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“Let me guess.” Draconic yellow eyes stared at the armored warrior. “You’re here for golden apples.”
“Er,” the warrior said. “Yes, I suppose—”
“Apples, apples. Everyone wants apples.” The dragon’s sigh smelled like smoke and irritation. “Go ahead, then. My orchard’s over there.”
He nodded towards a nearby grove. Gold orbs glittered among the branches.
”Get on with it.” An impatient tail twitch. “'S'not a trap. Apples grow back, I don’t mind you taking a couple. Just tell everyone I put up a fight, will you?”
“Pardon?”
“We fought. You barely prevailed. Boost your reputation, preserve mine, save us both trouble. No need for—” He stopped abruptly, giving the warrior a once-over. Twice-over. “Where’s your sword? All questers have swords.”
“I gave it away,” this quester muttered.
“You what?”
“Someone needed it more than me.” He sounded defensive.
“You came to face a dragon, unarmed?”
“I’ve other recourses.” He twisted a ring engraved with wings. “But I hoped it wouldn’t come to combat. Monsters are often quite reasonable, in my experience.”
“...What’s your name?”
“Aziraphale. Yours?”
“They call me Crawly.” The dragon snorted. “Because I’m a wyrm, and worms crawl. Get it?”
“Ah,” Aziraphale said neutrally. “What do you call yourself?”
There was a pause.
Aziraphale cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t— was that rude?"
“Nah.” The dragon stared. “Nobody’s ever asked me that.”
“It’s an obvious question.”
“Is it?” the dragon mused. “Well, questions deserve answers. I call myself Crowley. You can too. If you want.”
“Lovely name. Pleased to meet you, Crowley.”
“Pleased to meet a dragon? That’s a first." Crowley cackled. “Anyway. Golden apples. What’s in it for you? Break a curse? Woo a woman? Bribe a king?”
“Uh… the second one? The woman one.”
“Really? Huh. Wouldn’t’ve taken you for the type. Ngh, sorry.” The dragon managed to look embarrassed. “Not my business. Ignore me.”
“You’re right, actually.” Aziraphale laughed sheepishly. “My brother sent me. Gabriel’s the one wooing.” He lowered his voice. “Though I doubt it’ll work. Bee isn’t easily impressed.”
More draconic staring. “Your brother sent you on his quest?”
“Exactly. I’m the family quester, you see.”
“What does that even mean?”
“My siblings are very busy. So when one of them needs a quest done, I go.”
“Must be famous,” Crowley probed. “A whole family’s quests to your name…”
“Not my name. The name of whoever I’m questing for.”
“You do the work, you run the risks, they take credit?” Crowley looked outraged. “What kind of wankers—”
“Language, please,” Aziraphale interjected. “And I don’t mind questing. It’s an excuse to get away. And meet new friends.” He smiled conspiratorially. “My quests sometimes take longer than strictly necessary.”
"Ngk." Crowley hesitated. “Look. Fights with dragons take a long time, right?”
“Sometimes.”
“Nobody will bother you here.”
“Surely not,” Aziraphale agreed encouragingly.
“I have regular apples, too. Want one? You’re the only interesting warrior I’ve met.”
“Oh, all right.” Aziraphale smiled and sat, apparently unafraid. “Tell me about yourself, and I’ll have an apple.”