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Silver burned like liquid fire through Martyn's veins, pulsing outward from the arrow stuck in his thigh. His left wing was leaving a blood trail behind him, torn where another silver tipped arrow went through the membrane. The clearing, which moments ago had seemed a safe place to catch his breath, now was a trap closing around him as five hunters circled with drawn weapons and hungry eyes.
"Look at those scales," one of the hunters whispered. "Blue as the winter sky. Worth a fortune to the right collector."
"The horns too," said another, this one tall with shoulders broad enough to block the sun. "I've heard dragon horn powder can cure any ailment."
Martyn bared his teeth, a growl building in his throat. The silver poisoning was already spreading through his system, preventing him from shifting fully into dragon form. He was stuck in the half-form - human torso, hands and face, with wings, horns, and scales covering his paws and fingers. His claws dug into the dirt as he fought against the pain. If only he could transform… they all would be one big pile of minced meat already.
"Don't damage the merchandise," cautioned the leader, a woman with a voice like gravel and a crossbow aimed at Martyn's heart. "Silver keeps it from changing, but it's still dangerous."
She wasn't wrong. Even wounded, Martyn could take down two, maybe three of them. But five? He cursed his own carelessness. He'd been too confident, too comfortable around those people who proposed a quick job hunting - allowed them to notice his dragon nature, didn’t react fast enough when his deception was discovered.
"I'll take more than a few arrows to kill me," Martyn growled. "And I'll take some of you with me before I go. So, who’s going to be the first?”
The hunters tightened their circle. Martyn shifted his weight and inhaled, feeling the deep frost growing in his chest, magic ready to freeze them solid. One blast was all he had in him after the long fight and chase. He'd make it count.
Then came the howl. One of the hunters screamed, his shoulder pierced by an arrow. The rest tried to protect themselves from the new danger, confused and disoriented. Martyn didn’t waste a moment. He unleashed his frost breath at the two nearest hunters. Ice crystals cowered their bodies, freezing them in place. The other hunters scattered when a large brown wolf - or was it a dog? - burst through the bushes. Their will to fight obviously wasn’t strong enough to face both a wounded dragon and a wolf, so just in a few moments they were gone.
Martyn glanced at his saviour. The wolf's form began to shimmer and change. Where the beast had stood now crouched a man with tousled brown hair, fluffy dog ears twitching atop his head, and a bushy tail swishing behind him. He wore unassuming clothes and had a bow slung across his shoulder. His blue eyes looked both concerned and weary as he stepped closer.
"Easy there," the stranger said, hands raised peacefully. "I'm not here to hurt you."
Martyn noticed the fibula on his green woollen cloak - the werewolf was one of the royal rangers.
Martyn's claws remained ready, frost still curling from his nostrils as he watched the approaching man.
"Royal ranger," Martyn said, “Why did you help me? It’s legal to hunt in those forests.”
“It’s not legal to hunt people."
Martyn let out a short laugh that turned into a whine when the arrow shifted in his thigh. "People? That's generous of you, considering what I am."
Up close, Martyn could see that the ranger had a handsome face — strong jaw, and those startling blue eyes now filled with worry. The ranger's ears flicked forward, a distinctly canine gesture that would have been cute if Martyn wasn't bleeding out in a forest clearing.
"Dragons are people too, aren't they? You talk, you think, you bleed." His gaze dropped to the spreading crimson stain on Martyn's leg. "Speaking of which, we need to get that arrow out if you want to get your shapeshifting abilities back any time soon.”
"And why would you—" Martyn inhaled sharply, stopped by a wave of dizziness that crashed over him.
The pain was too strong now that the immediate danger had passed. He slumped forward, catching himself on his hands. The ground was wet under his palms, but the leaves covering it looked suspiciously comfortable right now.
"I'm Ren," the werewolf said, kneeling beside Martyn. "Royal ranger and the most handsome werewolf in this forest. That arrow needs to come out.”
"Royal ranger? That's a fancy title for a dog chasing squirrels in the woods.”
Maybe Martyn should’ve been more friendly to a person who had his life in their hands, but the pain made him snappy. Ren only smiled in response.
"And what should I call you besides 'ungrateful dragon'?"
"Martyn," he replied, wincing as Ren probed the wound. "And I'm not ungrateful. Just wondering what a royal anything is doing in the middle of nowhere."
Martyn's mind was already racing, looking for angles, advantages. If this Ren was naive enough to help an unknown dragon, what else might he be convinced to do?
"This doesn’t look that bad. I think silver is the main problem here... Can you stand?" Ren asked, ignoring the question. "There's a hunting hut not far from here. I can treat your wounds properly there."
