"Yes, sir, there can be no doubt," the chief of police says, turning the heavy tiara over in her hands.

"You're certain?" The Lord Wesselton's- Alan's- voice is thin and reedy, weak with age, but with the sort of iron core that brooks no insubordination.

"Yes. Certain, sir," she says. "The tiara is solid gold, sir, and there are gemstones. Diamonds and a few rubies. Little ones. We place it at more than thirty thousand dollars."

"Only thirty thousand?" Wesselton asks. "That seems a bit low?"

"Yes sir," Alex says. "Of course sir, only, she wore it to this pathetic town's classless little gathering, and sir? She doesn't act human. She acts… I don't know…"

"Like a dragon?" Wesselton prompts. He sounds gleeful, acquisitive.

"Like she's never met another human, sir," the police chief says. "I can't find her records anywhere, certainly not in Norway. Hell, as far as I can tell, she doesn't even have a last name. And sir, this local bully? Records of domestic abuse? I think she killed him sir. I think he maybe tried to hurt her, and I think she killed him."

"That's a lot of 'think,' and 'as far as I can tell,' miss Alex," Wesselton says.

"Yes sir, of course sir," she replies. "But I'm sure sir, and there are other people in town. Suspicious people, sir. If this Elsa isn't a dragon, one of them has to be."

"Why would that be miss Alex?" Wesselton's voice is stern, like the crack of a whip. A very old, flimsy sort of whip.

"Sir," she replies. "The humanists are here."

"Mpfh," Anna groans. "Doorbell, Elsa. Doorbell. Head hurts. Make stop."

"I fail to understand why you should wish to keep your hangover," Elsa mutters, standing.

"Wow, look at you," Anna grumbles. "Where'd you pick up a fancy word like that?"

"Internet," the dragon snaps. "I did research last night. I was worried." The doorbell rings again.

"Nice," Anna mutters. "You're adorable. Doorbell?"

"Of course," Elsa nods gracefully. She returns after a moment, clutching her tiara. The tiara she wore to the party last night. Her eyes are huge and round, darting around the room as if expecting attackers to spring from every nook and shadow.

"Elsa," Anna groans. "What's wrong? What happened?"

"I…" Elsa closes her eyes for a moment, opens them again. "I left this at the party last night. I left a tracking spell on it. I figured, if the humanists were watching, they'd take it. It was a way to draw them out without getting you involved. I figured maybe they'd hold an auction, try to get me to come to them- I'd play along, understand? Or they would put it on display in a museum, see if I come after it. Set a trap. They don't like collateral damage, see? Every dead innocent means a chance for the authorities to get involved, every live innocent, someone they have to share their rewards with."

"So what's the problem?" Anna winces. "It got returned. They didn't find you. Oh well, plan failed, try again tomorrow?"

"No," Elsa snaps. She starts pacing. "They were watching. I know they were watching. I'm sure of it. I don't know which one it was, but people were watching. I'm sure at least one of them was a humanist. There are a lot of the horrid little mammals, and not too many new people in this little town. If they're anything approaching intelligent, and I'm sure they are, they have to be following each of us. They have to be the ones that found my tiara. What are they doing? How many steps ahead do they think I'm thinking?"

"Steps?" Anna asks. She's starting to wish she had taken Elsa up on the offer to cure her hangover. "What do you mean? Why didn't you track it earlier?"

"I was distracted," Elsa grumbles. "Taking care of you. Your existence ruins so many of my plans."

"Sorry," Anna blushes. She isn't terribly sorry. "Steps?"

"Yes," Elsa says. "Suppose I were to lie to you. Suppose I were to say I have seven chickens, and suppose you have reason to doubt me."

"Ok?" Anna says.

"Now, you doubt me," Elsa continues, "so you know I might be lying. That's the first step in this deception. But maybe I want you to think I'm lying. Maybe I really do have seven chickens, but I want you to doubt that. I want you to think I have six, or eight, or none. By saying that I have seven, and making you think I'm lying, I am able to convince you that I have a different number more effectively. The second step. But you're also pretty clever, so you think I might have been pretending to lie to deceive you, so maybe I actually was lying, so that you'll think I don't want you to believe that I have seven chickens, so you do think that I have seven chickens, so I win. The third step. I could go on, but I think you take my point."

"Oh my god," Anna groans. "Who actually thinks like that?"

