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Chapter Text

The Dragon of Blackspire Ridge

The wind howled through Blackspire Ridge forest, sharp and biting, as Prince Derek Hale dismounted his horse and approached the mouth of the cave. His knights, Erica, Boyd, and Isaac followed close behind, weapons sheathed but hands ready.

“Are we sure this thing isn’t going to roast us alive?” Erica muttered.

“If he does, I hope he starts with Isaac,” Boyd said dryly.

“I’m flattered,” Isaac replied. “But I’d rather not be flambéed.”

Derek ignored them. The cave was quiet, save for the soft rustle of parchment. He stepped inside, and his breath caught.

Books. Thousands of them. Stacked in neat piles, arranged on carved stone shelves, some floating midair in gentle magical suspension. Scrolls, tomes, maps, knowledge from every corner of the realm.

And curled atop an extremely large bed wrapped in a pile of blankets and pillows was the dragon. Copper-scaled, sleek, and elegant, with eyes like molten amber and a tail that flicked lazily as he turned a page with one claw.

“You’re late,” the dragon said without looking up.

Derek blinked. “You were expecting us?”

“No,” the dragon said, finally glancing up. “But I figured someone would come eventually. Word gets around. I’m Stiles, by the way. Self-proclaimed guardian of knowledge, hoarder of wisdom, occasional fire hazard.” A tuff of smoke leaked out of the dragon’s mouth.

Erica snorted. “He’s snarky. I like him.”

In the months that followed, Derek returned to Blackspire Ridge multiple times. Initially, he sought advice from Stiles, who demonstrated a notable skill in problem-solving using rare texts and forgotten lore. Gradually, Derek began to spend more time at Blackspire Ridge beyond his initial purpose for visiting, establishing a consistent pattern of interaction with the knowledgeable and outspoken dragon.

The prince brought books. Rare ones. A treatise on magical flora. A banned philosophical text. A journal from a lost explorer.

Stiles would light up, eyes gleaming. “You brought me The Codex of Whispering Winds? This hasn’t been seen since the fall of Atlantis!”

“I had to trade three royal horses and a goat,” Derek said. “Don’t ask.”

Stiles laughed, a sound like crackling fire and wind through leaves. “You’re ridiculous. And kind of amazing.”

They talked for hours about history, magic, and ethics. Derek would sit on a cushion Stiles had conjured, sipping tea brewed from herbs that grew only in dragon fire soil.

One night, as Stiles read aloud from The Song of Two Souls, Derek leaned closer.

“I don’t bring you books just for the kingdom,” he said quietly. “I bring them for you.”

Stiles paused, voice soft. “I know. I’ve been saving space in my horde. For you.” The last part was said in a whisper, but Derek heard it and smiled.

It was just past dusk when Derek and his knights arrived at Blackspire Ridge, the scent of smoke sharp in the air. They were there to let Stiles know that they would be gone for a few days tracking a group of bandits that have been raiding towns all up the coast.

He dismounted quickly, heart pounding. The entrance was scorched. Not with dragon fire, but torches. The stone was blackened, and the air hummed with residual magic.

Inside, Stiles stood in his dragon form, wings half-spread, eyes blazing. Several shelves had been knocked over. Scrolls lay trampled. A rare tome, The Lexicon of Lost Realms, was torn in half.

“They came for the books,” Stiles growled, voice low and trembling. “Bandits. Treasure hunters. They tried to burn me out while I slept.”

Derek’s jaw clenched. “Are you hurt?”

“No, they didn’t know that dragons are fireproof.” Stiles sighed as he shrunk down to his beta shift, “But they got away with three volumes. Three, Derek.”

Derek turned to his knights. “Track them. Now.”

Erica nodded, already mounting her horse. Boyd and Isaac followed, grim-faced.

Derek stayed behind. He knelt beside the torn book, fingers brushing the ruined pages. “They’ll pay for this.”

Stiles pulled inward, voice quiet. “It’s not just paper, it’s history, forgotten knowledge and creativity.”

Derek nodded. “No one will touch your horde again.” He promised.

They found the bandits two days later, camping near the river, boasting about their haul.

Derek didn’t wait for diplomacy.

He rode in like a storm, sword flashing, eyes burning red. The knights flanked him, swift and silent. The bandits barely had time to draw weapons before they were disarmed, bound, and silenced.

Derek retrieved the stolen books himself, cradling them like wounded birds.

When he returned to the cave, Stiles met him at the entrance, eyes wide.

