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Chapter Text

Peter Hale was the 18th Left-Hand of the famous Hale House, a royal family perduring since the creation of Beacon County, their lands. They were the first supernatural creature to settle here in order to reign, slaying the threats residing here in the first place, may it be griffins, chimeras, or basilisk. All beasts were put down in order for the Wolf Pack to become rulers.
The few farmers living nearby before were more than happy to accept the werewolves since they were ready to protect them from any and all creatures with malevolent intent. Thus, Alexandria Hale the first became the first Alpha of the lands and the first monarch of a long lineage.
She was a good ruler, asking her family what roles they wanted and how she could help them in their daily tasks. Lysander Hale, the monarch’s husband, thus became the first Left-Hand of the royal family. In a spirit of knighthood, Lysander saw the honor in defending his people and fighting for them, he chose to take this responsibility and to form one of his daughters to do it after him, explaining to her that no matter the place and the time, it was important to keep an eye out for threats and kept their people safe. It was a gruesome role because of the different battles but it was one held on high estimate. The Left Hand was the trainer of knights and the keeper of knowledge. The Great Library was one of their spots, a place where they could write their findings and keep track of their missions, laying all out for their successors, with the firm belief that knowledge was power.
Together with the rest of their Pack, the royal family became a beloved one, powerful and kind, an ally to have for whoever wished to see his empire live.

Under the rules of Alexandria and Lysander's successors, the lands prospered, with more and more people coming to live on it, seeking the Pack’s protection and offering their service in exchange. The territory grew with his people, extending to the west, claiming the Forest once inhabited by trolls and ghouls, the peaceful ones being granted safe stay if they bend the knees in front of the sovereign and pledge allegiance to the powerful family, the others slayed for their wrongdoing. The lands in the South were also conquered, a country with many agricultural lands infested by boggarts. Once all the little spirits were chased away, it became the principal zone of farming, the original lands becoming the place for shops and taverns, while the forest was left alone, a safe place for animals and peaceful creatures to live, only sometimes bothered by a couple of walkers or the herb gatherers.
The area on the east side took longer to use due to the river crossing it. The construction of a bridge took time and effort, many workers had to leave their homes to work there, but all of them were rewarded with houses in the city district. This territory became a great spot for fishing but mainly for commerce, opening the way to more alliances with foreign packs. The heirs understood this and the radiation of the Hale House power grew steadily after that.
Centuries after Alexandria’s reign came Talia’s.
She was Peter’s older sister, a 36 years old sovereign ruling the lands with a steely hand, keeping the peace thanks to it. Unknown to most, Talia wasn’t the good Alpha she so loved to pose at: she was a frigid woman, playing her children against one another with clear favoritism and not one kind word for the younger ones. She was doing the same with all her family, only keeping close to the ones she would have used for, and unfortunately for Peter, he was one of them.
The issue with this was that Peter loved his nieces and nephews, doing his best to keep them together and let them understand the machinations of royalty. He didn’t want to see them tear each other's throats because their mother had no more use for one of them. And thus, Peter became an enemy for Talia, but one she couldn’t eliminate without relinquishing the peace of the lands.
You see, dear readers, Peter was the Left Hand of the House, he was the one taking care of the physical threats, of the creatures wanting to claim the lands for themself. He was the one who got his hands dirty, the one going on months-long journey to make sure no beast would harm the innocent, but this role wasn’t seen in the same light as before.
It was now seen as a dark one, only taken by shady members of the family, one you shouldn't trust, or at least that was what was said behind their backs. As time passed, the power came in many new forms, such as blackmail and secret assassination. It wasn’t the apotheosis of knighthood anymore, but the work of stealthy murderers and masters of secrets.

Despite all this, Peter was the one known as the Blue Slayer.
This title had been put open by the Beacon’s residents, may they be knights or maidens, blacksmiths or seamstresses. They had chosen it for him because of his blue eyes, sight only found on wolves guilty of murder. The man was often looked down upon by other lords because of it, the act of killing apparently ungrateful for a werewolf, making him too close to his animal side for the wealthiest comfort. Of course, those people loved Talia, the regent acting as a human most of the time, hiding her true self under golden jewels and silky dresses. The people with less wealth though, the ones who had to work to gain their lives, understood the importance of Peter’s job, the safety of their shops coming from him, and the future of their children ensured by his bloody claws.

As you can imagine, the subject’s love for the Left-Hand didn’t please Talia at all. Between them and her children, it was like all her pawns were falling for the assassin. The one she had placed in a dishonored role before he could try and overpower her, because she was certain of it, her little brother would do it one day or another, and the people would follow. She couldn’t let that happen. And so they had always had tension between them, bad blood and resentment. Thus when the monarch was feeling particularly petty or was angry with Peter -which, in fact, was more time than not-, the Left Hand also had the duty to go eliminate threats to unknown territories, not just their own, putting himself in direct danger. Like now.

The Blue Slayer had been sent to the middle of nowhere, a faraway land only composed of small villages that were once upon a time under the protection of another ruler. Talia had her sights on it now, greedy for a more vast territory and thus greater wealth. The previous ruler died in his quest to kill the dragon residing in his lands’ higher mountains. It was said that the dragon had been demanding tribute of gold from the surrounding villages for years, and the locals, may they be old or young, wealthy or poor, were terrified of the creature and the possibility of its wrath.
The rumors had spread and everyone who heard them was wary of the lands, thus reducing the commerce and the income of the villagers. After all, who would want to come to a place where a powerful being coming from a species that was thought to be extinct was reigning? Not a single being sane of mind.
Dragons, dear readers, were said to be the most powerful species to ever walk the Earth. They were fast and powerful fire-breathing creatures, older than the world and bigger than any human construction. It was said that they even created the mountains with their fire, melting the stone and shaping it with their enormous claws. And the things now called volcanoes were coming from them too: they were mountains that weren’t satisfying enough for the creatures and had thus suffered their wrath. The fire was so powerful that some of it stayed inside the rock, never cooling down again, and was ready to erupt if their creators ever chose so. Dragons were said to be controlled by their emotion and their desires, often letting their anger erupt, resulting in destruction, or their greed run wild, killing to obtain their covet object or being to add it to their hoard.

