Archive of Our Own

Herein lies the story of King Leandro Alejandro Nunez Cuesta Espinosa III. The Once Captured. The King Returned. The King Who Never Misses. The Dragonheart King. Tamer of Beasts. Commander of Dragons. The Fire Hearted. Stealer of Hearts, Both Mighty and Small. He Who Holds the Kingdom in One Hand and a Dragon’s Soul in the Other. 

The Brave and Humble. 

The Kindhearted. 

The Prosperous. 

The Clever.

Or, as he simply wishes to be called: King Lance, ruler of Altea and lover of dragons. 

But King Lance’s story doesn’t begin upon his coronation. It began many years before, when he was but a boy. A young man barely of age, fresh faced and newly announced as the heir to the kingdom.

His childhood was on par with that of most royalty. He was raised in a castle. He was raised with lessons upon lessons, in edict, history, strategy, music, archery, swordplay. He was raised with servants and nannies. He was loved by his mother and father. He loved to hear stories of knights and heroes. He was a mischievous boy, always sneaking out and testing his boundaries. 

His story was unique to him, but simple and common among the stories of young princes.

But at the age of sixteen, Lance’s story became something new. Something wholly his own. Something that history would always remember him for. 

And it started with a kidnapping.

He had been touring the kingdom. Visiting each of the major cities. Festivals were thrown in his honor to welcome him. The newly crowned heir. He was paraded around for the people to see the boy who would one day become their king. 

And he loved it.

His cheeks ached with his grin. He waved to the people. He climbed down from his horse to play and dance with the children. He played the festival games and ate the food that was presented to him. He was eager to see his kingdom and all the magnificent things it held. 

The kidnapping happened quickly. 

It was a whirlwind of motion. 

A loud roar split the night. Enraged. Frustrated. Triumphant. Pained . Screams cut through the air. Chaos erupted. Buildings crumbled and the cobblestones were torn asunder as a red dragon seemed to come to life in the streets. From nothing to suddenly there . Charing his caravan, leaping from building to building, clinging to the bricks before leaping off in half-glides to the next. 

Lance’s knights scrambled, caught off guard. 

Lance thinks he remembers screaming as his whole world was enveloped in red scales. As his stomach dropped out from under him as the sudden lift upward. As wind whipped around him and the earth fell away. 

And then he was stolen away. Clinging desperately to the claws that gripped him tight, eyes squeezed shut to keep from seeing the terrifying sight of the ground so far below. 

They flew for hours. 

Far away.

Across the distant desert and into the craggy mountains. 

To a cave system. A lair. That would become Lance’s home for the next few years. 

His only solace as he scrambled across the dirt, pressing himself against the stone wall, eyes wide with terror… was the matching wide-eyed look of horror as the dragon stared back. 

Strangely enough, Lance found out that day that dragons can speak the human tongue. 

And he found this out as the dragon gaped at him, toothy maw parted, head pulled back. His expressions were surprisingly readable, despite coming from a reptilian face. Startled. Aghast. Mortified. Scared . 

Which was strange enough to quell some of Lance’s own fear. After all, what did a dragon have to fear from him?

But then the dragon shook his head, growling low in his throat, and muttered in a voice that was deep and graveling, reminiscent of fire and brimstone, a simple and ineloquent, “ Fuck .”

As it turns out, when things settle down and the adrenaline wears off and Lance stops fearing for his life, he realizes that the dragon isn’t… actually that terrifying. 

His name is Keith , for heaven’s sake. What kind of scary dragon name is Keith?

Objectively, he’s not even that big. Lance has read about dragons. Everyone has heard about them. They’re supposed to be large and fearsome, able to swallow a man whole with little trouble. This one, however, isn’t much bigger than perhaps two large horses. 

And judging from his attitude, he can’t be that old. He acts more like a grumpy teenager than anything. Not unlike a lot of the young squires Lance has trained with or the other young nobles he’s been forced to socialize with. 

Speaking of being grumpy, he’s very grumpy. In the months that Lance has been stuck here, he’s pretty sure he hasn’t seen a single mood that isn’t brooding, disgruntled, or irritated. In fact, even when he has to fly out after Lance and drag him back, or when they’re arguing through the night, he never really seems angry . 

Just… frustrated. 

And Lance can understand that. 

Neither of them are exactly happy about this situation. That much is entirely clear. Keith seems just as upset about Lance’s presence in his home as Lance is about being there. What’s not clear is why he won’t just let Lance go if it bothers him so much.

He won’t answer that question either.

In fact, he doesn’t answer most questions. He’s more prone to ignoring Lance.

Not that it stops him because honestly? He can’t stand the silence .

“Why do you have to live so far away?” He sits at the mouth of the cave, leaning heavily against the stone. He stares out at the rocky mountain landscape. Little vegetation grows here. It’s all just rocks and dirt and sand stretching out into the desert far below. 

A boring, bland wasteland. 

Keith lies beside him. As far away as he can get while remaining in the mouth of the cave. He’s curled up, tail wrapped around himself and chin resting on his front paws. The tip of his tail occasionally flickers. Eyes remaining lidded and gaze distant. 

It reminds Lance of the cats who lounge around the castle stables, and he refuses to admit that seeing a large, deadly beast like this is almost adorable. 

He especially refuses to admit this because the only reason Keith is curled up next to him is as a silent warning. It’s an ever present reminder that he has no escape. That if he were to get up and run down the steep cliff outside the lair, Keith would be right there after him. Like always. Dragging him back. Like always. Keeping him trapped here. Like always.

It’s taken months to even let Lance sit here, staring out at the scenery. For the first while, Keith had taken to bodily blocking the cave entrance. Even putting a large bolder in the way when he went out to hunt and trapping Lance in darkness. 

But after a lot of arguing, a lot of proof that he can and will drag Lance back, and a lot of weariness on Lance’s part as he grew tired of the constant failed escape attempts— and maybe, just maybe , a little bit of trust— Keith has finally agreed to allow Lance to get some fresh air. 

He just… you know, has to lie there like a passive threat. 

“I like it here,” Keith rumbles, barely lifting his head.

“It’s boring ,” Lance says, picking up a rock and chucking it as far as he can. He listens to it clatter down the side of the mountain before huffing, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning against the wall. “There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to look at. It takes people weeks to travel out this far.”

Keith huffs. A short, sharp exhale. “Has it occurred to you that that’s exactly why I’ve made my home here?”

“No,” he grumbles, petulant, if only to be argumentative. 

“No humans ever came out this way until you came.”

Until he came. Like this is somehow Lance’s fault. “I didn’t exactly choose to be here,” he snaps, shooting a bitter look over his shoulder that goes unnoticed. “Besides, if people coming to rescue me is such a bother , you could just, I don’t know… let me go .”

Keith’s jaw clenches. Lips pulling back to show rows of sharp teeth as he snarls, low and rumbling. A threat. A warning . One that goes unheeded because Lance has already come to the conclusion that Keith isn’t going to hurt him. He doesn’t answer, however. Doesn’t acknowledge Lance’s commentary. Just gets this hard, sharp look in his eyes and pointedly ignores him. 

Like always.

Lance sighs, tilting his head against the stone, shoulders slumping in defeat. “At least tell me why you’re holed up all alone in this desert. Don’t dragons like shiny human things? Don’t they make homes in like, castles and stuff? And where’s your horde? I at least expected to be surrounded by gold and gems, but there’s nothing here but rocks.” He waits, but he’s only met with silence. “Come on, Keith,” he groans. “I’m bored . The least you can do is entertain me.”

For a long moment, Lance doesn’t think he’ll answer. He’s resigning himself to another dull, silent day when Keith finally huffs, nostrils leaking thin tendrils of smoke. “I’m holed up here in my desert to avoid human treasures like gold and gems.”

“Why?” Lance turns to him, a strange giddiness bubbling in his chest, eager for actual conversation. “I thought dragons liked that stuff.”

“We do and that’s the problem .” He shifts then. Two large amethyst eyes settling on Lance. Unblinking. Vertical pupils narrowing. Lance feels the breath catch in his lungs. Feels a shiver run down his spine. He’s been on the receiving end of Keith’s ire before. His frustration and rage. So it’s strange that it hits him now, in this moment of calm introspection, just how inhuman Keith is. “How much do you know of dragons?”

Lance shifts, arms dropping. Fingers picking at a ripped seem on his shirt. Keith had thankfully collected some spare sets of clothes for him from a nearby village, though it had taken a lot of constant arguing to get him to break. 

“Not much…” he admits quietly. He knows quite a few things. He knows how dangerous they are. How viciously they defend their hordes. He knows they’re solitary creatures by nature. He knows they can die of melancholy if their mates die. He knows they’ve been known to kidnap royalty with a frequency that’s led to actual protocols being put in place. 