Martyn nodded, though the thought of walking made him shiver. Ren moved to his uninjured side and slipped an arm around his waist, careful to avoid the damaged wing.
"Lean on me," Ren instructed. "I'm stronger than I look."
Martyn bit back a response about not needing help —he clearly did— and let the werewolf take some of his weight. The first step was pure agony, but soon he'd settled into a rhythm of pain that was almost bearable.
"The hut is a ranger shelter," Ren explained when they moved slowly under the red and yellow trees. "It should be empty now. Rangers usually stay here in spring and summer, not autumn."
Martyn studied Ren from the corner of his eye, noting details that seemed at odds with his story. His accent was too refined for someone who spent his life in the woods. There were a lot of marks from wearing rings on his fingers. And there was something in the way he carried himself, even while supporting Martyn's weight…
"You're no ordinary ranger."
Ren tensed slightly. "Er… Yes I am! What else would I be?"
Martyn decided not to push. Not yet. Better to let Ren believe he had the upper hand until Martyn's strength returned. Better to be underestimated. But deep down, Martyn was thrilled about his little hunch. A handsome man with secrets had just saved his life. Martyn would repay the favour by taking whatever he could from him. It was only fair, after all.
The hut appeared through the trees - a simple wooden building with moss-covered roof and a small chimney that promised warmth. Martyn's legs trembled beneath him. Ren tightened his grip around Martyn's waist, taking more of his weight as they stumbled forward. Then Ren froze, his ears perking up, and Martyn heard it too: voices coming from the hut's open door.
"Two nights' rations should be enough," an annoyed voice said. "We'll reach the northern post by sundown tomorrow anyway."
Ren pulled Martyn behind a massive oak tree, pressing a finger to his lips. The sudden movement sent a wave of pain through Martyn's thigh, and he bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Blood seeped through his pants, warm and sticky against his skin.
Through the branches, Martyn could see a man and a woman, both with fibulas that marked them as rangers, checking supplies and weapons outside the hut. One tested the string of a longbow while the other secured packs to a pair of tired-looking horses. They were efficient, practiced, the kind of people who spent their lives in the wilderness.
"Did you hear something?" the man asked, pausing.
Martyn's damaged wing twitched involuntarily. Ren pressed closer, his body against Martyn's side, his breath felt hot on Martyn's neck. If Martyn tried to move and alert the strangers, Ren would surely transform and break his neck with one bite.
"Nah, I didn't," the woman dismissed his concern. She glanced at the sky. "We should move. I don't like the look of those clouds."
Ren and Martyn remained frozen behind the tree when the rangers mounted their horses and rode off. Only after the forest fell silent did Ren relaxed and let Martyn go.
"Come on," he whispered.
The last few steps to the hut were the hardest. When they finally crossed the threshold, Martyn collapsed onto a wooden chair, the sudden relief of weight off his leg almost as painful as standing had been.
"Why the fuck were we hiding from your fellow rangers?" he demanded, His voice was ragged and the words tasted like iron in his mouth.
Ren secured the door and moved to the small hearth, where embers still glowed from the previous occupants' fire. He added kindling and blew gently, coaxing the fire back to life.
"Ugh. They're not all my fellows anymore," he said quietly. "Some are. Some aren't. I can't tell which is which these days."
Martyn studied the tension in Ren's shoulders, the way his ears pressed against his head. "That's not an answer."
Ren sighed and turned to face him. "I… I don’t know how to put it, but… Ok. Fine. I might be an idiot for telling you this, but… I’m the Crown Prince of Dogwarts.”
Martyn blinked. Then, despite the pain, he laughed, "Of course you are. And I'm the Fairy Queen."
"I wish I were joking," Ren said, turning away to begin boiling some water. "Have you heard about the prince being ill? My uncle poisoned me three months ago. Made it look like I'd contracted some unknown sickness. The late queen, my poor mother, couldn’t take it - she was already very weak, and the stress of seeing her only child dying finished her. When the healers couldn't cure me, my uncle suggested a specialized treatment that required privacy." His hands clenched into fists. "The 'treatment' was an assassin with a dagger."
"Yet you're here," Martyn observed.
His mind was racing through the implications. A prince on the run. A usurper on the throne. Possibilities expanded before him like a game board, pieces waiting to be moved. Oh, if only the silver in his wounds didn’t hurt so much!
"I was lucky. A friend warned me just in time." Ren moved to a small chest in the corner and began pulling out medical supplies. "I escaped with nothing but my life.”