If it weren’t for his all-consuming fear of fire, Peter would be giddy to see a dragon, probably one of the last if not the one, with his own two eyes. As it was though, Peter and most of the close Hale House were distraught at the sight of the temperamental element since the debacle with the Argent and their attempt to burn the entire castle and their inhabitants. It had thankfully been prevented thanks to Peter's odd work hours, but he had suffered quite a lot from it, his entire right side had burned when he went inside to save his nephews.
The scars weren’t visible anymore thanks to an ointment one of Peter’s witch friends had given him once she learned that the House physician didn’t even want to try researching a cure. This was another one of the reasons Talia was scared of her brother: he was one of the only wolves she knew to be able to gain favors and friendship from witches, their kind was usually quite aggressive and heinous when it came to werewolves, thanks to an old war between the first supernatural beings. That Peter of all people was able to instill a sentiment of fellowship in witches made the Alpha’s hackles rise and her paranoia worsen.

It was after this particular event that she decided to send Peter after a dragon of all things, alone and without much information. He would die, and Talia would finally be able to relax, her reign safe from her brother and her children ready to actually act as their position asked for. Nobody would think twice about it, the great Blue Slayer dying in combat against the last dragon, sword in hand, and the Hale heraldry worn proudly.
This was what his position asked for. This was his fate.

Chapter Text

Peter knew he had fucked up by agreeing to use Astoria’s ointment on his scars, but it was hurting so badly that he had to grit his teeth at every move, every breath. He couldn’t keep going. But it was probably what Talia wanted, a good reason for his disappearance, the wolf too heavily hurt to be able to keep his place at the council. The woman was resourceful though, and had found a way to take him out of the picture without raising any suspicions on her person. Peter could almost admire the ingenuity of it, if it weren't for the fact that he was riding towards his own death and that the backlash of it could scar his nephews’ minds because of the bonds. He wouldn’t let it happen, of course, and would break them before encountering the dragon he was sent after, but the pain resulting from the missing bond would be great anyway.

Sighing, the werewolf focused on his mission, thinking of the little information he had.
Nobody had ever seen the beast, only glimpses of red glimmering scales or a breath of fire, and that was it. The villagers hadn’t had anything more to add, except descriptions of the jewels and wealth they had conceded to the creature. Thankfully Peter was a scholar and thus had browsed books and scrolls to find more about the species. All in all, he was pretty sure he was walking to a painful death. It was the logical reasoning: this suicidal quest was his punishment for not being the perfect pawn Talia wanted. She knew of his aversion for fire, as well as every person present when the Argent attack occurred, and she knew of the power held in a dragon’s body, all muscles and spikes, sharp fangs, and burning puff.
He, truthfully speaking, couldn’t defeat the beast even if he wanted to, and he was less and less inclined to.

Sighing for the hundredth time since his departure, the man came down from his horse, having reached the base of the mountain that was supposedly the dragon’s lair. Caressing the beautiful horse’s mane, he released him into the wild, sure that he would never see the animal again. It was a shame, as Peter had loved his horse and cared for it since the animal’s birth, but it was better for it to run now than to wait for someone who’d never come back.
Alone with his sword and his mind, the ascension towards the last fight of his life began.

He trailed up the mountains, fighting all his instincts that were screaming to turn back, continuing on his path even if wolfsbane and other toxic plants were lying all around him, growing here in the middle of brambles and nettles. The colors of the wolfsbane flowers and other plants just as poisonous were creating a pretty landscape, but walking through it was a real challenge.
Once he was higher on the trail though, the flowers started to turn into more innocent species like mountain Harebell, Centaurea and, making the wolf huff a laugh, fireweed. It was beautiful. The most shocking part was that where once there were snakes, there were now jewels. The gold of it shining in the sun, their pretty colors harmonizing prettily with the flowers and few gems there. It was like the higher he got, the more mesmerizing his surroundings became. Maybe it was a trap from the dragons, the slayer after it being so distracted by the wealth at their feet that they didn’t climb higher, filling their pockets with it and fleeing afterward. Or maybe it just liked to have a beautiful view when he looked outside of his lair, appreciating the simple beauty of flowers.

Finally getting to the top of the mountain, Peter took a deep breath, both to smell the place and to center himself while shredding the rest of his bonds, hell-bent on sparing his nieces and nephew from the pain coming his way. Even while knowing he was going to die, the slayer still held his head high, his shoulder back, and his sword thigh. He wasn’t going out without a fight, and he would make the most out of it, dying with honors.
Taking the first steps into the dark place, Peter took in all the noises and scent, trying to understand what his senses were telling him and taking advantage of it. By the scents, the werewolf could tell that this particular dragon wasn’t into human flesh, which was a small relief, and had a soft spot for flowers. It wasn’t unheard of, dragons taking a liking to anything they found pretty, it was quite common even, and it explained the amount of them outside. The distinct scent of gold was also present, as well as the scent of old books and leather. Knowledge was power and the dragon seemed to have understood this, extending its hoard with books which, while some could be pretty, were more tactical than decorative.
The sounds gave even more information about his surroundings, the clinking of coins revealing the position of the beast inside the well-made labyrinth-like cave. It wasn’t too far away, but the sound of coins was muffled, as if kept under something else, preventing direct contact with the floor, or in such a great quantity that it didn’t ring directly on the hard floor. Not wanting this advantage to go to waste, the wolf advanced rapidly and stealthily, the air warmer with each step in the good direction, before springing into the dragon’s current room, sword ready and fangs in display.

