was almost indistinguishable from mankind. A half-ogre was not as big, nor as strong. A half-mermaid spent more time on land, than her mer-parent.

The golden-haired man, however, was obviously far better acquainted with dragons than I, so it would not do to argue with him, and he had an air of impatience with the subject, therefore I didn't want to test his tolerances. "What sort of brethren would a dragon consider as a mate?" I asked instead.

"There are a number of compatible species," he replied. He had finished his meal but remained seated. "It is most likely that a wife will be found amongst the Fae or Elves, however. They are closest to dragons in form and manner, and there are many more of them than most other brethren." He stood suddenly upon concluding the sentence, and returned to the main cavern, ending the conversation.