"And now your uncle hunts you," Martyn said.
Ren nodded. "The rangers report to the crown. Some are loyal to me, others to my uncle. I can't risk revealing myself until I reach Lady False. She is my friend… but more importantly, she doesn’t like my uncle and the way he looks at her copper mines.”
Martyn licked his dry lips. A prince would have access to treasures, to magic, to power. And this one seemed remarkably trusting — he opened up so quickly, and hadn't even questioned why Martyn himself had been with the monster hunters while in human form.
"Why tell me all this?" Martyn asked, genuinely curious. "I could be anyone. I could sell you out to your uncle for the right price."
Ren's eyes met his. "You could. But you won't."
"Such confidence." Martyn frowned. "What makes you so sure?"
"Because I saved your life! And in my experience, dragons repay their debts."
Martyn didn't correct him. Let the prince believe in his honor if it served Martyn's purpose. Better than pointing out that, according to Ren’s own words, dragons were people, and people were shitty untrustworthy creatures. Especially people like Martyn.
"Well," Martyn said with a pained smile, "it's not every day a handsome prince comes to my rescue. Oh, if only I were a beautiful damsel!"
"You look as beautiful as any damsel would in the middle of the forest, covered in shit, dirt and blood," Ren replied, getting closer to examine the arrow in Martyn's thigh. "Though I imagine most damsels would have fainted by now, rather than making jokes with an arrow in their leg."
Martyn blinked, unable to tell if the prince was joking or making a sincere but terrible compliment. The confusion was oddly disarming.
"I've never been much for fainting," Martyn said finally. "You never know where you land."
"Good," Ren replied, his expression growing more serious the longer he studied the wound. "Because removing this arrow is going to hurt more than getting shot did.”
Ren moved around the small hut, gathering clean cloth, a clay jar of what looked like herbal and honey salve, and a flask of alcohol, strong enough that Martyn could smell it from across the room. He helped Martyn to get rid of his ruined pants, then knelt to examine the arrow more closely, his fingers gently probed the hot skin around the wound. The touch hurt, but also was strangely comforting. It has been so long since anyone touched Martyn without a hostile intent, and Ren wanted to help…
"If I try to pull it back out the way it went in, it'll tear everything apart on the way,” Ren said.
Martyn gritted his teeth. "Just push it through.”
It was stuck in the side of his thigh anyway, right above the line where the scales of the dragon paw ended and the human leg began. There was not much meat there, mostly skin and fat. Mostly.
"That's what I was thinking," Ren said, though his voice carried reluctance. He took a deep breath and handed Martyn the flask. "Drink. It won't dull the pain much, but it might take the edge off."
The liquor burned down Martyn's throat, fighting the cold spread of silver in his blood. He watched as Ren took the pot of boiling water off the fire, then returned to kneel between Martyn's legs. The position was strangely intimate — Ren's face level near Martyn's thigh, his hands steady on Martyn’s naked leg. Oh, if only Martyn had the energy to come up with a joke about pretty men kneeling in front of him! It would surely make him feel better.
Ren used the wet cloth and then the alcohol to clean the skin around the wound and where the arrow would be coming out on the other side.
"Ready?" Ren asked, looking up.
Martyn nodded, not trusting his voice.
Ren pushed.
The scream that tore from Martyn's throat was barely human. Silver fire exploded through his body when the arrowhead burst through his flash. His vision went white, then black around the edges. When awareness returned, he was slumped forward in the chair, Ren's strong hands keeping him upright.
"Breathe," Ren whispered.
Blood poured hot and thick down Martyn’s leg, pooling on the wooden floor. Martyn whined like a wounded animal. Ren broke off the barbed tip of the arrow and pulled the rest of it out.
"The worst part's over," Ren said, already pressing a cloth against both sides of the wound to stop blood. The cloth soaked through, red blooming across the fabric. “The bleeding seems manageable, I don’t think we need to close this with fire.”
Martyn's consciousness threatened to slip away. He fought against it, focusing on Ren's face, on the concerned line between his brows, on the way his tongue poked out slightly in concentration. He didn’t expect a prince to have medical skills.
"You've done this before."
"More times than I'd like," Ren admitted, applying a fresh cloth with a salve on it. " Though you’re my first dragon."
Once the bleeding slowed, Ren cleaned everything thoroughly with water, and applied more alcohol around the wounds. His movements were methodical, yet somehow gentle. He spread the herbal salve before binding Martyn's thigh with clean bandages.
"Now for your wing," Ren said.
“I can do it myself,” Martyn lied. “It’ll need some very careful stitches.”