What was his surprise when, in front of him, Peter saw a dragon not higher than a horse, barely older than a hatchling. From the size of it, it was relatively young, especially for a species with such a long lifespan, and would probably still be considered a baby by its peers.
Golden coins and such were littering the ground all around the nest, the soft light coming from openings here and there reflecting on it, giving an otherworldly atmosphere to the place. In the middle of it, the beast, if it could be called that, was comfortably resting in a nest of soft-looking fabrics, pillows embroidered with gold, and wildflower petals. His big golden eyes were looking at Peter with curiosity, head cushioned by one of his front legs, the other one keeping a book open in front of him, and thus the perfect picture of relaxation. The dragon’s own fangs and talons were safely tucked inside his little bed of fluff, probably to preserve the book it was reading and the blankets it was wrapped into. Or maybe, Peter reflected, he , since the dragon was cognitive enough to read.

Blinking several times, the Slayer could only let out a soft “Oh” before sheathing his sword back and kneeling slowly. The dragon was beautiful. The tales about his red scales weren’t exaggerated, they did shine like garnets and fresh blood, the different hues creating a hypnotizing depth to it. His horns were the color of brut topaz, with speckles of dark amber, the fineness of the natural carving on them matching the work of the best sculptors out there.
Letting his eyes drift over the dragon’s body, Peter could only be amazed in front of such prettiness. The wings, in particular, were things of beauty: the membrane seemed so soft, in a lighter shade of red, like rubies, and was almost see-through when the light beams touched it. The bones in them created a darker pattern, one that the wolf itched to follow with the tips of his fingers. When the thought crossed his mind, the creature moved, straightening in such a manner that his underside showed, glittering pearls like scales with smoky quartz hints. The movement also shows the spikes on his back, deathly looking things in the same darker hues of red as some of his scales, weapons in their own rights, but the wolf wasn’t afraid, he could only find it fitting, a perfect contrast to the dragon’s soft surroundings. A forked tongue showed for a second when the dragon smelled Peter’s scent, and a hint of his arrowhead tail with it, the appendage slowly moving, not unlike a feline one.

Without any deeper thoughts, Peter started talking in a low, awe tone, wanting the dragon to know his thoughts before he was killed by this glorious creature.

- You’re magnificent, little one. Even more than your hoard. Those earthy creations can’t compare. Look at you, you’re the definition of lethal beauty. Gods, how anyone can think of hurting you is baffling, I know I can’t. Please, forgive me for the intrusion, I’ve been sent here to slew you, but I refuse to touch such a being.

Bowing his head, Peter was ready to get up when the dragon made a strange noise, a sort of dark purr, both pleased and threatening, and the Slayer froze. Maybe the dragon wanted to punish him for the intrusion, or maybe he said something disrespectful without meaning it. Whatever the case was, the mesmerizing creature lifted itself completely from the ground before stretching and slowly making its way toward Peter.
Even young as it was, a dragon the size of a horse was still worrisome when facing you this closely, and when his maw started opening, the werewolf thought “This is it”; but didn’t dare avert his eyes. Once again though, he was taken aback by the creature. Instead of burning him alive, the mythical being spoke to him.

- You are far more polite than I expect for a slayer. Far more soft-heart too. Most would have seen my young age as an opportunity to better kill me. You thought… You didn’t even think twice before putting away your weapon and kneeling, exposing yourself so. Why? Do you wish to die, wolf?

The dragon blinked slowly while observing the werewolf sent against him, eyes sharp despite the non-threatening posture. Those eyes were glimmering with something Peter couldn’t describe for the life of him, intelligence and this unknown emotion shining inside the pool of gold that were the dragon’s irises.
Seeing no reason to lie and not wanting to make the other wait, Peter decided to tell the truth about his coming.

- I was sent here as a punishment, a fatal quest no one would look at twice. You were made to be my executioner, the reason for my death, and the alibi for my true murderer.
- What about your bonds? You wolves have that, no? Wouldn’t it hurt your bliskich?
- I do not know what it means, but I’ll assume you’re talking about my Pack. I broke those before coming here. I do not wish for my nephews to feel my death. The rest of them are the ones that send me here in the first place.
- Hm. You do not have anyone to return to then? No one who thinks you are alive?

The dragon’s tone changed for his last question, and Peter didn’t know what to do about it. Should he want to kill him, the bonds shouldn’t have been a problem. But then maybe he did want for Peter to have bonds and thus for the rest of the Hale House to feel it. Either way, Peter didn’t have anything to lose anymore.

- I do not, no.
- Good.

Chapter Text

Before Peter could understand what was happening, the dragon smiled, a frightening sight with all those sharpened fangs, before his body began making horrible crackling sounds and the air around it turned even hotter than before. Protecting his face from the wave of heat that was making his heart speed, Peter didn’t see what happened, but once everything went back to normal, the soft sound of golden coins the only one ringing in the cave and the temperature coming back to a comfortable warmth, the werewolf looked again and was then stunned in place.

Where the magnificent dragon had once stood was now a young man, perhaps in his early twenties, so beautiful that he seemed unreal. He was the personification of Adonis, a masterpiece in his own right, a vision so bright and wonderful that it could only be a god.
Tousled dark brown hair was contrasting with an alabaster skin, smokey quartz flakes forming an unknown constellation upon it, moving softly with the motion of lithe muscles. The man’s face was the most striking of it all: his eyes, while not golden anymore, still had straw of it in the expanse of whiskey and dark bronze that had replaced it. Lush black lashes were casting shadows on those beautiful jewels, hypnotizing the wolf, like a moth and a flame.
The dragon now man smiled at the other’s blatant staring, and the movement shifted Peter’s attention to those lips, one of the most beautiful shades of pink he had ever seen. Once again, the werewolf couldn’t hold his tongue and spoke his mind.

