Now you're all probably thinking "Huh, this story used to have 8 chapters. Where'd they go?" Well, to answer you're question, they've been deleted! But don't fret, they'll be reposted. This story underwent intense editing and now we're back!

It's finally arrived! *intense music*

A few notes before we dive in:

1) Keep in mind the rating - "Mature" that's mostly for vulgar language *glares at Wade* and adult themes.

2) This is kind of a really long chapter. I love long chapters, but I don't it can be daunting to some people, so I'm just throwing it out there. This is a long chapter (roughly 8,000 - 9,000 words), so those who stay till the end, see ya down there! ;)

That's all! Now, let's get into some slow burn, medieval fantasy SPIDEYPOOL! Whoop! Whoop!

It was just past morning and Wade was already rekindling the idea of murder.

Don't get him wrong, murder was usually at the top of his mind, and right now he was very, very close to fulfilling his instinctive nature toward anything that annoyed him. But every time his fingers edged toward his knives, the righteous gleam of the Captain's presence was like a rope gently tugging his hands away. It worked, sadly. The son of a bitch wasn't dead yet. But come midday, Wade wasn't going to promise anything.

His prodigious respect for Captain Rogers was enough to keep his swords in their scabbards, but on the other hand, it did little to keep Francis' braying voice from shouting in his ear like the world's most conceited donkey.

"Top of the morning to you, Wilson," the donkey called, pulling his palfrey to a looming stop beside Wade, purposely casting a long shadow over him as if the added inches made up for his lacking height. "Forgive me, but I thought the tailor shop was back in the kingdom. I'm sure they've finished your evening-gown by now."

Somewhere off to the side, Captain Rogers was giving instructions to the members of the troop still saddling their palfreys, but he was close enough that it would catch his attention if Francis suddenly inherited a sword through his gut. His insults weren't even good (if they could be called insults at all, evening gowns were quite fun to wear), but the mere fact that Francis saw it fit to talk to him this early in the morning was offensive in itself.

Rolling his eyes widely, Wade turned from the saddle he was fiddling with in an elongated twirl and shot a painfully bright smile at his "comrade". It probably didn't get past the heavy red cowl cast over his head, but he could only hope Francis had the mental capacity to take a hint.

"For your information, Francis, " he grinned nastily at the way it made Francis's jaw clench, "my gown isn't scheduled to be ready till I get back. But don't you worry," he winked, "I'll still be the prettiest girl at the ball."

"That's not my name," Francis growled, inching his palfrey forward with a hand ghosting over his swords hilt. Wade grinned wider. The threat was as obvious as the popping vein in Francis' forehead, but it was hardly impressive. While Francis was, admittedly, good at swordplay, Wade wasn't worried about a fight. It wouldn't be his first tussle with the guy and it wasn't likely to be the last either. But with the troop prepping to leave the islands small port-side settlement, and start their hike up the steep mountain of Batl'Ar, there just wasn't time to knock ol'Francis down a foot or two.

"Oh, beg your pardon, I must've stuttered?" Wade cooed, splaying a hand delicately over his chest. "Let me try again. Was it Francy? Franchesko? My little Franny?"

The vein popped bigger and redder, and not in an erotic way. With a barking laugh, Wade went back to saddling his palfrey, adding a quick "See you on the road, Francie," over his shoulder as Francis jerked his horse away. Cause that's all the guy was. Big bark, little bite.

Now don't get him wrong, Wade still wanted to the run the pointy-end of his sword through Francis's gizzard, but it never failed to brighten his day when it was spent mocking his fellow ingrate . There was something about hearing Francis's teeth grind that made the world sing. By this time tomorrow, his teeth would be as worn and weathered as an old crones. Wade liked to fantasize about kicking his team in himself, but he'd settle for a hearty tooth-ache just the same.

Still tee-heeing under his breath, he finished buckling the saddle under the belly of his horse and stood, rubbing the brown and white speckled coat warmly. She turned her head toward him and roughly nudged his shoulder with her long nose, likely looking for the molasses cubes he kept as a treat. She only seemed to like the sickly sweet ones that made the world go all coo-coo and fuzzy when you ate them.

Not that Wade ate horse cubes on a regular basis. Just on dark, lonely nights when he was drunk off his ass, hallucinating, and wondering what the fuck made this little square so special. But you know, given that they were for horses, they weren't bad.

"Easy there, Blind Al," Wade pushed her nose away from the pouches on his belt. She had a habit of chewing on them, and he refused to lose his genitals to her horrendous sweet tooth. Not many people knew of his peculiar healing abilities, only a select few, and while it could be helpful at times - like regrowing your junk - it still hurt like a bitch. He had to waddle-walk for almost a week last time it happened.

He patted the side of her neck somewhat bitterly, adjusted his pants near the crotch, and snuck another withered glance at Francis, who was snapping venomously at his soft merry band of goons.

Sniggering, Wade leaned in close to Blind Al, as if to share a secret, "He actually expects us to call him Ajax," he jeered, and Blind Al whinnied impatiently, stomping her hooves into the dewy hillside grass. Her interests obviously weren't in the petty human name-game.

"For such an old horse, you'd think you would've mellowed out by now," he told her as he flipped the reins over her head. She nickered again, which he took as whole-hearted agreement.

Compared to the other young and fresh palfreys of the group, Blind Al looked positively ancient. She was older than every animal sharing the hillside, with her raggedy gray-streaked mane, frail-looking legs, and milky white eyes - due to going half-blind sometime in her ungraceful aging. Or maybe she was just born that way, Wade didn't know. She was as cranky as she was old, and a hell of a lot more stubborn. Why he picked her for his outing was beyond the comprehension of himself and everyone involved. With a man as tall and packed as he, everyone had expected him to fight for the stronger, younger-looking horses.