"You can barely sit upright,” Ren frowned. “So focus on doing just this and I’ll take care of the rest.”
Something in his tone made Martyn's protests die in his throat.
The torn membrane was less painful than the thigh wound, but more delicate. Ren worked in silence, cleaning the ragged edges where the arrow had ripped through, applying the same salve. Fortunately, there was a surgical needle among the medical supplies. Ren stitched the membrane, and Martyn had to admit he did a passible job at it.
"It should heal," Ren said, washing blood from his hands in a bucket. "Dragons’ healing is strong, from what I've heard.”
“Not as strong as werewolves’,” Martyn said. “And I can’t even shapeshift to speed it up.”
Martyn flexed his wing experimentally. The wing would indeed heal, but for this needed to let it rest, even more so than the other wound. There would be no flying in his near future… and no turning into a dragon - silver stayed in him for so long, he'd need at least a week to recover. Not the best position to find himself in.
While Martyn contemplated this, Ren was preparing a simple meal. He retrieved dried meat and vegetables from a storage chest, added water and porridge, and set the pot over the fire to simmer.
Martyn watched him work, calculating. A prince would have access to the royal treasury. To magical artifacts kept under the castle. To secrets worth more than gold. If Martyn helped Ren reclaim his throne, those treasures might be within reach. Oh, he could steal the most precious artifacts! Or perhaps he could find a way to usurp the throne himself, after all, dragons had ruled mortal kingdoms before.
Or, most simply, he could sell Ren to his uncle. A betrayal would earn him gold and possibly favor with the new king, even though dealing with usurpers was always risky. They tended to betray their allies very fast. And Ren did help him after all. Saved his life, tended to his wounds, cooked him some food… Speaking of food.
"I’m not a cook," Ren said, interrupting Martyn's thoughts as he handed him a bowl. "But it's better than nothing. "
Martyn hadn't realized how hungry he was until that moment. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the only sounds the crackle of the fire and the occasional howl of wind outside.
“You’re also not a doctor, but you've done a fine job with my wounds. Where does a prince learn such skills?"
Ren's tail twitched, and a genuine smile appeared on his face.
“Well, I am an actual royal ranger! I trained with them when I was a boy, and even got formally accepted into their ranks. You, my scaly friend, have no idea what we did in those woods!”
He went on, telling Martyn about his training and all the shenanigans he got into with the other youth during it. Ren was talking about it with such enthusiasm. It was endearing, in a way that made Martyn's chest tighten uncomfortably. This wasn't supposed to happen. He wasn't supposed to find idiots charming.
They finished their meal and Ren said, suddenly serious, "I can't stay with you for long. It's too dangerous for both of us. It’s better if I get some sleep and leave in the morning.
Martyn considered his options. Being abandoned in his current state wasn't ideal. Not to mention that he didn’t want to lose this opportunity…
"Stay with me just for one day," Martyn said, letting a hint of vulnerability creep into his voice. "So I can rest properly. I’m a dragon, it’ll be enough for me to start walking again. After that..." He hesitated, as if the words were difficult. "After that, I could serve you. Follow you, if you'll have me. Wounded or not, I still have my magic and knowledge.”
Ren looked up, surprised. "You would do that? Why?"
Martyn shrugged.
"You saved my life. As you said, dragons repay their debts. After all, it’s not like I have anywhere else to go.” The lie came easily; the truth not so much.
Ren studied him for a long moment, then a wide friendly smile bloomed across his face, transforming it, making him look younger. "I could use an ally," he admitted, wagging his tail. "Especially one who breathes magical ice.”
“Then it’s a deal!”
Soon the light falling through the small window grew dimmer. There was no bed, only a bedroll and a long chest, too narrow for two people to sleep on, especially since Martyn was quite big in his half-form. So Ren fashioned a makeshift bed for him near the fire, using spare blankets, straw and his own cloak as a pillow.
"Get some rest," Ren said, checking Martyn's bandages. "You don’t have that much time.”
Martyn didn't argue. The events of the day had exhausted him. The feeling of a full stomach and the fire's warmth were making his eyelids heavy. He curled up under blankets, careful of his injured wing, and watched through half-closed eyes as Ren settled on the chest.
As sleep began to consume him, Martyn's thoughts drifted to the treasures that might lie beneath the royal castle, the titles he might claim, the power that could be his if he played this game correctly. He would use this stupid, handsome man and his naive trust, would steal everything he could from him… Maybe Ren himself included. After all, wouldn’t it be nice to have a prince or even a king serving him like this?...