- You are dashing, bewitching in any of your skins.
- Why, thank you, Slayer. I find you really pretty too, and since you came all this way, I supposed you wouldn’t be opposed to staying for a while, yes? The name is Stiles.

The dashing smile on Stiles’s face made speaking impossible, and Peter could only shake his head in an affirmative before mumbling his name in return. The dragon laughed at that, at the view of the fierce warrior turning mute in the face of him. Taking his hand, cold in comparison to Stiles’ own, the winged creature led the way back toward his nest, and Peter looked dumbly at his feet, walking on such precious objects, such that one single coin could feed a man for a couple of days.
He didn’t stop though, and noted that the fabrics were in fact as soft if not softer than he had thought in seeing them. Pelts, silk, and velvet create the most lavish mattress possible. Peter was drew in it by Stiles, the man already laying in a comfortable position, his pale skin contrasting with the dark colors around him, pulling all the attention to his naked self.
Peter gulped when his eyes trailed the slender body, his mouth drying at the perfect sight in front of him. Before he could embarrass himself, Stiles talked once again, voice sugary sweet.

- Come on Peter, let us learn to know each other. You’re mine now, I want to know all of you to offer you the care that you deserve.

Blinking again, and again, before his brain went back online, Peter could only repeat his soft exhale of an “oh” for the hundred times today, flashes of what he read on dragon popping in front of his eyes.
Dragons collect and cherish what they find pretty. Pretty . That's what Stiles had called him before. He was now part of the dragon’s hoard. He would be defended and taken care of for the rest of his life, if not Stiles’s one.
A strange sensation of calm washed upon Peter at the realization, and, looking around him, the wolf couldn’t find a single thing that would make him rethink his decision of leaning against one of the plush cushions of this nest and letting the dragon move so he was sprawling half on top of him, watching him with those fascinating eyes and smiling like the cat who got the cream.

Blinking once more, Peter smiled back and thought “This is it then”, but this time, he was happy about it, because this was the end of a life of servitude towards his sister, of hushed tones around him so he wouldn’t be able to hear, and of constant vigilance.
Feeling Stiles’ careful fingers caress his hair, the werewolf closed his eyes and sighed in contentment. The dragon was warm against him, heating his own skin and rekindling the flame that had died years ago in his chest. The flame of his will to live. Seeing the result of his sister’s heinous actions and careful plot to isolate the wolf made the wolf’s breath stutter, a single tear running down his cheek. In a matter of seconds though, warm hands were cradling his face, worried eyes peering into his own, and the freely given attention made him weep softly.

- Why are you crying, ukochany? What can I do to make it better?
- Would you believe me if I told you those are tears of joy?
- I will always believe you, there is no need for treachery between us.

Even more tears escaped the werewolf’s eyes at the absolute trust he was given, and Peter immediately wrapped his arms around Stiles, a silent thank you for this. The dragon started to purr, to Peter’s obvious surprise, the noise and vibrations soothing the wolf until he could calm himself again.
Softly putting his hands on Stiles’ back, the slayer decided to allege his mind and to tell his new partner everything. He talked about his and Talia’s childhood, when they were still close and loved each other, before their father, an abusive bastard that didn’t understand why the Hale Pack should stay a matriarchal one, started to play them against each other. He would have more of his time with Peter, spinning tales of how much fun they had in front of Talia when in fact he was grooming Peter for the Left-Hand role, or his version of it.
The old man was hell-bent on erasing any and all emotion from Peter, especially pain and fear. He would beat him bloody and ask him to get up again and again, would push him against hunters with no weapon and the strict interdiction to flee, or would torture him until he stayed calm even in the worse situation. Talia would be jealous of all the time they spent together, not knowing anything of the absolute hell it was, and thus grew to resent Peter.

Comments were also made by their father about Talia’s gender and how Peter would be such a better leader, seeing as he was a male and wouldn’t be incapacitated by menstruation or pregnancy. This argument was absolutely stupid and Peter had no want whatsoever to one day be the Alpha. Of course, his dear sister didn’t believe him when he told her as much and started training for the role with such determination that other members of the family fanned around her, repeating that she would be one of the greatest alphas the House had ever had if she continued this way.
She was so determined to prove their father wrong and gain his affection that when she got pregnant for the first time, she kept her duties until the very day of the birth, at which point she immediately gave the babe to a servant and went back to work. She changed her mind when she learned later on that the babe was a girl, and thus would be the next Alpha, but the following children, may it be Derek or Cora, were never held by their mother nor cared for, not truly, even if their grandfather wasn’t in the picture anymore.
That had been Peter doing of course, but he hadn’t acted on it for himself like some would think, he had done it for the pups. There wasn’t a world in which Peter would have let Derek go through what he had. When Cora was born, Peter had already started raising her brother, and naturally took her under his wing too, raising the both of them as his own, even if he wasn’t all that older than them.

When the werewolf talked about his nieces and nephews, a fond smile stretched his lips, his whole expression becoming kinder and Stiles couldn’t help but want to see it more often. Bringing the wolf impossibly closer, Stiles brought their gaze together and asked as softly as he could.

- Would you like them to join us? Come live here? Or in another of my homes, further west? Or maybe the old castle way North of here? There is space, and enough food for all of us without even going to hunt that often. Villagers bring me gold, fabrics, books, and anything I ask for once a month, I'm sure your hatchling wouldn’t be bored. Tell me and I’ll bring them here.

Peter looked at him with an awed expression, his heart fluttering wildly at the proposal, and he couldn’t help the vision of them as a family to form in his head. It would be a good life, and he could even continue to be a slayer if they moved far enough, maybe teach the kid to hunt too. Derek would love to have new books, and Cora would be delighted to run around mindlessly and discover new places in the wild. It could be a bright future for them all, but there was still an issue.