But Wade was never one to stray from breaking expectations.

He liked her spunk. Besides, she was a lot stronger than anyone gave her credit for, and has easily handled his weight since the first day he's ridden her. Which, frankly, had been just yesterday, and had also ended with him getting bucked off into a pile of manure.

Damn you, Al.

But, if he wasn't lying to himself, he'd say there was a touch of sentiment behind it too. Within the miniscule window of time they've been together, Blind Al got along with him better than most people did in his lifetime. She also listened to his jokes without complaint.

All the palfreys were born and bred right there on the island, and trained to navigate its terrain from birth. They could climb these mountains easier than any person could, with twice the stamina and strength, in half the time. The breeder even gave them his certified promise that they wouldn't be any problems. Even commended Wade for choosing Blind Al. She was the strongest of the stock, and had bred quite a few good palfrey in her day.

Blind Al stomped her hooves again, as if she knew what he was thinking about, and tossed her head, letting out a high whinny.

"Alright you cranky cuss, we're about off," Wade snipped and quickly readjusted the cowl over his nose. Snatching the reins, he lead her up the small plateau of the hill that marked the beginning of their hike.

At his back, the morning breeze trifled through their dusty corner of shacks and small storehouses that hugged the single dock of the island. Nestled in the water, rocking lightly against the long wooden dock, the immense vessel they sailed to the island on stood tall and broad-backed in comparison the the slouching buildings on land. Its starch sales were tied down as the crew onboard cleaned her up for her next voyage, which would be happening in a few days. It was a mighty boat that loomed like a castle on water, big enough to hold the creatures they were on this island to get.

Wade's fingers tingled at the thought. But that might've just been sweat. It may be morning, but humidity never slept. Sweat was already forming around his neck and back, where the thick fabric of his cloak and cowl pooled around his shoulders. His fingers were slick and wet inside his leather gloves, and he rolled his wrist and shook his fingers to loosen the build-up. He rolled his shoulders and shook his arms too, hoping vainly that it'd shake off some of his discomforts.

Sweat always irritated the scars and made the fabric its own type of scratchy, but it was a burden he learned to bear constantly, every day, if it meant keeping it on. The only times he ever went unclothed was when he was bathing or sleeping, and even then he carried his clothes in a bundle with him. Just in case.

So you'd think he'd grow use to the stifling heat.

On the crest of the hill, Captain Rogers was on his feet giving orders to saddle up, whilst getting on the cases of those who were behind schedule. His little brown-skinned squire-in-training scurried around the ranks too, helping where he could by filling the water-skins from the small well nearby.

Sitting on a palfrey beside the Captain was their leading dragon expert, Master Bruce Banner. Even sitting on his sturdy horse, Banner looked small and awkward next to the broad-shouldered and muscled packed form of Sir Rogers, with his narrow face and scraggly hair. He reminded Wade of the field mice he used to chase as a kid.

Master Banner was as shy as he was timid, especially for someone smarter than more than half the population of the Stark Province. Usually, someone of his influence would make it a point to remind everyone around him that they were inferior to his intellectual authority. At least, that's what most of the masters did. But not Bruce Banner. He didn't normally seek out conversation, and when he did, it was usually a short correction of pronunciation or fact. He kept to the background easily, never attracting unwanted attention, and had the patience of the most tender-hearted saint.

More often than not, Wade noticed, the Master dissociated from the group and spent most of him time examining plant-life or scribbling down notes in his papers, obviously more intrigued by his environment than the brutish conversation of the knights. In fact, the only ones he's ever really talked to on this expedition was Captain Rogers and the Captains little squire, Miles Morales.

But maybe there was still time to change that.

Call Wade a kiss-ass, but he wouldn't mind being in the good graces of the smartest man in the Stark Province. Maybe he could even learn a bit more about the place they were heading to. All Captain Rogers told them was that it was a place referred to as the Dragon Grounds, and that it was where they'd be getting their dragon. If Wade happened to pick up a tip or two while he was near Master Banner, then who was he to complain?

Grasping the leather reins, he planted his foot in the stirrup and swung up on the aging back of his horse. Blind Al nickered and threw her head, but balanced his weight with ease. Squeezing her sides with his thighs, he urged her into a huffy stride, toward Captain Rogers and Master Banner.

It was strange seeing Captain Rogers in anything but his Guard uniform and training gear, like the mediocre linen shirt and trousers he wore now - all pristine and clean, in opposition to the rest of the troops, Wade noted. Sir Rogers still wore his sword on his belt, but his iconic shield, known by everyone throughout the land, was missing from its normal place on his back. It was strange seeing it gone.

With that shield, Captain Steve Rogers demanded the attention and loyalty of any soldier within proximity. One look at it, and Wade was sure he could get a barrel of rats to fall in line.

However, even without it, his shoulders were square and his stride confident. His eyes alone held enough authority to snap even the most rebellious soldier in line. Case in point, Wade Wilson himself.

Despite all of his superior prowess, though, when Captain Rogers saw Wade coming, he smiled warmly and nodded in greeting. Just as he could be the most hard-worn officer Wade has ever had the grace to meet, he had the gentlest nature too. He was as humble as he was capable, and never looked down on anyone. No matter the circumstances.

Maybe that was what had drawn Wade to the Captain in the first place. He, of anyone, was someone to look down on. The things he's done was enough to disgust the most nefarious, rotten, gore-stained people in all of the three provinces. Yet, Captain Rogers had never once judged him for it. Never looked at him like he belonged on the underside of a farmer's boot. And that alone had Wade all but shoving his respect and loyalty in the Captains lap, like a faithful dog wanting affection.