But he says none of this. Though he’s not sure if it’s an effort not to offend Keith or just to encourage him to speak more.

Keith huffs once more, though there’s no smoke this time. He shifts, lifting his head as he gazes out over his lonely desert. “We are not human, Lance,” he says softly. Sternly. Solemnly. “Dragons are slaves to our instincts. And hoarding pretty things is one of our strongest instincts. I’m holed up here in my desert to avoid the temptation of human things.”

“Well, that didn’t work, now did it?” He tries to aim for a joke and instead hits bitter. “Kidnapping is just one of those instincts you couldn’t resist, huh?” Keith says nothing, but his jaw clenches, rows of sharp teeth grinding together and lip curling into a silent snarl. His eyes narrow out at the distant, and Lance has been around long enough to know when he’s shutting down, becoming petulantly and frustratingly silent. He sighs, letting his own resentment go, if only for the moment. “What were you doing there anyway?”

“There had been a drought— Yes , Lance, deserts can get droughts, too,” he says sharply, whipping his head around to glare and cutting off Lance’s comment before it can even form on his tongue. Instead he sticks out that tongue and gets the interesting sight of a dragon rolling his eyes. “I needed food. Water. Supplies… the festival was a good distraction.” He shifts, looking away, looking almost… sheepish? How strange a look to be on a dragon’s features. “I don’t even remember taking you. As soon as I saw you, I just… blacked out. I lost it. My instincts took over, and I lost control. The next thing I knew, I was here and you were in my home.”

And he wouldn’t let Lance go. 

But that line of thought— that snappish and bitter line of commentary— would just led them down a path where Keith shuts down again, and Lance is enjoying the fact that he’s not simply talking to himself. He’ll let it go. For now.

“How did no one notice you?” He asks instead. “You’re not exactly a huge dragon— don’t give me that look, Red. You’re practically a baby as far as dragons go—“

“I am not a baby—“

“But you’re still kind of noticeable. How did you manage to hide.”

“I didn’t go into a human town looking like this ,” Keith scoffs. 

And Lance’s interest is piqued. “Oh?” 

“We can shapeshift.”

“You can? ” His mouth drops open, eyes going wide. Keith is completely nonchalant. Completely casual about the fact that he can shapeshift . “Show me,” Lance demands. 

The reply is instant. “No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Keith, come on —“

“ No .”

“Show me. Show me. Showmeshowmeshowmeshowme .”

“Lance!” Keith snaps, whirling his head in Lance’s direction. But he doesn’t back down. He just gazes up at Keith with the saddest eyes he can muster (a trick he learned from his best friend, Hunk). Keith’s eyes narrow, and Lance can practically see the moment he resigns himself. With a long sigh, he growls, “Turn around.”

And as much as Lance wants to watch, he’ll respect Keith’s privacy if it means getting to see this. So he turns and faces the wall, excitement buzzing through his veins as he taps a hand impatiently on his leg. 

He’s not sure what to expect, but his mind is whirling. Someone big, perhaps. Big and burly. With wide shoulders and thick arms. A wide chin and hairless head. Despite how young Keith seems, he can’t help but picture the human version of a dragon to be someone who could rip Lance in half—

“Okay, you can look now…” His voice is… surprisingly soft. Deep and kind of gruff, but… actually pretty pleasant. 

Lance whips around, eyes wide and searching—

Keith is—

He’s—

He’s… 

Wow .

He’s much smaller than Lance anticipated. Perhaps no bigger than himself? But it’s hard to tell with how he’s sitting. All hunched over with his knees pulled to his chest, arms wrapped around them. Chin on his folded arms and glaring out into the distance. 

His skin is pale, and there are flecks of crimson scales that dance along his arms, all the way up his shoulders and neck, curving over his jaw to dot across his high cheekbones like freckles. Glinting like fire in the late afternoon sun.

His hair is dark. Wild and unruly. Falling to his shoulders in waves and across his forehead, hiding thick brows and intense, sharp, beautiful eyes that look more indigo than amethyst in this form. 

Two thick, black horns curl out of his head, curling and twisting back along his head. Two pale, pointed ears peek out from this thick mane of hair. 

His features are… strangely delicate. Sharp. Objectively beautiful . A deep scar runs up his right cheek from his jaw. 

Full, pink lips purse into a scowl. 

He looks… nervous. Uncertain. Oddly small for a creature so powerful. So inhuman.

So—

So —

“Why are you naked?! ” Are the words that come tumbling out of his mouth, high pitched and strangely frantic as his heart hammers in his chest. 

Keith whips around to glare at him, lips pursed and a flush rising up his neck, red against red scales. “I don’t wear clothes as a dragon, why would I have clothes now?” He snaps.

Lance slaps a hand over his eyes, though whether it’s whether he doesn’t want to see anything or because he does— he’s really not sure. All he knows is that his head is spinning and his heart is racing, and he feels giddy and dizzy. “For the love of— put on some clothes! ”

After a year, he’s settled into his new role. 

See, dragons kidnapping royalty or nobles isn’t unheard of. It’s common enough that there’s a process to it all, and Lance’s parents readily stepped up to those protocols. 

They’ve set a reward on Lance’s safe return. Anything his rescuer desires. His hand in marriage, and by extension, the throne to the kingdom. Or, at least, the throne at his side. 

So, just like that, Lance went from the heir to the kingdom to the kingdom’s most valuable prize in the most dangerous game. 

He, the helpless prince, waiting to be rescued. 

Keith, the vicious and evil villain. 

It’s an age old story, but still one of legends. It draws in knights and wayward adventurers alike. All of them itching to be heroes. To write their own name into Lance’s story. To make a legend of themselves. The mighty conquerer of dragons. Savior of kings. 

It starts up a new life. A new routine. A new normal. 

Someone will arrive. Every few weeks. At least once a month. They’ll travel across the desert and climb the craggy mountain peaks in search of Keith’s cave. They’ll call out. Challenge him. Lance will make an appearance, just to prove he’s alive, to give them something to fight for, to get a good look at someone from the outside. 

The knight— the mercenary— the traveler— the would-be hero— they’ll fight with Keith.

Keith will win. 

He usually lets them live, if he can. Lance has noticed that, though Keith doesn’t like to draw attention to it. He’ll wound them. Scare them. Deter them. But he doesn’t like killing. The few times a challenger has fallen— be it an accident or refusal to give up until Keith’s hand was forced— Keith is silent for days. If not weeks. 

He doesn’t like giving into his instincts. That much Lance has learned. Even if those instincts rise from defending himself. 

It almost makes Lance’s heart reach out for him— almost . Not quite. Because he’s still a prisoner here. Keith is still fighting his saviors. 

Keith is still the villain. 

Even if he takes care of Lance. Makes sure he eats. Brings him clothes and bobbles and soaps from the nearby villages. Even if he carves out a new cave for Lance all on his own, tearing at the stone with claw and fire until Lance has his own space. Even if he shows Lance to a natural hot spring where he can bathe regularly. Even if he listens to Lance and entertains him on occasion.

He’s still the villain in this narrative that’s become their normal.

And Lance is still the prize.

At eighteen, Lance nearly manages to escape. 

“This is going to be the one,” Lance says, peering from the upper cave Keith carved out for him, gazing through the crudely carved wide window to the mountainside down below. 

A knight climbs there, Lance’s kingdom’s sigil emblazoned on his chest plate. He’s moving slowly, though it seems to be from wariness rather than fatigue. Lance has seen a lot of challengers in the last two years, and this one seems particularly ready and capable. 

Which is exactly what he’s been waiting for. 

Beside him, Keith scoffs. In his human form. Older now. Broader at the chest. A little taller. Still with a mane of messy dark hair, sharp intelligent eyes, and a pretty smattering of red scales. At least he’s taken to wearing clothes for Lance’s sake (and sanity). 

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am serious! Just look at him! He’s totally going to defeat you and rescue me.”

Keith huffs. Clearly offended and clearly annoyed. He stands straighter. Lifts his chin. Flexes his hands where his claws are already starting to lengthen. “We’ll see about that.”

And with that, he turns. Spins on his heel and strikes across the room, disappearing down the ramp that leads to the main chamber of his lair. 

Lance waits, and by the time he emerges from the cave, he’s already in his dragon form. 

That, too, has grown larger. Exponentially larger than his human form. He’s still by no means as massive as Lance has come to expect from dragons, but he’s certainly more fearsome. More capable. And far more intimidating. 

But for once, Lance doesn’t stick around to listen to the whole “ Oh, mighty dragon, I’ve come for the fair prince ” spiel. He doesn’t watch the fight with his heart in his throat and hands wringing together. He doesn’t sit idly by while his fate is lost in the hands of others. 

This time, he takes his fate into his own hands. 