- They think me dead and are probably mourning. I can’t separate them from their family and turn their whole life upside down. I won’t dictate their lives like my sister did.
- Tell them you lived and give them a choice then. You said you were the Left Hand, as I understand, it means you had spies, yes? Use them. I can fly and give them a letter. I’m fast, even if I’m young. I can even provide coins if that’s the best way to keep their mouth shut, or threaten them if that would work better.

The mischief in the dragon’s eyes seduced Peter even more, it was enough to make him fall impossibly in love with the beautiful man and his sharp mind. Deciding that he was in his right to do so as he was his, Peter sealed their lips together, even nipping the bottom one to gain access to Stiles’s mouth. It wasn’t chaste by any means, but it was soft, a tender exploration to discover what the other liked. Stiles went boneless into the werewolf’s arms, and let himself be turned around so his back was pushed against the nest. It didn’t escalate, the moment being one of absolute tenderness and care, both men hugging the other, bringing their hearts as close as possible and quietly listening to the synchronized beat of it.

There wasn’t a doubt in Peter’s mind that they were made for each other, and he couldn’t wait to show his mate how good of a Left Hand he could be and how he could give him all the power he could ever want or need. By the quick way Stiles had proposed bodily harm, the werewolf could only rejoice thinking of the way they would defend their home together and make sure all were safe.
First, though, they had to go and see if the pups wanted this life with them. And, Stiles thought, see how long Talia would last without the man that was now his.

Chapter Text

Derek and Cora were hiding in the older’s room, drowning in the despair of their uncle’s death. Of course, they didn’t feel him die, but what other reason would he have to break their bonds while on a hunt? None.
They had felt a tug on their bond, before feeling it disappear. The resulting hollowness in their chest was agonizing. Peter’s bond had been so strong, the strongest of all of them. He had always been the closest family member to the siblings, making time for them and never belittling them for their lack of an official role. It was no secret that some members of the House didn’t want the two of them to stay, Derek because he wasn’t manly enough with his love of books and art, and Cora because she wasn’t feminine enough.

As it was, Cora hadn’t said a single word since the comfort of Peter’s bond was ripped from them, she just sat close to her brother, wide eyes looking into the void and clutching her favorite toy. She looked broken, the expression all the more striking due to her habitual fire and straightforward attitude.
Derek was not fearing much better: he had never felt quite comfortable in this castle, too many people looking at him with greedy eyes or hatred, and now that Peter wasn’t coming back, the young prince didn’t feel safe anymore. Even if he was young, he knew that the man had always kept an eye on him and made sure that nothing could happen, even if that meant bloodying his hands. Once the news of his trespass would be out though, every single person looking to weaken the Hale House would be at the door.

Taking a shaky inhale, Derek pulled his sister even closer to him and guarded the door while thinking about his new fate. Whether he liked it or not - and the answer was not- his mother would make him the next Left-Hand and asked him to kill for her. That wasn’t something he thought he could do, he was a scholar, a library rat some would say, and even if he knew how to fight, he didn’t like it. He was even less good at charming people like his uncle always did, earning their trust and discovering secrets from them.
He wasn’t made for the role at all.

While he was having his existential crisis, someone knocked softly at the door, making his hackles rise. Reluctant to let Cora alone, he decided to shout from his place, asking for the identity of the person. When the answer was « It’s Erica, sir. » he decided that it was safe enough to move and went to unlock the door.
Erica, one of the maids of the house, was standing there, and swiftly made a letter appear out of nowhere when she was sure that no one other than the prince was looking. Giving it to him, she came closer and started murmuring to Derek.

It’s a letter from your Uncle, delivered by Boyd minutes ago. He got it from a strange man with wings, saying that he came from Sir Peter and threatened bodily harm to come upon us if anyone was made aware of it. It was quite strange, but from what Boyd told me, that man gave him three gold coins for it, only to be sure your uncle’s secret was safe. I do hope this is good news, sir, because we never had a better leader than your uncle. Most of us wouldn’t have stayed if not for him.

Erica opened her mouth again as if to continue, but the noise of footsteps started resonating in the corridor, and she quickly bowed her head and fled, disappearing into the dark corner of the castle, once again proving why she was one of Peter’s spies.
Derek looked dumbly at the letter in his hands after having closed the door, going back to her sister who was now looking at him with a single glint of hope in her eyes. The older of the two gulped, eyes on the letter and doubt cloying his scent. Even if the mysterious winged man had Peter’s best interest in mind, it didn’t mean that Peter was still alive. At the same time… but no, no need to get his hopes up before he even read the content of this letter.
With shaky fingers, Derek cracked the golden seal and unfold the paper. It was definitely Peter’s handwriting and these details made both siblings’ breath caught. It read like follow:

Dear niece and nephew,

I am sorry for the pain I caused by breaking our bonds, but it was the only way to keep what I assumed would be my death from you. I was sent on a suicidal quest as punishment, and thus didn’t think I would make it.
You see, I had been sent to slay a dragon. I’m sure both of you understand that the fight in itself was already piped by my unease when faced with fire, but also by the sheer strength possessed by dragons. I broke the bonds once I was at the base of the dragon’s mountain, but as you can see, it wasn’t necessary.

I am still alive and well, better than ever if I am honest with myself. Stiles, the dragon I was sent to kill, had been nothing but helpful and caring. I didn’t think I would ever find someone I’d like to call mine, but Fate always had a special sense of humor, and this last mission was proof of this.
We talked, shared stories and dreams, and figured that we could make a life together. Maybe in the mountain, maybe in one of his other homes, we don’t know. But what is sure is that you two could join. You would love it there, and I’m sure the two of you would like Stiles. Derek, you would love his collection of books, some of them are first edition, others are just, well, pretty. Cora, you should see the labyrinth in the cave, there are so many rooms here, we’d have the greatest play of hide and seek.
I’ll visit the town from time to time, and I’m sure we could see each other there if you want. I hope you’ll join us, but we don’t want to pressure you nor to impose this new life.