Sir Rogers's greeting was quick as he returned his attention to organizing the troops. Master Banner nodded in greeting as well, somewhat awkwardly, once Wade settled his palfrey next to him, but didn't attempt a conversation.

Unfortunately for him, Wade did.

Wade slanted his hand over his eyes to block the sun's glare and took a long stretching glance over the sky. "So," he said longly, "how much farther to the site? It's not long is it?"

Master Banner shifted in his saddle, a small awkward grimace settling on his brow, but he followed the direction of Wade's eyes, as if seeing an imaginary trail Wade couldn't. "Oh - uh, if the pace of the expedition is anything to go by, there's a chance we'll make it a little before sundown," was his answer, all soft and low. Like a mouse. But by his irritated countenance, Wade deduced the Master wasn't too happy about their progress. Or lack-thereof.

The Master shifted toward Captain Rogers and enunciated loudly (in a strangely quiet way) "Which means we should probably get a move on."

When Captain Roger's looked over his shoulder, it was just shy of sheepish. "I have reason to believe that was for me?"

The Master nodded stiffly and turned his palfrey to face the invisible path. "We should at least strive to get the next site with a few hours of daylight left, thus we can properly set up camp and get a meal going. There's little we can do in the dark."

"Aye, then we should get going," Captain Rogers swung up on his own horse. He glanced over his shoulder at the organized group, shouting, "'Right, let's move out," and fell in the lead next to Banner.

Wade waited and settled in the group coming up behind them, and like that, their journey continued. Within minutes they reached the top of the hill and entered the marsh jungles.

The hours flew with Wade filling in the silence of his group with idle chatter about everything, from the fluffy clouds that took on the shape of his favorite knives, to a piece of Blind Al's shit that took on a startling resemblance to Francis's face. Around early-noon, Wade had driven off his entire group and effectively warded off the remaining groups behind him. Eventually, he fell behind the entire party altogether, trailing in isolation like a loose thread on a shirt.

Not that it bothered him. With a rapid mouth like his, he's gotten used to being ignored and brushed off. Besides, the troops were hardly good for conversation. Blind Al was better company than the whole lot of them.

At high-noon, Captain Rogers stopped the party by a stream to rest the horses and eat a quick noonday meal of stale biscuits and cheese.

It was supposed to be an innocent break before they went the rest of the way to the stop site. Yet, much to the resigned dismay of Captain Rogers, it was not without incident. As Wade stopped to wash up near the stream, Francis and his goons ambushed him and wasted no time pushing him in. They had a good laugh when Wade trudged out of the water, soaked and covered in mud, but he was hardly sour about it. The only reason he was even washing up in the first place was because he'd just finished stuffing their saddlebags with mud.

The rest of the journey went without a hitch though. As the sun climbed higher and Wade's jokes got tamer in his loneliness, his eyes trailed the sky looking for the one thing that was going to make this trip with Francis and his feather-stuffed lackeys worth it.

A dragon.

The sole reason for this hellish expedition. There was no other explanation Wade would give himself for going on the 7-day journey, by land and sea, to the Dragon Grounds with this lot - with the exceptions of Captain Rogers and Master Banner, of course.

The expedition across the Dragon Isle seas to Batl'Ar, a small island just off the coast of the Stark Province, came only once every year. The party consisted only of specially trained knights, all under the watch and order of Captain Rogers, of whom was King Stark's oldest and most trusted army officer.

See, the chance to bond with a dragon wasn't for everyone. The Knights of the Dragon Guard went through years of grueling training to prepare for such a chance. Those few years fished out the trainees incapable of handling a dragon and the stress of the Guard. Those remaining went on this very expedition to bond and bring home a dragon, which brought forth another few years of training - with their dragon this time - to learn and apply their combined skills in combat.

Naturally, there was still a catch. It was completely irresponsible to allow a dragon with just anyone. The destruction and carnage that could be wrought if someone with impure intentions bonded with a dragon were unfathomable. In consequence, every knight petitioning for a dragon had to undergo a greatly extensive test. If a participant with any criminal background tried to get in, they were instantly rejected. If it seemed as though their intentions for a dragon were anything other than pure, they were rejected. If their reasons for a dragon was selfish or impudent, they were rejected.

Wade, when hearing this bit while petitioning, had been certain they wouldn't even let him take the test. They'd take one look at him and reject him on the spot. With a background like his, they should've bound him in chains, sewn in him in a bag, and thrown him off a ship in the middle of a monster-infested ocean. It was the logical thing to do.

But, to the complete astonishment of him and his whole class, he passed. And once the test was over, there had been no time to question the sanity of the administrators, nor wonder if they've conked their heads, or question their - albeit terrible - decision to keep him on, as the next part of his training began. Besides, he wasn't about to let this opportunity slide. Once he had a dragon of his own, none of the mocking and jesting from Francis and his goons would matter. He could take his place on Captain Roger's guard, as he has been training endlessly for. He'd finally be given the opportunity to do something right with his life.

Yet, oddly, as the sun climbed the sky, Wade had yet to spot a dragon. It was said that the islands of the Dragon Isles were crawling with them - part of the reason they were called the Dragon Isles in the first place.

The other night, in the near indistinguishable tavern of the Islands inhabitants, Wade had listened in raptured attention to the stories from one of the Natives as she talked about trekking through the mountains. She claimed that you couldn't throw a rock 5 feet in the jungles without hitting a dragon.