“You found them?”

Derek presented the missing volumes, “They’re safe. No damage. I personally inspected them.” Knowing how valuable the books were to Stiles. “And so are you.”

Stiles took them reverently, then looked up. “You fought for my horde.”

“Your horde is an extension of you, and I’d fight for that any day.” Derek said. “I’d fight for you.”

Stiles stepped forward, pressing a hand to Derek’s chest. “Thank you.” Stiles places a small kiss to Derek’s lips then skipped off to return the books to their proper place. Derek smiled.

Derek stood awkwardly at the entrance of Stiles cave. They had spent hours talking and reading, now before he lost his nerve he had to ask, “So… I was wondering if you’d like to meet my family.”

Stiles blinked. “You mean, like, in dragon form? Or should I glamor myself into something less… scaly?”

“Whatever makes you comfortable,” Derek said. “They’re curious. And they already like you.”

Stiles tilted his head. “They like me?”

Derek rubbed the back of his neck, “I kind of talk about you a lot. My mother keeps on asking when we are going to meet my…friend.” He paused and before Stiles could answer he continued, “Erica calls you ‘His Scaly Highness.’ Boyd keeps on commenting about how our librarian keeps on complaining about how many books have gone missing. Isaac wrote a ballad.”

Stiles groaned. “Oh gods. A ballad?”

“It’s actually pretty good,” Derek said, smirking. “He rhymed ‘scales’ with ‘tales.’”

Stiles laughed. “Alright. I’ll meet them. But if anyone tries to pet me, I’m setting something on fire.”

The meeting with the royal family went better than expected. Stiles showed up in a partial shift, he was smaller like this than he was a full dragon in his cave, but equally captivating. His face and body were still covered in shimmering scales that reminded everyone of autumn leaves.

Peter, the Queens brother and advisor, tried to outsmart the dragon but had to admit defeat when Stiles was able to outsmart him. “I’ve had a thousand years to learn, better luck next time.”

Queen Talia was gracious, even offering Stiles to take any book he wanted from the royal library. Laura teased Derek mercilessly by making kissy faces at Derek whenever Stiles wasn’t looking. The knights were smugly supportive, asking if Derek married the dragon would he move to the cave or would they have to build another library for Stiles.  

Derek just blushed.

The path to Blackspire Ridge twisted through the pine-thick forest, moonlight filtering in silver shards. Derek rode alone, the night quiet too quiet. Even the owls had gone silent.

He dismounted, senses prickling. The wind shifted. Derek turned to face the fowl smell that carried on the wind. A feral wolf and omega was close.

Then came the growl.

A blur of fur and claws lunged from the shadows, feral, fast, and wrong. The rogue werewolf’s eyes gleamed with madness, its body deformed and unnaturally strong. Derek barely raised his arm before he was slammed into the ground, breath knocked from his lungs.

The beast snarled, jaws snapping inches from his throat. Drool slid from the creature’s maw onto Derek’s face as he struggled to turn away, kicking and attempting to fend off the beast. He tried to reach for his blade hidden in his boot, but he was too slow. The wolf roared as it slashed at Derek cutting his cheek down to his neck.

A roar split the night responded.

Not human. Not beast.

Dragon.

The beast moved off of Derek to face his new attacker. Derek managed to roll over and stand against a tree and watch his dragon in action.

Stiles descended like a comet, wings slicing through the trees, fire trailing from his throat. He struck the rogue with a solid kick as he landed. The feral wolf landed fifty feet from them. As the beast tried to stand Stiles blasted him with a roasting fire that sent the feral wolf tumbling, howling in pain down the mountain. The forest lit up in gold and crimson.

Derek coughed, getting Stiles’s attention. “Stiles…that was…” He swallowed hard wiping the drool from his face, “amazing.” Derek smiled in awe of ten-foot dragon in front of him.

The dragon shifting mid-motion into his beta form, eyes blazing with rage. “You were late. I got worried.”

As they were talking the rogue managed to catch it fall and climb back up the mountain ready for another attack. The rogue lunged, but Stiles was faster. He raised his hand, murmured a spell, and vines erupted from the earth, binding the creature in place.

Derek stared, chest heaving. “You tracked me?”

Stiles said simply. “I knew something was wrong, your never late. Plus, I heard him roar. I knew that you were in trouble.”

Derek looked at the rogue, now snarling helplessly. “I’ll have my knights retrieve him and the emissaries and healers can rehabilitate him.”