See, he hasn’t been waiting for a capable knight to defeat Keith. No, he’s seen plenty of capable soldiers fall to him. He’s just been waiting for a capable knight who’s able to keep Keith busy long enough for him to escape. 

He foregoes any of the possessions he’s gathered in the past couple years. He won’t need them when he gets home anyway. Instead he just grabs a bag he’s kept handy, with food and water, and sprints down from his personal cave room. 

Down to the main lair.

Through the back into the tunnels that lead deeper into the mountains. 

Headed for where the hot springs are located.

Skirting around the room to the back, where there’s a smaller set of tunnels, hidden by a rock formation.

He found this path weeks ago. Explored it when Keith was busy, and Lance was supposed to be bathing. It leads out, and he made sure to memorize the path. Waiting had been hard. Nervous energy and unbridled excitement fluttered through him constantly, keeping him awake and on edge. He thought for certain that Keith would notice, that he’d give himself away, but he hadn’t.

He just had to wait for the perfect moment, and that moment is now . 

He runs. Sprints . Until his feet are sore and his lungs are burning. And he keeps going. Keeps going until— 

The first wave of fresh air is a rush. Nearing evening, the temperature is starting to drop. It’s a chill that’s refreshing. Shivers across his skin and makes him feel alive . He sucks in a lungful of air, eyes fluttering closed for just a moment— only a moment — because he doesn’t have time to stall.

He squeezes out of the wedge in the stone and stumbles down a short drop to a mountain path. It’s rocky. Uneven. Clearly not used for human travel, but he doesn’t care. The sounds of fighting are far away, distant echoes getting fainter and fainter as he scrambles down the mountain. Half sliding. Not caring that rocks and thick vegetation tear at his clothes. Hoping that the fight will obscure the sounds of rubble falling with him. 

He gets to a main road. A path between peaks. Heart slamming against his ribs, he runs. He takes off, not even sure he’s going in the right direction, but at least it’s away from that cave. He’s getting away, he’s getting away, he’s getting away .

He can taste the freedom on his tongue. A laugh bubbling out of his throat. Adrenaline in his veins—

The roar that splits the air is loud and pained .

It’s not rage, as Lance had been expecting. It’s panicked . It’s terrified . There’s so much pain and sorrow in the way that roar cracks and splinters. So much so that Lance stumbles, nearly falling to his knees as it rips through him. 

And for a second, all he can think of is Keith . And his heart hurts, crying out and urging him to go back and soothe that pain— but it’s only for a second before he steels himself. 

Because he needs to keep running. 

Needs to keep—

A shadow falls over him. The frantic beat of wings. A rush of wind. 

“No!” He cries. “No, no, nononono —“

Claws wrap around him. Stomach lurching as he’s lifting off his feet. Torn from the ground and rising higher and higher. 

Tears blur his vision as he screams, “ No! ” Broken and ragged, voice cracking. “No, no, no!” He slams his fists against the claws that wrap around his middle. Against the thick arm that holds him. “Why can’t you just let me go? Why can’t you just—“ His voice cuts off with a sob, thick and wet in his throat. 

By the time Keith releases him, his cheeks are wet. He stumbles across the cave floor, legs shaking and knees giving way. He falls, body crumpling, head falling forward. 

“You’re hurt,” Keith says. Crowding in behind him. Hovering over him. Sounding concerned as his snout nudges at Lance. Sounding frantic and panicked and worried . 

It makes Lance laugh, bitter and venomous as he bites out. “I don’t care .” He had barely noticed the cuts and bruises from his wild escape— near escape. “I don’t care , Keith. I really don’t fucking care .”

“ I care.” Affronted. Stern. Almost shy.

It’s rich. It’s all so fucking rich . Lance laughs again, until his throat feels raw with it. “If you really cared , you’d let me go .”

“I… I can’t do that, Lance,” he says softly, almost— almost —

Lance pushes himself to his feet, rubbing the heel of his hands against his cheeks as he spins around, fury in his veins. “Yes, you can , but you choose not to! I’ve been here for two years , Keith! Two years! I don’t— I just—“ A bitter laugh chokes off in a sob. His shoulders slump. “I just miss my family. I miss my home . I miss the beach, and I miss the ocean. I miss my friends. I even miss my boring lessons and my stuck up bodyguard Iverson. I miss— I miss my life , Keith! Can’t you understand that? You took everything away from me! You took my life away from me!”

He turns then. A weight on his shoulders. He trudges across the cavern, to the ramp that leads up to his private cave. Every step drags. Knees threatening to give out. It’s all just… so heavy. His stomach feels knotted and he feels like he can’t breathe fully.

He just wants to get back to his bed and collapse. To cry and curl up and try to forget about it all. 

He’s just so—

“When I was young, my mother tried to kill me.”

One hand on the stone wall, one foot on the ramp, Lance turns. Eyes wide. Lips parted as he stares at Keith. He hasn’t moved. Still stands just within the cave. The setting sun a fire behind him, igniting his crimson scales. He stares at Lance. Purple eyes gleaming with flames. 

“What…?”

He takes a deep breath. Entire body rising and falling. There’s little emotion behind the words. A carefully indifferent voice. But… Lance has been here for two years. He’s learned to read Keith in ways he never would have thought possible. 

He can hear the thinly veiled pain. 

The poorly masked sorrow.

“When I was young, my mother tried to kill me,” he repeats. “It was in the middle of the night. I didn’t know it was her, and I fought back. My cries snapped her out of it, and she was horrified at what she had done.”

“Keith—“

“I don’t blame her for it. I never have. I’ve told you before, Lance. We are slaves to our instincts. And her instincts were telling her that her growing child would soon become a threat. She had already stayed with me longer than she should have. She thought she could resist her primal urges, but… she couldn’t.”

“I don’t…” He swallows hard. “I don’t… understand.”

“She left the next day. She left me alone to protect me and warned me against the things I can’t control. I… I chose to be alone so I could avoid my instincts. No dragons. No humans. No shiny bobbles and temptations. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Lance’s mouth feels dry, voice cracking as he says, “What?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. 

And it’s… Lance feels stunned. Shocked out of his own self pity. Numbed to everything else as his entire foundation is shaken because… because this is the first time Keith has actually apologized. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again. Eyes unblinking. Gaze unwavering. “I never meant to drag you into this solitary life. I chose it, but you didn’t, and I’m sorry for that. I’m… sorry I’m not stronger than my instincts. I’m sorry for everything.”

He doesn’t know what to say. His head is spinning. It’s so much… too much… emotions too strung out. He needs… he needs to think. Needs to process. Needs to calm down. And he can’t say it’s okay. Because it’s not. Can’t say that he forgives him. Because he doesn’t.

So instead he just turns, mumbling a soft, “I’m going to sleep.”

And as he climbs the ramp, he hears a soft rumbling voice say, “I’m going to make it up to you.” It sounds like a promise. “I’m going to make this better.” It sounds like a vow. “I’m going to give your life back.”

Lance doesn’t know how he plans to do that, but something about Keith’s honesty and stubborn determination gives him hope.

He never would have thought of a dragon as trustworthy, but Keith is true to his word.

He… actually makes things better.

It takes a while for Keith to trust him alone again, but he must see that the fight has left him. Even if he does escape, he’s accepted that he’ll probably just die in the desert. It’s safer here. He’s stuck here. He’s accepted that.

But Keith doesn’t seem happy with that. He doesn’t like Lance acting all subservient and defeated. He says as much. Actually pokes and prods and encourages Lance to play games until Lance laughs . 

And then Keith grins like it’s the best present in the world.

And it makes Lance’s stomach flip.

Keith brings him things. A lot of things. He’s taken to visiting all the nearby towns and cities, on either side of the mountains. He brings back fabrics, clothes, and tapestries. He brings back a real mattress and cushions and pillows. He brings back a finely carved chest to keep Lance’s things in. He brings books and art supplies and canvases. He even brings Lance a flute, which he can’t play for the life of him but he sure as hell tries and does end up getting better over the years. 

After a while, his little cave space actually… looks like a home. 

Keith has started bringing him new foods. Specialties from the nearby villages instead of foraged mushrooms and hunted meats. He brings him wine and presents it with this proud little grin even if he has no idea what kind of wine it is. 

He even starts to bring Lance shiny things. Jewelry. Coins. Gems. Silver goblets and jeweled hair clips. Half of the things are junk, but they’re shiny. They’re pretty. And the way Keith looks at him when he’s wearing pretty things… 

It makes Lance’s heart stutter. Makes his stomach flip. Makes him fidgety as heat surges beneath his skin.

He tries not to dwell on it.