Wade scowled at the empty sky, glaring nastily at the flock of birds that had gotten his hopes up. Maybe her information was ill-put, for he hasn't seen so much as a scaled tale in the underbrush. Perhaps her ghastly tale of a foreigner who didn't obey their rules and never returned to the settlement was a fib too.

Gradually, the sun burnt the sky orange and the party arrived at their resting site. Instantly upon arriving, the groups split into their respective jobs. Assigned knights went out to hunt for the evening meal, others retrieved water from a nearby stream, while the rest set up tents, collected wood, started fires, and took care of the horses.

Wade was disregarded, as usual. (He didn't think the other knights liked him very much.) But he was used to being left to his own devices, and took it on the nose. Besides, the other knights never knew the proper way to brush down Blind Al, anyway. He tended to her first, as was their firmly instructed priority.

He carefully removed the saddle, bridle, and reins, and set to brushing the sweat from her coat. Once old Al was taken care of and vegging on a patch of grass, Wade set up his tent and unpacked the measly weapons he was allowed to bring. They were instructed to pack lightly, but Wade hardly went anywhere without his two most prized possessions. Humming appreciatively, he withdrew the two long blades from their oiled sheaths, tossing away the thin sheets they'd been wrapped in. The sharp shnnnnn it made as they pulled free made him shiver pleasantly.

"Aww, and how are my babes doing," he cooed, running a gloved thumb over the edge of one of the blades, smiling when the steel cut through the leather easily and nicked the scarred skin underneath. But his smile turned just as quickly to a frown when he noticed a few nicks on the fine steel.

"Oh, no, no, no, no," he tsked, "Oh, my sweet babies. Hush, worry not, Sir Wilson will take care of you now," he picked a whetstone and clothe from his pack, and ran them along the sword's edge, shushing them softly, "I'll be gentle. I'll be gentle."

Once the first was sharp, gleaming, and beautiful again, he did the same to the other, keeping up with his whispers of sweet-nothings. The splay of color from the rapidly sinking sun in the steel sparkled beautifully on the blade, and had him shifting the angle to catch every bit of light greedily. When, at last, each sword was polished and sharpened to perfection, Wade carefully re-sheathed them and hid the precious bundle in a thick bush near Blind Al.

There was absolutely no way he was leaving them out with the likes of Francis around. Just for this reason, Wade kept them behind Blind Al because he knew she'd kick anyone who came near - which she'd tried to do to him at few times now, so he knew it was effective. Certain they'd be safe, he wondered past his lonely campsite to find something to sate his growling hunger.

As expected, the groups settled around different fires closed off as soon as they saw him coming, claiming there was no more room before he had the chance to tell them to fuck off - that, or impolitely impede their space because it was hilarious to watch them squirm. He didn't care if they didn't want to sit with him. He'd gladly get a plate of beans and dried meat and eat on his own, but they didn't seem to take the hint.

Fortunately, he was saved from soiling his record of minimal ally injury when Captain Rogers called him over to the fire he, his little squire, and Master Banner occupied. Grinning smugly at the jealous looks of his cohorts, Wade all but skipped over.

Sir Roger raised a cup to him in greeting. Miles Morales looked up fleetingly from tending the small skinned beast sizzling above the flames. A herb mixture had been rubbed into the meat, sending plums of heavenly aroma in the air that put all the meals of the other troops to shame. Wade tried to inhale as much of the delicious smoke as possible, which was both hunger-inducing and painful.

Coughing into his fist, eyes watering, he sat next to little Miles, swatting the smoke away when it came back around at him intent on revenge. "So, when do we eat?"

Master Banner glanced up from the bottles of herbs and sauces he was tucking back into his little pack to check their meal. "Soon," he decided after a second. "Give it a little more time," and went back to cleaning up.

Wade gave a heaving sigh. "Oh, but the hunger," he swooned, leaning against the log, arching his back like a damsel in distress. Master Banner rolled his eyes, which Wade convinced himself was out of fond amusement, while the Captain nodded in solemn agreement. Miles timidly offered Wade a tin cup, which he took with a hearty thanks, and filled generously with mead from the good-sized water-skin brought along for the journey. He sipped it with relish and relaxed back against his log, sighing in contentment.

"Someone's in a good mood," Master Banner said quietly, and Wade did his best not to preen by stuffing his nose into his mug. It was a compliment if Master Banner so much as acknowledged him, more so when he actually noticed his attitude. The Master could be so reserved that, if not for his apparent eye for detail, Wade would've wondered if he paid attention to anyone at all.

Instead of giving into his bubbling excitement, Wade tipped his head over to look at him, "Pardon, but I'm always in a good mood."

Miles snorted, but instantly froze when Wade turned his eyes on him. "Disagree?" Wade smirked.

"W-well," the squire muttered, finding a sudden interest in the fats dripping on the coals. "It-it's just that the other day you seemed kind of angry, is all."

Ah, he was observant too.

Wade shrugged and put his cup back to his lips. "Fair enough," he conceded after coming back up for air. "But we all know that Francis threw the first rock, and don't you dare say otherwise. I'll stand by it till my dying breath."

Maybe he was in an extra good mood. There was an excited bubbling in his chest whenever he thought about the expedition, and tonight was such a fine night that it was hard to be foul. Perhaps the stars were in alignment, or the old Saints were smiling down on him. Whatever it was, Captain Rogers seemed to pick up on it too.

"Bruce might be right," he said, balancing his cup on his knees, barely keeping a hold of the handle with his fingers so it didn't topple over, "You seem in a happier mood. What's on your mind, son?"