Stiles stepped closer, intwined their hands and they slowly walk up the mountain to Stiles’s cave.

“You saved me,” Derek said once they reached Stiles’s cave.

Stiles didn’t look away from the hordes of books. “You’re part of my horde. That means you’re mine to protect.”

Derek chuckled softly. “You’re getting possessive.”

Stiles turned, eyes warm. “I’m getting serious.”

Derek reached out, brushing his fingers against Stiles’s. “Then I guess I’m yours.”

Stiles smiled. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”

As the months passed the seasons changed from summer to autumn. Derek fell more and more in love with the dragon and his horde. He and his knights spent hours and hours trying to find the right way for the Prince to purpose to Stiles.

One evening, as twilight painted the sky in hues of violet and gold, Derek stood in Stiles’s cave, holding a small book bound in leather.

He was nervous as he approached Stiles, “I have one more book for you,” he said.

Stiles perked up. “Oh? What is it?”

Derek opened the book. Inside was a ring, silver charmed to shift with Stiles and etched with the words ‘I love you’ set with a pale stone, opal, that shimmered like the moon.

Derek knelt on one knee as he asked. “Will you help me write the story of us?”

Stiles stared, stunned. “Are you…?” He shifted to his beta shift.

“Marry me,” Derek said. “Be my partner. My anchor. My flame. My mate.”

Stiles blinked rapidly, then laughed, a bright, joyous sound. “You absolute romantic. Yes. Of course, yes.”

He shifted more, his magic swirling around him, and in a flash, he stood in human form. It was the first time Stiles had fully shown Derek this form. He was beautiful with small moles dotting his cheeks, tousled hair and eyes glowing faintly amber.

“I’ve waited centuries for someone who saw me and not the dragon they feared.” he whispered. “And you brought me books.”

Derek smiled. “I brought you love.”

Derek embraced Stiles in a long kiss that expressed all the love of his heart for the dragon, his mate.

The wedding was held in the new royal library, surrounded by books and scrolls. Stiles wore robes embroidered with dragons and stars he chose to be wed in his human form. Derek wore a crown of silverleaf and a smile that didn’t fade.

When Derek took the throne after Laura stepped down they would rule together. They were known for their wise council, fierceness in battle, and with a library that grew larger every year.

And when enemies threatened, they didn’t just send armies.

They sent the dragon.

And his mate.

Chapter Text

The library smelled of cedar and parchment. Of warmth from the fire and earth from the stone minded from the mountain that made the library seem alive. Stiles had spent the morning reorganizing his shelves, not by genre or author, but by emotional resonance. The books that made him cry went near the hearth. The ones that made him feel scared/frightened lined up on the highest shelf, just beneath the skylight.

Derek had built this place for him; a wedding gift carved into the bones of the castle. Every stone whispered love. Every window was placed to catch the morning light just so. It was the only room in the keep that felt like Stiles’s cave. That he felt safe in.

He was sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by open volumes, when Derek entered.

“You’ve been quiet,” Derek said, setting down a tray of tea and honeyed bread. “You missed breakfast.”

Stiles looked up, eyes flickering gold. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous,” Derek teased, but his voice was soft.

Stiles hesitated, then closed the book in his lap. “I’m pregnant.”

Derek froze.

“I didn’t think it was possible,” Stiles continued. “Not with us. You’re a werewolf and I’m a dragon. I knew that male dragons could carry. I just never thought it possible.”

Derek sat down slowly, eyes wide. “You’re sure?”

“I sent a letter to my father asking if I was. I told him all my symptoms. And he confirmed it.” Stiles held up the letter.

Derek reached for his hand. “You’re not alone.”

“I know,” Stiles said. “But dragon births are solitary. It’s tradition. When the time comes, I’ll return to my cave. To the books that remain. I’ll nest there, surrounded by stories and silence.”

Derek’s grip tightened. “I hate that part.”

“I don’t,” Stiles said gently. “It’s how we come into the world. Alone, but surrounded by what we love.”

Later that evening, Stiles penned a letter to his father thanking him for the advice.  His father lived beyond the Northern Spine and had reached the age that he no longer had the strength to fly. The reply came days later, his father’s handwriting shaky but proud.

I wish I could be there, the letter read. But age keeps me close to home. You'll make a good parent, build your nest wisely and warmly. Make it a home that will enrich your little dragon.