Keith befriends a girl in the nearest village. A short girl with a wild mane of copper hair and sharp intelligent eyes. Quick as a whip. Brutal with her tongue. Unfazed by Keith being a dragon. Lance teases him about being able to make friends, but feels a sting of disappointment— because Lance wants to be his only friend? (Are they friends?) Because Lance wishes he could make friends?

But the conflicting feelings are extinguished when Keith brings her over. Pidge. Brings her to his lair so she can meet Lance . So she can befriend and entertain Lance . So Lance is less alone. 

She’s fascinating and fascinated. And Lance has such a good time that he’s not even bothered when Keith lets her leave at the end of the night. 

She comes back though. Often. She brings Lance things. Brings Keith things. Talks to them for hours. 

And then, one day, Keith brings Hunk home with him. 

Turns out, Hunk is friends with Pidge. And they got to talking, and Pidge contacted Hunk, who came to visit her, and Keith picked them up— and point is, Keith surprised Lance with a visit from his best friend.

Smiled the whole time as Lance clung to Hunk and cried. As Lance bounced in his seat while he listened to Hunk and swapped stories. Grinned all proud and happy and smug. And yet that pride dimmed and went shy when Lance thanked him. 

Seemed frozen in shock and surprise as Lance wrapped him up in a hug and clung to him.

So tentatively, so hesitantly, he hugged Lance back. And when Lance didn’t pull away from him, Keith melted into his embrace with a heavy, content sigh. 

Pidge and Hunk become regular visitors after that. They’re the only ones Keith will allow in his lair, and he and Hunk seem to have an agreement of trust. Hunk can visit, but Hunk can’t help Lance escape. Can’t bring people here to try to trick Keith. But he can visit Lance as much as he wants to. 

Lance once asked Hunk why he agreed to it all, and if he ever thought about helping him escape. But Hunk had avoided a straight answer. Seemed nervous. Seemed to know more than he was letting on. 

Lance hasn’t brought it up since. 

For Lance’s nineteenth birthday, Keith takes him to the beach. 

He lets Lance mount on his back, having grown large and strong enough to carry him. He flies them over the mountains. Over the desert and forests. Flies so high that Lance is left exhilarated. Awed at the sight below. Laughing as he reaches out to touch the clouds. 

And he takes Lance to a beach. To the ocean. To spend the whole day.

And as they sit together in the sand, watching the sun set over the ocean, igniting the waves in brush strokes of fire… Lance can’t help but think that it’s beautiful, but it’s nothing compared to sunsets over the desert.

So, here’s the thing. 

Lance knows what his value is to the kingdom. He’s a prize to be won. He’s the shiny jewel, destined to rule, waiting for some brave and worthy soul to bring him home. He’s a dream. He’s a fairytale. 

And as the months turn to years, it becomes very apparent by the speeches his would-be rescuers give that the rescue attempts have less and less to do with saving him, and more and more to do with gaining his hand in marriage. 

Because whoever saves him has the right to marry him. Would rule the kingdom at his side. Would share his bed and his body. 

There’s no guarantee that he’ll love his savior, but hell if he’s not a romantic at heart. 

He was a romantic before he was kidnapped, and now he’s spent so long fantasizing about his future hero that he can’t help but be a romantic about it. 

If he’s going to be forced to marry someone, he wants more than just someone with brute strength and enough fighting experience to defeat a dragon. 

He’s thought about it. He’s thought about it a lot . And if he’s being honest? He’s… pretty comfortable right now. Right here. In this cave he once hated in the middle of a mountain range he once thought was ugly and boring.

The mountains are actually quite beautiful, in their own way. Keith takes him out now, flies him around the mountains and shows him the desert. Introduces him to all the little things about this landscape that would have escaped him otherwise. He’s come to appreciate it. 

He’s also come to appreciate his new home. 

Because that’s what this lair has become. His home . 

Even Keith’s main chamber has personal touches now. Tapestries. A nest of pillows. Books and trinkets and instruments he can’t play but likes to fiddle with. 

They spend most of their time in Lance’s little cave though. Filled to the brim with things . Stuff Keith has collected for him. For comfort. For entertainment. Pretty things. Soft things. Useful things. It barely looks like a cave anymore, and it has more of a personal touch than his room back at the castle ever did. 

He feels… comfortable here. 

In this cave.

With Keith.

He’ll never admit it, but he enjoys not having the pressure of ruling a kingdom on his shoulders daily. He enjoys not worrying about the decisions he makes or how others see him. Here, he’s not afraid of making mistakes. He’s not in doubt of every action. It’s comforting, in its own way. 

And Keith… well… he’s not so bad to have around. He seems a lot more comfortable, too.

So now that Lance has settled into this new life of his, he’s taken to being picky about the suitors who come climbing their mountain— Their mountain?

Their mountain.

He and Keith will peer from Lance’s window, velvet curtains pulled back (because yes, Keith even got him curtains), and they’ll watch as hero after knight after adventurer makes their way to the cave. 

They’ll listen to the speeches that are made. The gallant declarations. The boisterous claims. 

They’ll snicker to themselves as Keith pretends he’s not there and the suitors try their best to string together praises of Lance’s beauty and grace and all that. 

They’ll lean into each other’s side, heads tilted in though as they muse over how the knights look. Criticizing their bodies and their faces. Their hair and their voices. Their postures and personalities. 

And at the end of it, when a suitor has become too bold or moved too close to the mouth of their cave home, Lance will sigh and wave a dismissive hand with an apathetic, “Pass.”

Which Keith always takes with a wide, knowing grin that borders on smug. Practically bounding down the ramp to the main cavern to confront the suitor. 

He’s never told Keith he wants someone. Wonders what would happen if he did. Wonders if Keith would let them take Lance away, or if Keith would tell him no and defeat them all the same. 

But the point is, Lance is allowing himself to be picky over his future spouse, and so far, he hasn’t found anyone that fits the bill. So he’ll wait a little longer. That’s fine. At least he’s comfortable.

Since he’s allowing himself to be picky, Lance has spent a lot of time contemplating exactly what kind of person he wants to rescue him. 

He lies in bed at night, staring up at the cave ceiling, listening to crickets outside and Keith’s soft, steady breathing, as he considers exactly what he’d want from his dream suitor.

He’s decided that he’d want them to be kind. They’d be ruling his kingdom at his side, and he definitely doesn’t want someone selfish or cruel to lead his people. So kindness is a must. 

He thinks he’d want someone who balances him out. Someone quieter and more reserved. Someone who’s not as open and boisterous who can act as a calm anchor for him. Grounding him. Someone sturdy and strong at his side when he needs someone to lean on. 

But someone who also is willing to challenge him. To go toe-to-toe with him. Not in a condescending way or in a way that struggles for power. But with equal fervor for challenges. The delight in the chase. A playful edge that meets Lance’s and gives as good as he gets. 

Quick wit. A stubbornness but a willingness to bend. Firm in belief, but willing to listen and understand. 

Someone Lance can talk to for hours and never grow tired. 

Someone who makes silence comfortable.

Someone who Lance can rely on in every facet of his life. 

Someone who feels like a partner . 

And as noble as these ideals are, Lance isn’t going to deny that he wants his suitor to be attractive. Handsome. Beautiful. Someone who puts the moon itself to shame and make butterflies erupt in his chest. 

He wants dark hair, thick and unruly. Eyes like the night sky, framed by long lashes and overseen by thick, expressive brows. Pale, smooth skin. Someone perhaps his height. Someone broad shouldered. Strong, but not thick. A defined chest. A narrow waist. Thick thighs. 

Someone who has an adorable innocence behind all that stubborn pride and powerful presence. Someone who can look at something with wide eyed wonder. Someone who’s grin is brighter than the sun itself and just as blinding. Someone who gets simple pleasure from making Lance smile. Someone who’s adorable even when pouting and scowling. Someone who others might find intimidating but Lance can see beyond all that, to the loneliness and beautiful soul beneath. 

Someone with black horns and sharp teeth and crimson scales—

And then— with a pounding heart and a buzz of adrenaline beneath his skin, far too aware of Keith’s soft breathing and the heat coming from the boy who has begun to share his bed (simply because his mattress is huge and Keith finds it comfortable)— Lance decides it’s time to stop thinking about it.

Lance is twenty when Lotor comes to try his hand at rescue. Not that Lance knew of him or his name until much later. 

They’re lounging in Keith’s nest of pillows, Lance reading a book with Keith resting his head in Lance’s lap, his fingers carding idly through thick hair, when Keith suddenly sits up. Eyes trained on the mouth of his cave, narrowed, head tilted slightly as he listens. 

“Someone comes…” He says, but Lance barely bats an eye. Doesn’t bother looking up from his book. How Keith always manages to know the moment sets foot anywhere near their mountain, he’ll never know.

“Another suitor?”