Heh, son. Wade was far from being a son anymore, given that he was almost as tall as Rogers, and just as thick with muscle. Hardly anyone worth calling "son." But while it was something the Captain referred to everyone as, it still left something warm glowing in Wade's chest. It could be just the way he perceived it, but sometimes it felt as though the Captain said it with more warmth when it was addressed to him. Like Wade wasn't just another knight in the troop. Like actually belonged there.

Or that was wishful thinking conjured up by the messed up interior of his head. Captain Rogers regarded everyone with respect and equal treatment. Wade was no different.

Still, his smile was wide all the same. "'Course I'm happier," he chirped, "by this time tomorrow, I'll be sailing home on a dragon of my own. Just thinking about those muscles between my thighs," he grinned lewdly and slapped his legs, grinning at Mile's aghast expression. "Gets me excited every time."

Steve snorted, probably used to hearing all kinds of lewd things from soldiers. That, and he was probably getting used to Wade's humor by now - poor guy. Besides, Wade's heard the Captain had a bit of dirty humor himself when he let it show. Wouldn't that be the day?

"Let me tell you, there's nothing quite as exhilarating as taking your first flight." Captain Rogers sighed, staring off into the flames with a ghosting smile on his lips.

After a minute, he blinked and shook his reminiscing off, and stared at Wade with a sudden seriousness. "But you soldiers won't be riding them for too long. Not without saddles. Without protection, those scales will chafe you like nothing," he grimaced, absentmindedly rubbing the undersides of his legs.

Wade leaned forward, propping his head on his hands with owlish, unblinking eyes. "Oh Mister Captain," he said, voice innocent and pitched like a young schoolboy, "Please, oh please tell us again how you got your dragon."

Steve rolled his eyes and picked his cup back up to hid his small grin, "How many times do I have to tell that story?"

"Not enough to get sick of it," Miles answered for Wade, interest aligning seamlessly with the older knights as he drew his legs up against his chest. "Please tell us again..uh...Sir..."

Both he and Wade had probably heard the story a dozen times already, but the Captain's story was practically legendary. Known all throughout the land, not just as a story, but as history in the making.

Captain Rogers took another prolonged drink, downing the rest of his mead, and set the cup down next to his feet. "Alright, alright" he said, getting comfortable on his rock, enacting the same from Wade, Miles, and even Banner, who settled against the log with a resigned sigh. Being around the Captain so much, he's probably heard it countless times too.

"I found Bucky during the Dragon War. King Howard had sent me on a reconnaissance mission with a group from the Hammer Province. Now I wasn't much of a soldier then. In fact," his smirk was sly, "I was a bit of a scrawny kid. I was brought along to tend to the horses and meals, while the group tracked down a rogue dragon taking out our supply wagons. When they did manage to track it down," an appreciative nod, "it really was some dragon. Big and angry, tearing up wagons and people mercilessly. Our group got in and took him by surprise. Barely managed to tie him down, though. Not without sacrificing some of our own men.

"Their mission was to take him out immediately, but my group, they," Rogers grimaced, as if he tasted something sour, "they wanted to have a little fun with him first. They poked and stabbed him with hot-iron rods, getting 'im on the soft scales of his underbelly and his wings. I finally intervened when they were gonna burn his eyes out, and, well, they didn't really appreciate that. They beat me, threatened me with the same fate, and sent me back to work. But I wasn't about to let them torture that dragon. When I had the chance, I started unlocking the chains and cutting the ropes to let him free. They spotted me real quick though. I got to his head, figuring he may as well be able to defend himself, but when I looked into his eyes, I..." Sir Rogers tapered softly, mind flying somewhere far in the past. His voice was wistful when he continued, "It was like this spark just lit up inside me. It was like I was him, and he was me. I could feel it tying us together. Linking us. It was...it's hard to explain."

After a moment, Master Banner coughed into his fist and Sir Rogers jerked back up, rising out of the memory like the smoke to their fire, and blinked, "Oh, right, sorry, got lost there for a minute."

Wade waved him on, breathless and in awe, "Yes. Yes. Then what happened?"

"Well, it caught me off guard. One of the soldiers from my group got me from behind. Would've killed me in not for the dragon. He burst through the rest of the chains and saved me, then took out the rest of the group. I admit, I thought he was going to kill me too. But...he didn't. When he stopped, he just looked down at me, then...flew away. Flew away, just like that. Damn thing looked just about as scared as I did."

"But he did come back," Miles said, eyes round and unblinking.

"Yep. Found me again while I was in the forest tracking a buck. Didn't get the buck, but I managed to bring him back with me. King Stark, er – I suppose he was just Prince Anthony at the time, he had taken me to the side sometime ago, saying how uniting with dragons was the key to end the war. After getting Bucky, well," Steve shrugged, " I was converted to his principles of dragons and humans living together. You guys should know the rest of the story. We raised our army, brought the war to an end, established the treaty, started the Dragon Guard, yada, yada, yada."

Wade snorted. "You make it sound easy."

"Oh, it definitely wasn't easy," Sir Rogers shook his head, suddenly grim. "Definitely not."

Wade leaned back against the log, tapping his finger against his cup. He didn't think he could voice just how much that story took his breath away. It was the way Wade always hoped he and his dragon would bond. He liked to imagine looking into those reptilian eyes and seeing a being that reflected himself.

Size didn't matter when bonding to a dragon, nor shape, nor ferocity and Wade didn't try and judge by those qualities. But, even so, after the meal was eaten, the fires were out, and he lay inside his tent, his mind was filled with the images of his future dragon. It would be tall, dark, imposing, and dangerous in every conceivable way. Something that couldn't be hurt easily. Something that could keep up with his chatter, and stamina, and lust for a good ol' fight.