Stiles cried quietly as he tucked the letter in the first book he hoarded, a weathered volume titled “Legends of the Skyfire.” It had once belonged to his mother, her name still scrawled inside the cover in delicate, looping script and the pages still smelling faintly of smoke, adventure, and home.  The story was a child’s version of the history of dragons, it was also a silent promise that his child’s, was only just beginning.

The months that followed settled over Stiles and Derek like a gentle, peculiar dream. Stiles’s skin took on a shifting shimmer, sometimes the faint glint of scales tracing his collarbone, other times a silvered pallor beneath his eyes when the moon rose full. His appetite veered into the strange, His cravings that sent Derek out on foggy dawns to scour the gardens and forests for wild mint and river stones, honeycomb drizzled with ash, and once an entire roasted hare, dusted with cinnamon stuffed with pinecones and lemons. Stiles would devour his odd meals curled among his books, murmuring quietly to the child within, telling stories of dragon Kings and wolf Quens. Telling the child the histories of both of the fathers.

Nesting became an obsession. He gathered blankets from all over the castle. If you found your blanket or pillow missing at night, it could be found in the library where Stiles had built his nest. The library took on a different look over the months, no longer were the books stacked neatly on the shelves they were stacked in winding spirals scattered around the nest.

Derek watched, torn between worry and wonder, as Stiles rearranged the library almost every day, and he became more protective of his mate and child. He had three most trusted guards posted outside the library and most days he would be nestled next to his dragon reading and dreaming about the future.

As the time grew near, Stiles would make the journey to his cave bringing with him books, and pieces of his nest in the castle library. The Knights were tasked to help him carry everything that he needed. Derek would often drag the cart filled with books up the mountain, not allowing anyone to help him.

Inside the cave the air thickened with anticipation, low humming magic and restless from both parents to be. Derek always stood guard, forsaking his duties as a Prince to remain by his mate’s side. He’d marvel at Stiles’ strength, his ability to nap for days, his fortitude to endure the pains of pregnancy. At night Derek would join him on Stiles giant bed of stollen blankets and pillows and curl around his mate an child whispering promises of things to come.  

As the time drew closer he would pace the cave his tail trailing sparks with every step and the deepening scent of ozone told everyone that he was days away from birth.

Stiles woke Derek late one night, “Derek, my prince. I think it’s time.”

Derek woke with a startle then a panic, “It’s time. It’s time. It’s time.” He kept on repeating as he dashed around the cave.

Stiles just laughed at Derek’s antics, “Love, I need you to leave.”

Derek fell to his knees in front of the dragon, “Are you sure.”

“Yes, it’s the way it has always been and will always be. I need to deliver alone.”

They have and several debates about this over the months, in the end Derek knew that it was Stiles’s tradition, and a compromise was made. Derek would be allowed to remain close to the cave entrance and others would have to stay in the tree line, until he called for them.

On the longest night, the moon heavy in the sky, Stiles felt the first true pangs. He sent Derek away with a nuzzle and a promise, “I’ll call if I need you.” Derek obeyed, kissed his mate’s hands and left for the entrance of the cave. Once outside he let out a loud howl calling his pack. Then he laid at the cave’s threshold, claws dug into the moss, and red eyes fixed on the dim flicker within.

By dawn, the royal family, swathed in midnight-blue cloaks, stood in solemn vigil a respectful distance from the cave mouth, the knights forming a silent guard. No one spoke, but all watched, hearts tight with anxious hope.

Inside, Stiles labored alone but not lonely. He rode each wave of pain with the memory of his mother’s warmth and his father’s steady words. The old stories echoed in his mind, and he whispered them to his child as the world narrowed to breath, heartbeat, and fire.

At sunrise, a newborn cry broke the hush. It was a thin, wild, triumphant howl that drove Derek into the cave. A spark of silver flame danced above Stiles’s palm as he cradled the tiny creature against his chest. The child was perfect: skin dusted with downy scales, a shock of dark hair, and eyes the color of new leaves in spring. Little claws flexed, a tufted tail curled around Stiles’s wrist, and as the baby yawned, with a miniature growl of a baby wolf.

Derek’s breath caught at the sound. He fell to his knees beside Stiles, awe and relief written across his face. The royal family and their knights waited, holding their silence, until Stiles’s laughter, raw, joyous rang out. Only then did the world exhale.

Stiles pressed a kiss to the baby’s brow, nestling their child among the books, the letters, and the dreams of generations. “Welcome, little one,” he whispered. “Your story is just beginning.”

Chapter Text

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