Keith cocks his head, lips pursed, before giving a short nod. “I can hear armor, though they’re trying to be silent.” He pushes himself out of the nest— a bit awkwardly and adorably losing his balance on the way as he wades through a sea of pillows, cushions, and blankets— before slinking to the cave entrance. One hand on the wall, he leans out. “He’s on the mountain pass. Hasn’t begun the climb yet.”

“How’s he look?” Lance finds himself asking, more out of habit than actual curiosity. He… doesn’t quite care, actually. He knows what his answer will be either way. It’s a realization that should come with alarming uncertainty, and yet it settles around him, warm and calming. 

“He’s handsome, I suppose,” Keith bites out, and while Lance can’t see his face, he can hear the way his lip curls in aggravation. It makes him smile. “Confident. He walks with certainty and purpose. Very tall. Long, white hair. Sharp features. He looks… intelligent. But… pompous. Over confident. Too self assured. Arrogant. He holds himself like a noble. He’ll probably declare me a foul demon and demand I hand over the poor, fair, frail prince or die for my impure ways.”

Lance snorts, rolling his eyes. Keith has gotten good at this game. At observing the people who have come to rescue him over the years. There are very distinct categories they all fall into, and there are very obvious tells long before they reach the lair. 

When it comes down to it, Lance trusts Keith’s assessment.

And he also knows that this isn’t a man he wants to marry.

So he says a simple, “Pass,” and flips the page of his book. Settling deeper into the nest without bothering to make an appearance or even listen to the knight’s speech. 

But he does glance over in time to see Keith’s grin, sharp and pleased, before he scales grow, fire dances across his skin, and he shifts once more into a mighty, fearsome beast. 

Lance merely smiles as Keith stalks out of the cave. Wings beating the wind. Roar filling the air. Flying down to meet the knight.

Lance is used to the sounds of battle. The sounds of Keith’s roar and snarls. The shouts of men and women alike. The clash of metal. The tumble of rocks down the mountainside. 

He’s grown so used to it that it’s easy to tune it out, and this time was no different.

That is, until he heard a pained cry that tore him right down to his very core. 

He sits up straight, book falling away as he scrambles out of the pillow nest. His body feels tense, heart already pounding far too fast, making him dizzy with the terror suddenly coursing through his system. His skin feels hot and cold all at once, a shiver running down his spine as he stumbles to the cave entrance on shaking legs.

He can’t see much of the fight below. Just Keith’s large, writhing body. Scales flashing brilliantly and beautifully in the sunlight— as he’s gotten older, they’ve gotten darker in hue, looking almost purple in some places, but they still glisten like fire in the light— and the occasional spot of silver from the knight. 

But he can tell right away that something is wrong. Keith is limping. He’s favoring one side. His snarls are too loud and too threatening. He’s not as quick. 

Lance holds his breath, heart in his throat and fingers digging into the rock as he leans into it—

But Keith wins— just like Keith always wins— and the sigh of relief is sweet on his tongue. That relief, however, only lasts long enough to watch the knight stumble away, no doubt injured and frightened. Because Keith’s flight back up the mountain is shaky at best, and he practically crashes back into the cave— stumbling and panting and trailing thick, hot blood—

Lance’s stomach rolls. “Keith!” 

The dragon collapses on the stone floor. Eyes closing and breath heavy and hissed through clenched teeth. He lies on his side, exposing a large gash. 

Lance knows that those scales are armored thickly. Protecting his vulnerable underbelly with hard plate-like scales. But with them being so much larger than the scales elsewhere on his body, they also have longer lines between them. Areas that are difficult to get a sword to, but easier to penetrate if one can. 

And this knight had. 

His blood nearly matches his scales, but it makes for a gruesome sight. It makes Lance’s breath come short, panic rising tight in his chest—

“Keith…” He says again, voice strained as he stumbles forward, hands outstretched but scared to touch. He’s seen Keith wounded before. He’s come out of battles with scrapes and cuts and bruises, but he’s always been smiling smugly. Always wore them with pride, like he barely noticed.

He’s never seen Keith like this. 

He hates it.

“Lance…” Voice ragged and tense, breaking and crackling with a thick, wet cough. He doesn’t know if it’s meant as an answer, a plea, or something else, but it snaps Lance out of his frozen state of fear and into action. 

“Don’t worry, Keith,” he says, resting a hand on Keith’s jaw, running his hand along the soft scales beneath his eye and watching the way he relaxes under his touch. 

When Keith opens his eyes, depths of them pained and pleading and scared . There’s so much trust there. So much trust in Lance . Letting him be this close when he’s so vulnerable. So much fear that— what? Lance will finish him off? That he’ll leave? 

He doesn’t know.

Doesn’t bother dwelling on it.

He already knows there’s only one option right now. He’ll worry about the consequences of his decisions later. 

Lance is not a healer by any stretch of the imagination, but at least he has some of the basics down. And despite his frantic and panicked mind, he manages to keep his head straight and be commanding enough for Keith to— begrudgingly— take his orders. 

He tears up their tapestries and blankets, holding them to the wound until he’s covered in blood that burns— because apparently Keith’s blood runs like fire— and then he holds it longer, until the bleeding finally slows. 

Getting Keith to drag his scaly behind to the hot springs is difficult, but not nearly as difficult as it is to convince him to shift back into his human form. 

See, Keith doesn’t like being human when he’s already feeling vulnerable. Early on, he used to shift to his dragon whenever there was any sort of threat, and he’d stay in that form long after battles with knights, refusing to shift again until his body was healed. Hell, he even shifted into his dragon form during or after difficult emotional conversations. 

Point is, Keith doesn’t like being in his squishy, fragile body when he’s vulnerable. And right now, he’s extremely vulnerable. 

It takes a lot of coaxing, a lot of soft encouragement, and a lot of whispered promises to get Keith to shift. 

But he does.

And there’s something to say there about that level of trust as he lets Lance clean his wound— which had opened up in the shift and looks a lot worse in this body— but Lance doesn’t have time to dwell on it. He’s not sure he’s ready to face that. 

Even if it’s a realization that’s already settled into his bones. Something he already knows and has come to terms with. It’s still not something he’s ready to face.

So he gets Keith cleaned up. He holds a compress to the wound until Keith’s naturally healing seals it. Then he wraps Keith’s torso up in makeshift bandages torn from cloth they had before dragging Keith back to his bed— their bed? 

“Don’t tell me you got cocky out there,” Lance says, trying to make light of it all, now that his heart rate has calmed and Keith’s breathing is soft and even. He leans against a mound of pillows, Keith sitting between his legs and lying back against his chest. 

He’s not sure how they came to this position, but he had initiated it. Pulled Keith to him and wrapped him up as best he could. Keith had been stiff at first, uncertain, but he had relaxed the moment Lance had started running his fingers through his hair and gently massaging the base of his horns. 

It just feels… right . Sitting like this. Protecting Keith as best can, even though he knows he offers no real protection. Still, the least he can do is give Keith comfort in a moment of pain and vulnerability. 

The trust. 

It makes Lance’s chest ache, though it isn’t unpleasant. 

“He was skilled,” Keith mutters, eyes closed but brows pinched into a small scowl. “He was prepared, and I underestimated him.”

“Well, let’s hope we see the last of that one,” Lance scoffs, smoothing Keith’s hair back, trailing fingers down the curl of his horns. “I would hate to be rescued by a man like that anyway.”

Keith is silent for a long moment. Long enough that Lance thinks he might have fallen asleep. But then he says, soft and hesitant, “You could have run.”

And… Lance knows that. He’s trying not to dwell on it, but he knows. It was the best opportunity he’s ever gotten to escape. Keith wouldn’t have been able to come after him. Probably wouldn’t have been able to fly him back, but… 

“I couldn’t leave you like that.” He knows that, too. It’s another undeniable truth that he’s trying not to dwell on. 

Because his freedom will inevitably come at the cost of Keith’s life. 

And the thought of that makes him feel sick.

It’s too much to handle— too much to think about— so he distracts himself by telling Keith stories. And when he runs out of stories, he reads them aloud. Grounding himself with the feeling of Keith’s hair between his fingers, the heat and pressure of him against his chest, and the gentle, reassuring rise and fall of each breath. 

Most suitors who are sent running never return. Too filled with fear or shame. Not willing to risk their lives a second time. 

But not Lotor.

Lotor ends up coming back, and he comes back with a vengeance. 

He forsakes the unspoken rule of honor. The ideal that a worthy suitor would defeat Lance’s captor in one-on-one combat. It’s the agreed upon rule among knights. It’s part of protocol. After all, the King and Queen have only promised a reward to one single suitor. It’s tradition. It’s known.

Yet Lotor returns with others. Five of them. His generals. Each of them fierce and strong. Prideful and confident. Capable and dangerous. 