If you decide you want to talk more, go to Boyd. He had met Stiles already and will know how to contact him.
Remember that I love both of you dearly. You mean everything to me.

Peter

Both werewolves read the letter several times, trying to come to terms with it and the fact that, even if Peter hadn’t written her name, it was obvious that the mission was one of their mother’s orders. Both betrayal and relief were thus fighting inside the young wolves, a side of curiosity being thrown in the mix too.
Knowing that Peter was alive was obviously good news, and even if their bond was broken, the reason behind it was understandable, compassionate even. The problem was Talia: she had planned the death of their only good parental figure -because let’s be honest, Peter was the one to raise them- and was now the only obstacle to Peter’s return. Yes, it would be good to go live with their uncle and his new partner, but the lands were their, had been since Alexandria Hale had claimed it. Abandoning it felt like a treason, an insult to their name.

Startling Derek, Cora finally talks again. Her voice was like steel and her eyes were boring holes into the letter in her brother’s hands.

- I want Peter back. Why can’t Talia just go?
- Even if she wasn’t queen, we’re not sure he would come back. He said he was happy. He never said that before, not when he wasn’t with us. Maybe it’s best for him to be away, Cora.
- But what if he wants to? He likes the town people, even has his whole spy army dote upon. You know like I do that they’re more Pack than the family is. What if the only reason he won’t come back is her?
- I don’t know Cora. You know I was never made to be a Left-Hand, I never learned to plan like this, I was raised as a master of knowledge, not anything else.What are we gonna say anyway? We can’t just murder her and let everyone know that the family is broken. It won’t go well, they’ll all come against us.

Cora hummed softly, deep in thought, while Derek was already thinking about contacting Boyd without looking suspicious. They would have to meet at the town market, directly at Boyd’s shop, because one thing was certain: whatever choice they will make, they will stay in contact with Peter.
The ideal outcome would be to find a way to destitute Talia without actually committing murder, since it would be bad for the whole House, but how? That was the question. Cora, as it seems, had an answer to that.

- What if we turned the townpeople against her and then put Laura in her place? We could say that Talia conspired against the House and that we chose justice. It would look like an example for all traitors, a reminder that no matter your place, treason will always be punished.

Blinking several times, Derek understood right then that his little sister would be the next Hale Left-Hand, and the need to dethrone Talia grew impossibly bigger in his chest. He couldn’t let her touch Cora. He needs Peter to teach her the way and change the vision of the Left Hand. He needs Laura to be a good regent and understand the importance of their uncle’s role. He needs time. Time to let both Laura and Talia see what happened to a House without a Left Hand, time to nudge his older sister in the good direction, to make her understand that Peter was needed. Time to redeem the House.
He said so to Cora, and both siblings started writing a letter to their uncle, explaining their plan and the need for more time, asking Peter to stay in contact and to be happy. They asked for his help with the finer detail of the plan and especially for the names of allies.
Afterward, Derek decided to go and see Boyd immediately, while Cora told him she would see if Erica would be willing to help, or more accurately, what she would be willing to do to help.

Boyd was a mountain of a man, son of the town’s blacksmith, who had taken over his father’s business when the man felt sick. Boyd had been 16 at the time, and Peter had been nothing but helping during the transition, making sure the townpeople continued to come here and trusted Boyd with their command despite his age. For this, Boyd would always be grateful and loyal to the man.
Peter had also offered him a side-earning as a spy of sorts, and had never shied away from rewarding him for any additional information or task accomplished. Unlike his sister, Sir Peter was generous with those who deserved it, and understood the villagers. He had helped many of them and gained their love without even trying.
For this reason, when Boyd had been summoned by a mysterious man in Peter’s name, he had gone to the meeting, and had delivered the letter without question other than “Is Sir Peter alright?”, which had granted him a smile from the curious creature. When Sir Derek came to him the very same afternoon of the delivery, Boyd knew something was up. The prince came to him with another letter, the Hale seal on it, and asked a favor from him. A favor. The concept was so strange, a noble asking a favor from a lower-class person, that the big man stayed silent, blinking owlishly at him before nodding slowly to show his agreement.

The favor was to gather the spies he thought as the more trustful, and to organize a meeting with them all. You can imagine the surprise of them all when the two younger royals came before them and related the events of the last three days, as well as their plan for the upcoming months. All the spies were shocked by the regent’s actions, and accepted immediately to help with her destitution. They had, after all, sworn allegiance to Sir Peter, not to the sovereign.
From there on, Derek and Cora weren’t alone anymore, and with each passing moment, they understood why Peter was so fond of those people. Together, they started planning Talia’s fall.

Chapter Text

Two months after the first letter had been sent from Peter, updates from the Hale lands were flooding the surrounding villages, hushed whispers about a duplication of attacks upon the territory and the declining quality of the Hale House’s protection. People were speculating about the Blue Slayer, as he was the one who was normally keeping the threat at bay. Cora and Derek had done a superb job with the rumors, asking Peter’s spies to inquire about him to their clients and then proceed to talk about what he did for them, and how good he was at keeping threats away.
Isaac had been particularly good at this, reminding people that Peter had saved his brother and him from an abusive house, from a traitor of a father who tried to kill nearby children too. The boy’s angelic face and puppy eyes were enough to melt people's hearts and make them talk about “the poor pastry cook next to the old Noah’s shop”.
The House had been forced to release an official story but, faced with the townspeople’s affection for the Left-Hand, couldn’t announce his death just yet. Thus, the statement made was that Peter had been sent against a dragon -true- and that the mission would be a long one, but that he would come back soon -also true, even if Talia didn’t know that.-

Peter was thrilled by this development, watching Talia’s peaceful reign slowly lose its gliding from Stiles’s northern castle. It was further north from Hale’s lands, next to a cliff deep into the forest, surrounded by nature but not too far from civilization either. The castle was beautiful, one of those constructions that used the territory’s topography and work from here, using natural materials and conserving the beauty of the place.
The werewolf’s favorite place was one of the decks that overlooked the cliff’s edge, providing an impressive view of the forest and the nearby villages. It created a sensation of liberty to be this high above the rest of the world, away from all and any problem. The place was also perfect for both men to shift in their other forms, Stiles enjoying diving from the cliff while Peter ran through the untouched forest, both meeting by the lake close by.