Wade dreamed of flying on a dragon black as night.

He should've known everything was gonna go to shit.

It was too perfect a day for it not too.

He had woken up with the faintest remnants of his favorite dream – the one where he was in brothel house, lying next to dark-haired beauty - which instantly put him in an ardent mood. Not only that, but Blind Al was acting a lot less cranky this morning, he got to watch Francis choke on a biscuit, and Steve asked Wade to ride with him, Miles, and Banner.

And they were going to reach the Dragon Grounds TODAY!

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

The jungles around them got thick and dense, while the ground turned into an upward slope as they started up the steep trail into the mountain. It was a strenuous hike, and for once Wade was feeling bad for choosing Blind Al. While the horse was strong and sassy, and specially trained to handle terrains like this, no animal should have to carry his sorry ass uphill for so long. In was this pity that had him getting off on foot as often as possible, so he could to lead her up the trail by rein. It was exhausting and extremely hot, his thick folds of clothes felt damp and weighted, but it eased whatever muted conscious he had left.

It was nearing high noon when the left side of the jungle broke off into a high cliff that overlooked a thick tapestry of tree's blanketing the earth floor, and farther past that, an ocean churned in the horizon. Wade's never been one to get anxious with heights, but even he knew that a drop from this height wouldn't be fun.

The cliff barely appeared before their party halted. Captain Rogers reigned his horse around to look over the troops. "We're nearing a testy part of the trail," he said, voice hushed and soft, barely carrying over the group. "Stay as quiet as possible. If I hear any racket, we'll finish this expedition on foot."

Next to him, Master Banner added, so quiet Wade could see the knights leaning forward to hear him, "And stay alert. Keep an eye out for any hostile dragons, especially females with eggs or dragonlings. If we encounter one, do not engage with violence," his voice was firm and full of warning. Blind Al shifted as if she could sense the tension behind his words, and Wade pat her neck.

"Easy there you old cuss," he whispered, not unkindly. "Don't worry, you'll be back in your stable before you know it." She tossed her head in doubt.

The party continued, this time quiet and light-footed. Even Francis and his soft-brained lackeys held back their usual taunts and jibes. The Dragon Grounds were no joking matter. Ever since the Dragon War ended and a treaty was established between the dragons and humans, peace has lasted, but there were only a select group of dragons willing to bond. There were other temperamental dragons (and people) who still weren't sure of the practice.

The Dragon War wasn't long ago, nearing 18 years, and the bitter feelings between their two species still ran deep. One step over the line could result in a painful death-by-fire-and-teeth or an equally painful sword to the gut.

But even with their small troop (just 15 people, including Morales, Banner, and Rogers), it was slow-going work. Occasionally, the whole party would stop so Master Banner could determine whether they were nearing a nest. Sometimes he veered them off course, and other times he lead them on. As time ticked, the taut muscles of the group softened as they began fidgeting in their seats. Heads swiveled, butts shifted in saddles, fingers drummed against thighs. The horses were beginning to sense it too. They huffed and pawed at the ground, tossing their heads and nickering nervously.

At first, it was just nerves. They were all just anxious, ready to get to the Dragon Grounds and head back home. It was unnerving how quiet this jungle was. Back on their home land, the jungles were loud and brash. There was always an ambience to it, be it the bugs, the predators, or nature herself. Here, it was as if mother nature had stopped moving. The world held its breath as they climbed the mountain, watching wide-eyed and nervous, knowing that they tread on the fine-line of unity and violence.

The silence felt as heavy as his cowl, and draped over him just as much, seeping into his skin like perspiration and making him yearn to itch. It numbed his throat; as if just one word from him could snap the fragile tenor of the mountainside.

It was this silence that made it possible to hear Master Banner's sudden inhale of breath up front. He cursed, and all of the sudden, the tenor broke.

The palfreys all reeled back with whinnying shrieks as an earsplitting roar rattled the wind and a sharp crack snapped from the forestry as the tree's to the right of them bowed. Slowly, the curled snout of a dragon rose from the shadows of the branches, scaled lips pulling back with bared fangs. A pair of reptilian slit eyes bore down at them, bright and eager like a wildfire to a dry prairie.

Master Banner cursed again, louder over the uproar, but Wade kept his focus on gripping his reins and soothing Al before she launched him off the cliff. Her nostrils were flared, milky eyes wide and strained, but she calmed to Wade's touch enough for Wade to steer her over to Captain Rogers

"What happened?" he bellowed over another ear-splitting roar.

"Got too close to a nest," Master Banner answered, struggling fitfully to keep his horse still enough to simultaneously size up the dragon. "Do NOT engage in violent combat," he grit, struggling to keep his grip on the reins as his palfey tossed his head. "She's only protecting her younglings."

Captain Roger grabbed the reins from Master Banner, helping him settle his palfrey as he glanced over the troop, eyes narrowing on the knights going for their swords.

"Stand down!" he boomed, voice easily carrying over the dragon's roar. They had all been trained under that commanding voice, and its effects were no less different than in the Training Arena. Hands instantly strayed from their swords, and every head swiveled to the Captain for orders.

The mother dragon was half-way out of the tree's now, and was edging closer to them with every minute spent in her presence. She was a big dragon, easily over 15 ft tall, with a thick hide of scars marring her faded-green scales. Battle wounds, no doubt. A possible veteran of the war. Wade didn't know her story, but damn did he want to. Her long chipped claws dug gouges into the earth, and her snarl was as loud and splitting as a falling tree. Vaguely, between her legs, he could see the wide, narrowed eyes of 3 baby dragons, all who were baring their own cute little fangs in imitation to their mother. She was just protecting her brood, that's all. They couldn't fault her for that.