Any one of them would struggle with Keith. He’s much larger than he used to be. His horns and teeth are sharper. His claws are younger. His weight is massive and his wingspan blacks out the sun itself. But he’s quick. He’s agile. He thinks on his toes and knows how to get past his opponents defenses. He’s also been doing this for years. 

But they don’t fight Keith one-on-one. 

And he still hasn’t completely healed from their last fight.

Lotor lures him out, and then the others ambush him. Five against one. 

Keith fights valiantly, but the odds are stacked against him. They wear him down slowly. Until his practiced and powerful movements become desperate and frenzied. Until the anger in his eyes turns to a very real primal fear . 

And all Lance can do is watch from above. Watch from his window. Clinging to the rock and biting his lip. Every slash and stab sends pain and terror shooting through his very core. Heart in his throat. Blood ringing in his ears.

Because this— this is it. This is the moment Keith might actually be defeated. This might be the day he gets to go home, and yet— he doesn’t feel excited. He feels afraid . 

Afraid for Keith .

And all he can do is—

No .

It’s not all he can do. He may have been forced into this role of damsel . This role of prize . But Lance is more than that. He was trained from a young age. To be a prince. A commander. He isn’t some weak willed noble. He’s a warrior. He’s a king . 

He’s moving without thinking. Driven by muscle memory, desperation, and adrenaline. Driven by fear. Driven by affection. Driven by a very real and overwhelming desire to protect . 

For the first time in a long time, Lance runs out of the cave during a fight. But not to run away. No, he dives right into the fray. 

At first the knights believe him to be trying to get free, and he uses that to his advantage. He runs to the nearest, one who had stayed far away to attack from a distance. And he charges her. He sees the moment when she realizes that her assumptions had been wrong. But by then, it’s too late. 

He tackles her to the ground. Somehow manages to knock her out and wrestle the bow from her hands. 

The battle passes in a blur. 

Shouts turn angry. Outraged. Shocked. 

He keeps them from sneaking up on Keith’s flanks with a barrage of arrows, until his fingers are sore and his forearms are bruised. He’s pleasantly surprised his aim remains so true, falling quickly into muscle memory. 

With Lance at his side, Keith regains his vigor. His heart. The fear in his eyes is replaced with— with something like flames. Something deeper. Something that causes Lance’s insides to flip and twist. But he has no time for butterflies, and lets another arrow fly. 

The battle is long and grueling, but Lance helps turn the tide. It helps that they’re afraid to harm him, using that to his advantage. He tries not to hurt them too much, using his arrows as warnings and scare tactics. When they finally turn tail and run, stumbling and wounded, Lance runs up Keith’s flank, mounting his back as Keith takes to the air. Chasing them down from the mountains and out of their territory— Keith’s territory— their territory—

High above the clouds, high on triumph and relief, the severity of his actions don’t hit him until he steps food back into their lair.

And then they hit with a vengeance. 

Like a wave crashing over him, dragging him under, dark and deep, stealing the breath from his lungs and pressing in from all sides—

“Lance!” 

He turns to find Keith in his human form, rushing toward him. Cuts and scrapes cover his skin, dried blood against the freckled red scales, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He wraps strong arms around Lance’s waist and lifts him off the ground. Spinning him around, making him dizzy as he laughs. A sound that’s so light and happy and usually makes Lance feel giddy, but not right now. Not when it feels like he’s drowning—

“Lance?”

He sets Lance back on his feet, arms still around his waist. Head cocked to the side. Framed by messy black hair. Indigo eyes so wide and concerned as his thick brows furrow. Gaze tracing Lance’s face. Arms tightening. 

Voice hushes. Voice concerned. Voice worried. “… Lance?”

It’s only then that he realizes he’s shaking. Trembling. Vision blurring— Oh, he’s crying.

“Lance…?” It’s softer. A hand cupping his cheek. A thumb gently brushing away a tear. He looks so concerned. So worried. And he’s still holding onto Lance so tight, holding them together, Lance’s hands on his chest— “What’s wrong?”

Lance licks his lips. Swallows past the lump in his throat. Tries to breath, but his voice ends up cracking all the same. “What have I done?”

His brows furrow more, head tilting in his confusion. “You… saved me. They were going to… and you… you… saved me?”

He did. He did do that. And he doesn’t regret it, but— “I’ve ruined everything.”

He looks hurt, so hurt, and Lance doesn’t want him to be hurt, but... “Lance—“ 

“No, don’t you see?” His fingers curl against Keith’s bare chest. Trembling. Shaking. If Keith wasn’t holding onto him, he thinks his knees might have given out. “I’ve— I’ve ruined it. I’m… I’m a prize, Keith. That’s all I am. That’s my value to my kingdom right now. I’m a prize waiting to be rescued. And I just— I stopped that— they probably would have done it, but I couldn’t let that happen— I couldn’t let them hurt you, Keith. I couldn’t. But now they know. The kingdom is going to know. They’re going to stop sending knights because I don’t want to be rescued, and I’m…” His voice cracks. His eyes squeeze shut. He takes several stuttering breaths, shallow and hiccuping. And then he whispers, “I’ll be nothing… they’ll stop wanting me home. If I’m not a prize, I’m nothing. I’m— I won’t be the prince anymore. I won’t be the heir. I’ll be a traitor— they’ll forget about me— I’ll never see anyone again, and I’ll be nothing— I am nothing— I’m—“

He chokes off in a sob, but Keith is there to catch him. A hand at the back of his head pulls him forward. Pushes his face into the warm crook of Keith’s neck. Holds him there, so gentle and so protective. And Lance collapses against his chest, trusting Keith to hold him up. 

And he does. 

That trust goes both ways. It runs deep. Too deep. Dangerously deep. 

Keith lifts him into his arms, carrying him to his bed— their bed— and drops them both onto it. Curls himself around Lance and simply lets him cry. Rubs his back. Holds him close. Makes these soft cooing, rumbling sounds to soothe him. 

And it’s all so much— too much— facing the fact that he’s given everything up— his whole life — because Keith— for Keith—

He cries as his chest aches. Sobs until his lungs hurt. Lets himself go until his eyes burn. And still Keith holds him. Holds him as he cries himself into exhaustion. Until his body starts to go still and thick breaths even out. 

And as he’s on the cusp of sleep, body weighed down with everything, he hears the soft whisper against his temple. 

“You’re not nothing, Lance.” Breath warm. Voice pained. Keith holds him like he’s something precious. “You’re everything .”

The next day, when Lance wakes up alone, eyes sore and puffy, he finds a bundle waiting for him next to the bed. 

A pack Hunk had brought him at some point. And as he rifles through it, he finds it packed with… supplied. Bundled food. Canisters of water. Blankets. Clothes. And next to it is a rolled map, with a path clearly marked through the desert right to— to his kingdom.

What is…

Does this mean…?

He stumbles out of bed, quickly and haphazardly throwing on his clothes and slipping on his boots before grabbing the bag and the map. The hurries down the ramp to the main cave… only to find it empty. 

“Keith?”

He hurries to the entrance, squinting against the bright morning light, one hand held up to shade his eyes. 

“Keith?”

“Here.”

He whips around, finding Keith perched on a small overhang above the entrance. Wearing simple trousers and a loose white shirt. He sits with one knee pulled up, arms wrapped around it. The other dangling over the edge. His chin is on his arms, staring out over the horizon. 

He’s… honestly, he’s breathtaking . They’ve both filled out over the years. Shifting from the awkward gangliness of youth to the more broadened and defined maturity of adulthood. Lance has grown tall, but Keith is taller. Broader. Stronger. He went from a pretty boy to a handsome man, and when Lance manages to catch him in the sunlight, it takes his breath away. 

But right now, Lance can’t even appreciate it, because Keith is sitting on the perch he always goes to when he wants to get away from Lance. 

“Keith, what’s this about?” He asks, holding up the rolled map.

Keith doesn’t look at him, but his eyes narrow. Brows pinched and lips pressed tight. “Just go,” he says without preamble. Harsh, clipped, and sharp. 

Lance flinches, taking a step back. He… hasn’t heard Keith talk to him like that in years . “Keith—“

“Just go , Lance.” It’s tired. Exasperated. Frustrated. And… beneath it all, pained . Lance can hear the strain, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. “Don’t ever come back. Tell them you rescued yourself. You won’t have to marry anyone. Everyone will think you’re stronger for it. You… you’ll make a great ruler one day.”

“What… I don’t…” He looks down at the map, fingers tightening around it, brow furrowing. “I don’t understand…”

“I’m letting you go , Lance,” he huffs. Says it like it pains him. “That’s what you’ve wanted for years. Well, now you have it. So go .”

It’s a plea. 

It’s desperate. 

To go or stay, Lance doesn’t know.