Peter was on the deck when Stiles joined him and gave him the news he gathered while in the market, a wicked smile on his lips and the usual glint of mischief that was always there when he talked about Talia’s failure. The dragon had such a hatred for the woman that he couldn’t help himself but go mingle with the villagers and whispered slender upon her, nothing really scandalous but still juicy enough that it would spread. The man would cackle madly anytime those little tidbits of information would come back to Peter and he, often by the bias of the merchants in the nearby market, and by the villagers from the mountain’s surrounding towns that still offered gold and other treasures to the big bad dragon living there.

They had moved out of the mountain not long after their encounter, once Peter had explained his role in the Hale House and the way he was treated by his family. The dragon had immediately asked him if he wanted to stay on Hale Lands or to go, giving him a billion choices, going as far as to ask if he wanted them to cross oceans to be sure Peter would be away from all this hate.
The answer was no, Peter didn’t want to move that far, but he would like to go live at the border of the lands, keeping a connection with it because his wolf demanded him to, probably because of all the Hale’s blood that nourishes the ground from centuries now, but also because of his attachment to some people still living here. The demand had been accepted without any fuss or questions, only a warning that they would fly there. It had been quite the experience.

Once in their new home, Peter had told Stiles about his sister, from their childhood to now, and the dragon had asked him if he wanted her heart as a gift, a proof of his love, all the while cradling him in his arms, keeping him warm. Peter would lie if he said he hadn’t hesitated. The offer in itself was a powerful one, a proper courting gift by werewolves standards as well as one of the biggest shows of devotion existing: it was the idea that Stiles would kill for him, would bloody his hands for him, and would still come back to him afterward to gift him the proof of it. But then, they received his nephews’ letter and knew they had to wait for them to make their move, thus focusing on their own relationship.
All in all, those two months had been amazing, Peter and Stiles had learned to know each other better, had discovered the others’ preferences and tasted some of them -Peter being absolutely appalled by some of Stiles’s favorite foods-, enjoying the vie à deux . Stiles was also getting closer to Derek and Cora, exchanging letters with them. He had directly loved Cora’s snark and Derek’s sarcasm and was already considering them part of his hoard too. When Peter had asked about it, curious because Stiles hadn’t seen them, the dragon responded that “beauty isn’t always physical. There is beauty in all things, tangible or not, and both of them had incredible souls.”. Peter had smiled at the answer, already seeing the four of them interacting together like a family, incredibly happy to know that he liked the two of them and plan to dote on them once they would see each other.
The werewolf couldn’t wait for the day when it would become reality, and from the last letter he received, he wouldn’t have to wait long: Laura had started to question her mother’s choices some time ago, and the kids had started to show their distance with Talia more and more openly, making some townspeople do the same. A couple of days was all it would take for them to put their plan into execution.
Oh, what a glorious day it would be.

Talia was having a bad day, a bad month, a bad couple of months even. Since Peter died, and had been declared “on a mission for a while” many enemies decided to come and attack the Hale lands, coming in ever-increasing numbers, attacking several villages at the same time, and killing both cattle and humans alike. It was terrible for her reputation, making her the first Hale Alpha to have an unpeaceful reign. She had half a mind to blame her brother for this, but he couldn’t do much from six feet under, could he?
She had tried her best to redirect the attention elsewhere, organizing the town's ball, forming new alliances, donating places on the upper market to villagers living outside of the town. She had even let the information of a future royal wedding out. She hadn’t said which one, since none were actually planned, but she thought that maybe good news could move the citizen’s minds away from Peter or the attacks.

Alas, here she was. Sighing, the regent asked the next person to come forward to voice their problems, already fed up with them. Yes, there were attacks, she knew. And yes, they haven’t seen Peter in a long time, she knew that too and it wouldn’t change anytime soon. Gods, she hated it. Why did their enemies have to come for her lands at the exact moment she had Peter killed! Now the townspeople had the idea that Peter was the one doing all the work and keeping them safe. Peter! . And the love and worry they were showing him was enraging her. What did he even do that made him worth all this? He was paid to kill and deceit, nothing else. A vulgar assassin with a powerful name.
Her family had told her time and time again that Left-Hands were not to be trusted and had to be kept away from the family’s center. They were soiled by their actions, even if they did it for the House, it didn’t change that fact. After all, a wolf’s eyes didn’t lie, and all Left-Hands were blue-eyed.
Plastering a false smile on her face, she listened to all the complaints, before retiring in her study for a while. She needed to send letters to Deucalion and Satomi to assure their help in the face of upcoming battles, but also to write to Ennis, a ruthless wolf that was still a new ally. Even if the inner peace of the territory was somewhat rattled, she needed to see that the outer peace stayed as strong as ever, explaining her choice to form a new uniting. She couldn’t afford any more waves.
The situation was so dire that she started looking for potential partners for her children: Laura was going to be Alpha after her, she was a great match and would probably bring a strong alliance to the Hale Pack. Derek was pretty and smart, he could fight if need be even if he wasn’t the best at it. Purely based on his body, you wouldn’t imagine that he was stuck in the library for most of the day, it wouldn’t be that hard to lie about it until the vow would be exchanged. Cora was probably a lost cause, but two out of three was already good, it would have to do.