Everything would be fine as soon as they moved past.

Wade did his best to ignore her and help the Captain reorganize the party, and for a minute, things seemed to be going well. Until mother-dragon decided they weren't going fast enough. She lunged forward, roar escalating like thunder over the mountain-tops. Somewhere in the distance, Wade heard an answering call.

If she attracted the help of more dragons, they would be in some deep shit. Deep, DEEP shit.

The horses were getting riled up again. They jumped and skittered, pawing at the ground and rearing in distress. Their riders could hardly keep them in control without turning their backs to the mother dragon, which went against the first rule they were ever taught. Never turn your back to a dragon, especially an angry one.

Off the side, Miles was desperately trying to calm his horse, which had tottered a dangerous distance to the cliff-side. Its ears were back, eyes blown with panic, and legs skittering feverishly. Wade knew what was going to happen before he could even warn the squire. Like clock-work, the horse lifted its back legs and bucked Miles clean off. Thankfully, it wasn't off the cliff. The boy rolled across the ground, unwillingly following the subtle tilt the ground as it took him toward the trees and stopped him barely 10 feet from the mother.

That was the last straw.

Eyes blazing, mother-dragon lunged forward, maw open as she went for the kill. But Wade was already in motion, racing across the ground just as the horse had bucked the squire, much to the displeasure of Blind Al. As soon as he was close enough, he hurled one of his hidden knives as hard as he could. The blade skidded harmlessly off the scales of the dragon's jaw with nary a blemish or scuff, but it was enough to draw her attention that her strike missed the boy by less than an inch. Scrambling up, face skew and pale, Miles tripped over his legs in his haste to get away.

Fortunately, with a bit of trial and error, he managed to get back to the group. Captain Rogers lifted him up onto his palfrey where he clutched the general tightly, shaking, close to tears, but unhurt.

Unfortunately, that left mother dragon's attention on Wade.

Her lips curled back against her teeth and Wade could feel the hot wave of her breath from where he was at. Blind Al whinnied in terror. Wade responded with another comforting pat, as good as that did.

"Easy," he murmured, but his voice only seemed to irritate her more. "Don't worry. There won't be baked horse tonight. You'd probably taste terrible and gamey anyway," Blind Al danced on her hooves, not completely convinced.

With a snap of her teeth, mother-dragon lunged for her new target. Wade clicked his tongue, jabbing Al with his heel, and she bounced away from the attack. With enough space between himself and mother dragon, Wade dived off Blind Al's back and rolled along the ground, coming to a stop on his knees. As soon as she was free, Al bolted back into the safe ranks of the troop.

Wade jumped to his feet, hands closing over his shoulders for his swords, only there was no hilt to curl his hand around. Well, shit just turned to dammit! He'd forgotten they were still in his pack with Blind Al.

A throaty growl bubbled past Mother-dragon throat, sounding somewhat amused, as she stalked forward, forcing Wade to step back, and step back, and step back until his heel hit open air and he was teetering on the edge of the cliffside. With a gasp, he leaned forward to catch something - anything - for stability. His hands caught something hard, hot, and rough. A dragon nostril. He froze, then grinned tightly at mother-dragon, going for a charming smile that felt too strained. The breath from her nose was scalding and slowly melting the leather of his gloves to his skin.

Her eyes brightened, excited, eager, and bloodthirsty. She jerked forward and slammed her snout directly into Wade's chest.

Mother nature held her breathe again. Time hung in the air. Wade felt himself fall back. Mother-dragon and her steaming nostrils flared haughtily at him as she got smaller and smaller, and that's when he realized he was falling. Then time resumed and he dropped like a stone. With greedy hands, the wind snagged his breath, and no sooner, tree limbs were snapping around him. Branches smacked his body, both crushing under his weight and cracking against his skin. Leaves smacked his face, vines caught on his limbs, jerking them in all directions until a loud pop hit his ears and his arm burst into ragged pain.

He was tossed through the trees like a ragged doll as the ground approached rapidly. He barely managed to glimpse soft tufts of grass and a few blooming wildflowers before he crushed them.

Face first.

When Wade finally found a way back to consciousness, the first thing he was fully aware of was that there was grass in his mouth.

It took only a second for the rest of his body to catch up, and the ripping sensation of pain reached his senses and he groaned, squeezing his eyes back shut. His arm was pinned under his body, likely broken, while the rest of him was sprawled across the ground like a human splatter.

Wincing, he timidly tried shifting into a more comfortable position, but that was an instant mistake. Every single muscle, bone, and piece of mottled flesh on his body seized with burning pain, and Wade wondered if somehow he had fallen into a pot of boiling grease.

"Oh shit fucker in a brothel barn," he gasped into the grass, going lax again. That was...unpleasant. Not that falling off a cliff and hitting every fucking tree in the forest was usually fun.

"Stupid mother-dragon of a bloody-toe eating troll - what the hell was with that?" Wade hissed into the dirt, voice getting higher with each new wash of pain. It's not like we wanted her stupid, small, rat-faced babies in the first place!

Hissing again, he relaxed as best he could, letting his healing take the mantle as he mindlessly nibbled on the grass. Gradually, his body came back to life, prickling like overheated sewing-needles as his skin pulled itself together and bones fell into place. For half a second, he contemplated throwing up. Nausea was one of the worst effects of his stupid healing. If he was going to throw up, just let him throw up. None of this fluctuating crap.