He looks up, lips pursed into a frown. “But… what will you do?”

“Does it matter?”

“Of course it matters!” Keith just scoffs, rolling his eyes. Still refusing to look at him. Still refusing to face him. “Isn’t it against dragon code to give up the things you take?” He tries. Tries to tease. Tries to just get Keith to look at him. To make sense of this sudden change of heart. “This isn’t very dragon of you, Keith.”

“I know ,” Keith snaps, voice cracking. He closes his eyes, head tilting back as he breathes heavily. Lance can see the way his fists are clenched and the tightness in his jaw. “But… I’m choosing not to be a slave to my instincts. I’m choosing your life over— over …” He cuts himself off, choking on the words. Then, finally, he sighs, voice heavy as he says, “Just go , Lance. Rule your kingdom. See your family. Make memories with Hunk. Marry whoever you choose. Visit the ocean. Live your life where you deserve to, where people will remember you, and just forget about this place. Forget about… me.”

“Keith,” his chest aches. His pulse is racing. His stomach churns. “Keith, I could never forget—“

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry it took this long to… do the right thing. It was selfish of me, and I’m tired of being selfish. So please. Just go .”

“Keith—“

“ Get out of my desert, Lance! ” His eyes snap open, finally— finally — looking at Lance. Sharp and angry. Pupils slitted and narrowed. It makes the air rush from his lungs. 

It starts to settle. The realization that this is happening . There’s a permanence to this. Keith is— he’s letting him go. He’ll leave, and become the proper prince again, and Keith will stay here, and they’ll never— he’ll never— 

“Come with me!” He blurts, panic rising, hot and vile up his throat. “You could come with me!”

“I’ll make sure you get home safely. No harm will come to you.”

“That’s not what I mean. I mean— come with me . You don’t have to stay here by yourself anymore—“

“I said get out , Lance!” Keith roars, throwing an arm back and slamming a fist into the stone beside him, making it crack and splinter. Smoke rises from his lips, curling around his face. His indigo eyes start to burn, glowing a faint violet. “I want you to leave! You were nothing more than a human trophy, and I can get another one! Just— GO! GET OUT! LEAVE!”

It hurts. 

It cuts deep.

But what’s worse is that… he can tell Keith doesn’t mean it. He can see the pain he’s trying to hide. The way his voice cracks. The way tears well up in his eyes only to evaporate on the heat of his skin. 

Keith has never been a good liar, and this time is no exception.

But no matter what Lance says, he can’t sway Keith. Can’t bend his will or change his mind. He tries until Keith shifts, taking to the sky in his dragon form and roaring in rage.

That’s when Lance sees something peculiar. 

At the center of his broad chest, there’s a gap in his scales. Right where his heartscale should be. The hardest and most important scale a dragon possesses. The one that, quite literally, guards their heart. 

It’s… missing. 

But Lance never gets a chance to question him about it. Never gets a chance to say anything else. Keith refuses to listen. Refuses to come down.

So Lance does the only thing he can think to.

He leaves.

Going home doesn’t feel as good as Lance once thought it would. His heart feels heavy. His feet are sore. Every step away from the mountains and toward his kingdom feels sluggish. 

Even when he sees the familiar green trees. The familiar hills. Wildflowers. He can’t bring himself to feel joy. 

Not when the shadow that’s been following him from high above finally turns around. 

Disappears.

Into the horizon and out of Lance’s life.

Everything is a blur of motion from the moment someone recognizes him in town. 

There are cries of alarm and good cheer. So many faces and people. So many hands shaking his own. Pushing him. Rushing him up to the castle. Making an entire procession out of it. 

And then he’s there, walking through the gates of the looming castle that had once been his home. 

Whisked up in more people. Another barrage of faces and voices, but these ones familiar. These ones tugging at his heart. With tears in his eyes, he throws himself into the arms of his parents. He’s swept up in a hug from Hunk. His teachers and advisors are there. 

Everyone is shocked and surprised to see him, here, home, alone .

Everyone beams with pride when they assume he freed himself.

Everyone is thrilled to have him back, and he’s overwhelmed with it all. He had thought he’d be forgotten about, but they’re all so happy to have him back.

They treat him as more than just a prize.

He is more than just a prize. 

But while that makes his aching heart soar, his stomach twists itself in knots whenever they look at him with pity. Whenever they pat his shoulder and try to sympathize. When they say, “ what a harrowing situation that must have been ”. And “ what a terrifying creature, you’re so brave”.

All the insinuations that Keith had hurt him, which Keith had never and would never do.

All the implications that Lance had been miserable , which, yeah, he was upset for a while, but he actually came to like it there.

Came to like Keith.

Came to actually enjoy the home they made together.

And no one seems to listen when he tries to say, “It wasn’t that bad” and “He wasn’t a beast like that.”

Before all the attention could get too overwhelming, he’s pulled away again. Ushered out of the main chambers and toward his old rooms by his bodyguard and advisor, Iverson, at the insistence of his parents. They want him to rest. To settle in. To wash the dirt of the road off. So they can have a private dinner tonight. Just family.

As soon as they’re alone in the halls, Lance’s smile fades, shoulders slumping as exhaustion hits hard once the adrenaline dissipates. 

Despite it all. Despite being back. Despite the familiarity and nostalgia of it all. Despite the faces he missed so much and the halls he grew up in… he’s surprised to find it no longer feels like home .

His chest feels hollowed out. Empty. Lonely .

Like he left a vital piece of himself behind.

“You’re very fortunate, your highness,” Iverson is saying, making idle conversation as he escorts Lance to the room he hasn’t lived in for years. “From what I understand, dragons are matriarchal. Thankfully you were only taken by a male. And a young one, at that.”

“Are the females more violent?” He asks, curious, chest aching as he remember’s Keith’s story of his mother. 

“That is unclear, but from the records we possess, they seem to be bigger, stronger, and more heavily defended.” The man chuckles. “Though they make for excellent armor.”

Lance’s steps falter, his stomach rolling at the thought of Keith’s beautiful crimson and violet scales being ripped from his skin. The pain and anguish of his cries. Reduced to nothing more than armor . 

He swallows thickly, tasting bile on the back of his tongue. “Do… do we have any dragon armor?”

“Several sets,” Iverson says proudly, chest puffed out and head held high. “Would you like to see them? One belonged to your great grandfather, King Orion. You may recall the great battle between the Star King and the Flaming Lizard of the South, wherein the kingdom was laid to waste by two years of drought and terrible fires. Only one man was brave enough to—“

But Lance has stopped listening. 

Fire lizard.

Fire lizard .

How could anyone in their right mind call a creature as majestic and beautiful as Keith a mere lizard? 

Now that he knows Keith, now that he’s heard what people make of his time spent with him, he can’t help but wonder… how much of these stories are fabricated? How much are built around human misconceptions? How much are structured to make dragons evil just to further the goodness of mankind? How many dragons were innocent when their scales were ripped from them?

“—return for its hide if you desire a set of your own. It would make a fine tale to add to your grand lineage! Imagine, the captured prince wearing the scales of the mighty villain—“

“What?” Lance freezes, eyes going wide. 

Iverson pauses, turning to him with an eyebrow raised. “It must surely be close to death by now.”

“But he’s— I didn’t hurt him when I left—“

“Don’t you remember your lessons, your highness? Once a dragon loses their treasure, they die. It’s an instinctual thing. They form a soul attachment to their treasure. Horde it. Guard it. And if they lose it, the melancholy leaves them without a will to live. He’ll wither and die on his own.”

“But Kei—“ He chokes on Keith’s name, clearing his throat. “The dragon never had a hoard. His caves were barren.” He gathered things later, of course, but that had been for Lance’s sake.

Iverson’s stare turns a fraction disappointed. A hair exasperated. The same look he always used to give Lance when he hadn’t been paying attention. “Of course not, your highness. It chose you.”

“What…?” Lance breaths, air rushing from his lungs. He feels dizzy. Balance swaying. None of this makes sense. It doesn’t—

“ You were the dragon’s treasure, prince Lance.” Another chuckle, sending Lance’s stomach rolling. “Ironic, isn’t it? For all their legendary terror and brute strength, it’s their own nature that threatens them most. Escaping as you did must have dealt it a crushing blow. Provided no one has come across its corpse, I’m certain a full set of scale armor can be made from its hide.”

Lance isn’t listening anymore. He’s quiet as Iverson ushers him into his room. Leaves him to get washed up and changed and rest.

But Lance can’t even bask in the nostalgia of his old room, kept up and untouched, no doubt kept this way in constant preparation for his return. He merely trudges over to the bed and sits heavily on the edge of it. Bag dangling from his fingertips and falling to the floor at his feet. Eyes distant as he stares at the floor because—

Keith…

Keith could be dead right now.