Talia was in the middle of writing her letters when a loud bang rang into her room, coming from her door. Before she could even cross the study, the door burst open and guards rushed inside. Her first thought was “we’re under attack, this is the end of my house”, but when the guards grabbed her arms, she was at a loss. Even under attack they wouldn’t touch her with so much familiarity, they wouldn’t dare. So what was going on?

She was quick to ask this exact question, but no one answered, angering her fastly. The guards didn’t answer, the maids in the corridors didn’t answer, and when she was finally led into the throne hall, her children didn’t answer, only looking at her as if she was lesser. She had to wait until the Hale House as a whole was in the room, with a couple of townspeople, before she finally got an answer. Laura was the one to deliver it, her face the depiction of calmness and her voice made of steel. She talked like the Alpha she was supposed to become.

- Talia Hale, Alpha and regent of the Hale House, you have been summoned here to answer for your crimes against this House. I’ve been given proof of your treason, notably by sending your Left-Hand, Peter Hale, on a quest on the other side of our territory while being aware of upcoming attacks upon our lands. You are also accused of disrupting the alliances of the House and favoring Packs who would benefit from our downfall.

She was appalled by this. It couldn’t be true. Who would tell such slanders about her? Trying to dislodge the guard’s arms, Talia straightened herself, furiously scanning the people in this room, and was ready to kill when she saw some of the townspeople wearing a small emblem representing Peter’s own. Seeing red, she started screaming at them, asking about their allegiance and spatting her thoughts about Peter.

- What is this comedy? Who are you to wear such a disgraceful emblem? Don’t you know what he does? And let me guess, he’s the cause of all of this didn’t he? Gods, even in death he still finds ways of ruining everything.

Shocked gasps and whispers followed her statement, and the regent understood her mistake seconds too late, her eyes widening comically before she steeled her face and decided that, at this point, she could as well break their foolish hopes. Thus, when Laura asked about it, the Hale Alpha spat her venom with way too much glee to ever be found redeemable.

- Don’t be stupid Laura, what do you want him to do against a dragon? He can’t even add logs into the fire anymore, steering away from it at the smaller flame. Did you think him undefeatable? Four villages sent their best knights against the beast, what could he do that they didn’t? He’s an assassin and a deceiver, not a magic worker! He won’t come back.

An eerie silence followed Talia’s declaration, no one had thought that the queen could be this cruel, sending Sir Peter to fight his trauma on a suicidal quest. Even the oldest members of the House, those who had a deep hatred for Peter’s role, found this wrong. This was something a Left-Hand would do, something despicable that only one of those would do.
What Talia did was an act of treason against the House and the townspeople. It was not the behavior of an Alpha, not the behavior of a Hale. No, she needed to be brought down, erased from the family books and replaced by someone more competent. She needed to die.

As if aware of those thoughts, the Hale sovereign lashed out, screaming like a bean chaointe after the death of a son of Míl, spilling acidic sentences after another like Skaði’s snake, and let hatred consume her more and more as Grimhilde before her.
She was insulting the three of her children, as well as Peter and any person loving him, and was only cut in her monologue when Laura raised her voice and silenced the entire room. At this point, Talia had been brought to her knees by the guards, and when her older daughter came in front of her, she was forced to tilt her head to look at her.

- You cannot stay unpunished. You betray the kingdom and blemish our name. By the old laws, you will be executed. Any last words?

Before Talia could answer, the doors opened again, a vindictive smile showing on Cora’s lips in anticipation of what was to come. Here, on the threshold of the throne room, was Peter, alive and well, in his black armor, midnight blue coat of arms standing proudly in the center of his chest, and a stranger close by, gold and red covering his frame.
Cora took a couple of steps forwards, bowing her head in the two newcomers' direction, imitated by Derek, before she spoke, eyes boring into the former regent’s own.
- Uncle Peter is alive and well, as you can see. He sent a letter earlier to let us know he was offering an alliance to the dragon of the West Mountain, as it would favor us greatly. Let me introduce you to Stiles, last of the House Iskraogień, and new ally of the Hale House.

Amazed whispers and glances followed the entry of the two men, as well as Cora’s declaration, smiles forming on several of the witnesses’ faces before Derek came forwards in turn and recited the old laws and the prayer to the gods, signaling the end of Talia’s reign, and her life.
Peter and Stiles moved to be right in front of a flabbergasted Talia, and watched as Laura raised her hand, and in a swift motion ripped the regent’s throat, blood splattering in a deep red color on the floor, the same rich hue bleeding into the new queen’s eyes.

The shift of power was felt by the whole House and more, the land itself reacting to it, and all the people in the room bent the knee for the new regent of the Hale House. Once the rush of power left Laura, she immediately stated that the roles weren’t to change except for a formal demand of the person itself, and that no function will ever be disregarded again, under penalty of sanctions. She welcomed Stiles and they made their new alliance official the following day, announcing it at the Allies’ assembly the new Alpha organized to meet all of the other regents and established new rules with them.
In less than a month, Laura made it known that she wouldn’t tolerate any disrespect or signs of treason on her lands, and surrounded herself with advisors, two of them being Peter and Derek. Cora had started an apprenticeship with her uncle, learning everything there was to know to become the next Left-Hand.

Cora Hale was the 19th Left-Hand of the famous Hale House, a royal family perduring since the creation of Beacon County, their lands. They were the first to have two ruling towns on their lands, slaying the threats residing here and protecting the villagers, may they live north, south, west or east. All townspeople knew of the dragon who married the former Left-Hand and adopted the wolf childrens, reinforcing the Pack and the House’s influence all at once.
Cora was one of those children, and she couldn’t have asked for a better uprising than this.