The Hoard

Kaelen turned Elian around, lifting him effortlessly out of the water. He didn't set him down on the cold stone. He carried him to a pile of furs in the driest corner of the cave.

The dragon wrapped Elian in a massive pelt that smelled of smoke and musk. He sat down, pulling Elian into his lap, tucking the furs around him until Elian was a cocoon of warmth.

Elian rested his head on Kaelen’s shoulder, exhaustion finally overtaking the adrenaline. He looked up at the scarred, golden-eyed man who held him as if he were made of precious glass.

"I have nothing to offer you," Elian whispered sleepily. "I have no gold. I have no skills."

Kaelen ran a hand down Elian’s back, over the fur. "I have enough gold to fill a mountain," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a soothing purr. "I do not need more metal. I need warmth. I need something soft to keep the silence at bay."

He tilted Elian’s chin up, his thumb brushing the corner of Elian’s mouth.

"You are the hoard now, Elian. You stay. You warm my bed. And I keep the world away."

Elian closed his eyes, leaning into the palm of the beast who had saved him. For the first time in his life, the future didn't look like a cage. It looked like a fortress.

"Okay," Elian breathed, a smile touching his lips. "I stay."

Kaelen grunted in satisfaction, pulling the furs tighter. In the heart of the Emerald Deep, the dragon finally rested, guarding the only treasure that mattered.