And all because— Because Lance has been his treasure all along? Lance has been his horde? He had connected his soul to Lance?

He had said a thousand times: he had never meant to kidnap Lance. That he had been a slave to his instincts. And… dragon instincts are to horde beautiful things. They attach themselves to beauty and never let it go— and Lance had always thought Keith was a strange dragon for never wanting anything beautiful in his lair, but… he had . He had avoided and fought his instincts for so long, until he saw Lance .

He had found Lance too beautiful to resist. 

He found Lance beautiful.

And that had sealed both of their fates. Because—

Because Keith would have known that Lance’s freedom would mean his own death. That explains the terror whenever Lance tried to escape. The panic whenever he dragged him back. 

Keith had fought off all his suitors… because he would have died either way. He had known that. Either he died by their sword, or died when they took Lance. 

He had known this whole time that his options were to keep Lance forever or die, and— he had chosen death. 

By letting Lance go, he had given Lance his life back… at the cost of his own. 

“What a stupid, stupid —“ Lance hisses out between clenched teeth, pressing the heel of his hand to his eyes to stop the tears from falling. 

Keith had known from the moment he brought Lance back to his lair that he was on borrowed time. 

That Lance would one day be the death of him.

And that stupid, scaled terror with a spitfire attitude and a bleeding heart of gold who never wanted to hurt anyone, had made the ultimate sacrifice and let Lance go.

Panic grips him hard. Claws digging into his heart and tearing at his lungs. His breath comes short, and he feels dizzy. Uncertain. Because Keith is dying . Keith is dying right now and there’s nothing he can do, and—

Something red catches his eye.

A glint of crimson, half spilled from his bag where it lay fallen over on the floor. 

Lance drops to his knees, reaching for it— a scale.

A deep, crimson scale. Hard as diamond. Vaguely in the shape of—

Keith’s heartscale. 

That idiot gave him his heartscale. To remember him by. To keep him safe. Because— because he wouldn’t need it anymore. Because he’s dying anyway. 

Lance’s fingers curl around it, tight until it cuts into his skin. He holds it to his chest. It’s still warm. 

Something sizzles along his veins. Sparking in each nerve. Feeling like fire burning through him, chasing away his panic and leaving him with a steely calm. A firm determination. A stubbornness to move the goddamn earth itself if he needs to because—

“You’re not dying,” he says to himself as he pushes himself to his feet. Jaw clenched. Legs shaking. Heart burning. Head spinning with possibilities and ideas and an urgency that’s screaming for him to move, go, now . “Not if I can help it.”

Because he’s Prince Leandro Alejandro Nunez Cuesta Espinosa. The Once Captured Prince. The Treasure of Dragons. The Heartscale.

And just like a heartscale, he’s going to keep his stupid dragon from dying.

Lance pulls some strings, and he pulls them hard . 

He pulls them fast. He pulls them relentlessly. And he refuses to take no for an answer. 

Because he’s the heir. He’s going to be king some day. And it’s about time he threw his weight around. So he does. He throws it right up against the wall of “ Lance, are you insane? You cannot do this ,” and says “ Fuck you, mom and dad, I’m doing this and you can’t stop me .”

But. You know. Much more eloquently.

He pleads a little bit, but he absolutely does not beg. He demands . Because this is important, and it’s time sensitive. 

Thankfully, he’s stubborn as a, well, dragon , and he was born with a silver tongue and a killer set of pitiful eyes that no one can say no to. 

And the whole time the crimson heartscale hangs around his neck from a golden chain, warm and heavy over his heart.

So he pulls some strings. 

It takes a whole day of yanking, but by the next day, he’s on the road again, a fast horse beneath him and course set on the distant mountains.

Keith doesn’t greet him at the mouth of the cave, nor had Lance heard any sign of him during the long climb up the mountain. He’s panting by the time he reaches Keith’s lair— their lair— having left his horse far below and pushing himself up the rocks far faster than is probably safe. 

But every step closer to the cave has his heart pounding, has adrenaline and excitement and dread welling up in his lungs, had him eager and terrified to see what lies within the cave—

Has him feeling like he’s coming home .

“Keith?” He calls, stepping into the cave. But there’s no sign of him. He hadn’t seen Keith flying around the mountain range— he had been looking— and from what Iverson had said, he doubts Keith would be strong enough to fly anyway. 

He has to be here. He has to be—

There’s a shift of movement, snapping Lance’s attention to the ramp that leads up into his own little cave. “Keith?” He hurries toward it, practically sprinting up the ramp with his pulse in his ears—

“Keith…” he breathes, slowing— stumbling— falling forward until his knees hit the mattress and he goes down on his hands, crawling across the bed. 

Keith curls up in the center, wrapped in Lance’s blanket, surrounded by some of Lance’s favorite things. 

His human form has always looked strong, even when he was young, but right now, he looks downright frail . Skin sickly pale and clammy to the touch. Far too cold for a dragon. Even the scales that dot his skin look washed out and faded. His hair is a mess, tangled and greasy. The bags under his eyes are dark and heavy. 

“L-Lance…?” His voice. His voice . So quiet. Raspy. Guttural in a way that sounds like the air is rattling around in his lungs. And his eyes as he turns to look at Lance, so dull, unfocused, lids heavy.

“Oh, Keith,” Lance breathes, crowding in around him, pushing things aside to get to him. He wraps his arms as best he can around the tangled blankets and hauls Keith into his lap. Leans him against his chest. Nuzzles into his hair and wraps his arms tightly around him. “You big dumb idiot lizard.”

Keith turns into him, clings to him with a grip that should be tight but is far too weak. He buries his face in the crook of Lance’s neck, breathing in deep and letting out a shuddering sigh. 

“What are you doing here?” He mumbles, lips moving against Lance’s throat, sending a wave of heat surging beneath his skin. “I told you… to go…”

“And as selfless and noble as that was, you failed to tell me that by leaving , I would be killing you.”

A wave of coughing wracks through him, and Lance holds him through it. When it subsides, he whispers in a voice that sounds far too small, “It… doesn’t matter…”

“It does matter, you idiot. It matters to me . I care about you, and I want you to live, and I’m not leaving you again.”

“But… your kingdom?” He sounds so uncertain. So hopeful. So torn.

“Yeah… about that. I’m still going to rule my kingdom. I’m the heir, after all.”

“From here…?”

“Nope. From the castle.”

“I… don’t understand.”

“It’s simple. I’m taking you with me.”

Keith leans back, but Lance refuses to let him go far. When he looks up at Lance, his eyes already seem brighter, more alert, less… dull . It’s like watching him come back to life— back into himself — right before Lance’s very eyes. “You can’t do that.”

“I can , and I will . I’ve already sorted it out.”

“ How? ”

“Well,” a smirk tugs at the corner of his lips. Smug. Playful. Full of mischief. It spreads wide, unable to hide his mirth. “My parents declared that whoever rescues me, regardless of birth, has the right to marry me.”

“You rescued yourself.”

“Nope,” he leans forward, pressing his forehead to Keith’s. It’s far too cold, but Keith is already looking more alert, his voice already stronger. “ You let me go. You brought me home. You rescued me.”

Lance can feel Keith’s brows furrow. “But I’m the one who took you to begin with.”

Lance huffs, leaving back and waving a hand around. “Technicalities. Point is, you rescued me, and therefore you have the right to marry me.” And then his smile turns sheepish. Turns small. Turns shy as nervousness begins to itch through his veins. 

Because while Lance feels it. While he thinks he knows where they stand. They’ve never talked about it. How they feel. Who they are to each other. 

“If… you know… you want to?” 

Keith’s grin is slow. Like the rising sun. Inch by inch, bringing light and color to a world of gray. Igniting in his eyes. Flushing his pale skin with color. Brightening his scales. 

Lance has seen sunsets over the desert mountains and over the ocean waves, but neither of them are quite as beautiful as Keith’s smile. 

And while they say nothing, the silence is light. It’s giddy. It’s freeing . Lance holds Keith tight, and Keith breathes like he hasn’t been able to for a long, long time. They rest. And they wait. And soon, they’ll return to Lance’s kingdom. They’ll carve out a new home for themselves. 

They’ll have obstacles, sure, but they’ll be fine.

Long do they reign. Bringing in an era of peace and prosperity. Of new understanding between man and beast. As expected, there are challenges, but none can deny King Lance’s might. He rules fairly, sternly, and is beloved by the people. 

And at his side, stands his husband, Keith, the Dragon King. Beautiful and handsome as he is deadly. Silent and strong. Ever King Lance’s protector. Ever his unwavering support. Ever his strength. 

But that is a story for another day. 

This has been the story of their start. 

Of how Lance became Keith’s treasure, and how Keith became Lance’s heart.