But at least he wasn't slowly dying a tree-skinned death anymore. That's always a plus, he supposed. Still, even feeling remotely grateful for the heal-from-all-hell curse that shit-faced, mother-fuck gave to him made him feel as though he'd swallowed something rotten.

It would've been a lot more merciful to let him die like he was supposed to.

A plum of hot breath suddenly raced across his neck and drew Wade's attention again, halting all previous thoughts. He became dully aware of a small thud drawing near, and through the corner of his eyes, a claw-like blurr stopped near his head. A dark, looming shadow fell over him, and he slowly lifted his face from the ground, grass hanging from his opened lips where his cowl had been ripped off and was, likely, caught somewhere in the trees. Squinting, he stared up at the blurry red and blue-scaled muzzle of, what appeared to be, another dragon.

He scowled, tilting his head.

The blurry red and blue-scaled muzzle of a dragon smirking at him.

Perhaps it was the way it was looking at him, or the uncomfortable feel of its hot breath, or the all-to recent experience he just had with a dragon, but an angry molten ball of goo plopped in chest, dripping down his ribs, into his heart, and Wade glared heatedly.

"If you're going to eat me, good luck with that," he spat, collapsing back into the dirt. "I'm a lot harder to kill than I look."

The dragon's shadow tilted and its breathing on him pause. A beat passed, and a sound crawled from its mouth. A deep sound from the throat, short and abrupt, but not necessarily threatening. It repeated the noise again and again until Wade realized, with an incredulous start, that the thing was laughing at him.

The goo in his chest bubbled and his glared tightened as he craned his neck to meet its face. "You've got to be shitting me," he growled, trying to blink the fuzziness from his eyes. "No, stop it. There is absolutely nothing funny about this, you little shit."

It laughed at him again. Wade propped himself up on his elbows in a futile attempt to sit up that resulted in him collapsing again when his legs refused to work. He was laughed at again.

"Know what? Know what? I don't even care anymore, you little fucker," he stuffed his face back into the dirt, "I do not care anymore. But, hey, if you are looking for someone to eat, there's this very tasty morsel just over the ridge of that cliff. He goes by the name of Francis, or Ajax if he's trying to be tough. If you're looking for someone to cook, he's your guy."

The dragon fell silent again, and for a second Wade was convinced it left. Until he felt that hot breath on his neck again as the dragon inhaled. It sniffed at his face and nudged at his side gently.

"Yes, I'm still alive." Wade snapped.

"Oh, well, what a relief," a man's voice snarked and Wade jolted back up. He looked at the dragon - which was still blurry because he's pretty sure nearly his entire eyeball had been scooped out - then around the tree's encircling them, injuries mildly forgotten. He couldn't tell if there was a guy hiding out in the trees.

"Did you just..." he glanced around again, fruitless in his efforts to spot another human being. "Did you just talk?"

Then, slowly, as if the entire world was mocking him, the dragons blurred face grinned.

The little fucker curled back its blurry, scaly lips and honest-to-the-Saints grinned at him, as if they were sharing some secret. Its body shifted and for a minute Wade thought it was getting closer. Instead, it backed up and turned, waltzing back into the shadows of the tree's, tail swishing pleasantly behind it.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Wade dug his finger in the dirt, abandoning all sense of dignity as he crawled after it. "Wait, you can't just laugh at me and leave. You-you talked, you definitely talked. Or…maybe that was your lunch speaking, but still, you-," his body spasmed, every inch of skin burned, definitely not appreciating his efforts to move. "Get - get back here you little fucker!"

The dragon stopped. Slowly, it turned its neck around and glanced at Wade, cool and dismissive. It tilted its head as if only mildly curious.

And Wade thought Blind Al was sassy.

He squinted again, trying to make out the dragon more clearly. It was weirdly shaped. Like it didn't have a clearly define body. Also, he was almost positive something was jutting out of its sides.

Wade crawled a little further across the ground. "Come on, I'm dying over here."

The dragon snorted and small puff of white smoking curled from its nostrils. It stared at him, almost as if thinking about the situation. Wade tried to ease its options with a crooked, grass muddied grin.

The dragon turned to leave the clearing again.

Wade cursed, then cursed again, and plopped back into the dirt. He sighed miserably. Stupid dragons, and their stupid issues, and their stupid babies, and their stupid attitudes.

How did the expedition party fare after the attack? If they survived it at all...

Or were they dealing with a sassy, self-righteous dragon too?

He shook his head stubbornly. No, they had to be alright. Captain Rogers AND Master Banner were there, the two most qualified people to have in a dragon attack. They had to be fine.

Now if he could just figure out a way to get back up there, things could be a lot better. Maybe he could scale the cliff. If it wasn't too steep, he could probably make it up in a few hours. If the expedition managed to get out of it alive, Wade could track them to the Dragon Grounds. But the time it took to actually find the group all depended on how soon he'd heal. He's healed from worse, but even then it had taken, at the very least, quite a few hours.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, Wade almost didn't hear the thudding of steps coming back up to him. All he could do was glance up, before suddenly there were claws wrapping around his middle, and the next thing he knew he was rising from the ground, bursting through the tree's, and soaring high over the tops.

"WHAT THE SHIIIIIIIIIT!"

Over his own terrified screaming, Wade heard the dragon laugh again.

Phew, that was a long chapter. Everyone here and accounted for? Even you in the back? Whoo! Alrightie! First chapter is offically edited and reposted! Hallelujah!

The next chapter is long too (not as long), but it'll have more of this "mystery red and blue dragon" (cause we all don't know who that's going to be). *wink wink*

WHOO! I'm excited to get into this story with you guys! It's gonna be fun! You all better be ready for one heck of a ride! :P

That's all for now!