"I do," Elsa says. "And so does anyone that wants to make a plan, but they don't always think as far ahead as I do. So now, I need to figure out how many steps ahead the humanists are thinking."

"Maybe there's a tracking device?" Anna proposes.

"No," Elsa says. "They know where I am living. They have no real need to track me to my cave. Maybe to find my treasure, but they will find it quickly enough if I die, I don't think that's a realistic motivation here, and if they returned it to this address… I want you to leave Anna. Go to my race's underground retreat. I want you safe from the coming conflict."

"Or what?" Anna sits up and winces. "You're going to leave like in all those books? Or you're going to… I don't know. My head hurts."

"What?" Elsa blinks a few times. Makes her characteristic clicking, chuckling, noise. "No. Of course not! I've read your books too. I've read those characters chasing after each other, almost dying in the elements, getting captured, getting mugged. They always wind up needing the creature that ran from them 'for their own good.' I'm not an idiot, Anna. If you don't want to cooperate, I'm not going to force you. I just think it would be wise to remove you to a safe location."

"Oh." Anna blinks, and tilts her head- a surprisingly draconic gesture from the human. "That's actually pretty reasonable."

"So you'll go somewhere safe?" Elsa asks hopefully. "My race's stronghold, perhaps?"

"Naw," Anna rubs her temples. "I'm with you through thick and thin. I'm not as safe here, sure, but I get to be with you, and if something happens to you, at least it happens to both of us."

"That is very illogical," Elsa grumbles. "I'm more durable than you. If something happens to both of us, chances are, I'll survive and you won't. I honestly can't imagine a much worse outcome than that. If we had more time, I would insist that we meet with my father, give you your immortality, fit you out with magical protections, but events are moving quickly, and we don't have that time."

"Eh," Anna says. "I love you. Love will protect me. The universe isn't that cruel."

"Anna, the universe killed my mother," Elsa makes a noise Anna's never heard before- a quiet half groan, half growl. "The universe is a horrible place. I'm not going to force you into hiding- I'm not going to make you leave. I believe that it is important that you decide your own life; it wouldn't be healthy by either of our cultures' estimations, if I were to force you into something you didn't want, even for your own good. Just… Be careful, ok? I don't want to lose anyone else."

"Yeah," Anna agrees readily. "I'll be careful." But they both know careful is not in her nature.

"Elsa?" Anna asks.

"Yes?" The dragon shifts her long body, a kind of writhing, curling, slithering, motion.

"Do you…" Anna swallows. "Someone… told me… that hunting together is like trusting? Like showing affection, or something… And that… cooking together is the closest we can get? Since I'm squishy and human?"

The great lizard blinks slowly, shuffles her wings like a deck of leather tents. The barbed tip of her tail twitches. "I would love to cook with you, Anna," she says.

"You…" Anna blinks. "Awesome! You want steak? Or… Pork chops… Or… God I'm glad I'm not a vegetarian."

"A vegetarian?" Elsa tilts her horned head.

"Yeah… Um." Anna shrugs. "Someone that doesn't eat meat? They think eating animals is wrong or some bullshit like that?"

"You… you eat animals?" Elsa's tail lashes dangerously. "Actual living beings?"

"You're a carnivore!" Anna laughs playfully. "Don't tell me you don't eat animals. I've seen you eat meat."

"Anna," Elsa's voice is deadly even. "No dragon has eaten a living creature in centuries. If attacked, sure, we fight back, and if we kill, of course we eat the remains- we're not wasteful. But we don't seek out live prey. Anna, we're not sadistic."

"You what?" Anna realizes abruptly that Elsa is serious. "You don't… What do you eat then?"

"We use magic." Elsa stands and paces. "We conjure our food. Nothing gets hurt. We eat meat, but we don't hurt preybeasts- lesser species… um."

"Animals?" Anna prompts.

"Sure," Elsa nods slowly. "Animals. We don't hurt them. I thought… Your technology? That you grew your meats in vats or something? I thought I read that it was possible for your species now?"

"I guess we could?" Anna shrugs uncomfortably. "I've never really thought about it. Why do you care? They're just… Well…"

"Humans are just mammals," Elsa snaps. "For centuries, we thought you couldn't speak, then we discovered that you have words! Not as many as we do, and with less complicated, less precise, grammar, but language! You think, you feel, you talk. If I were to tear off your leg, you would feel it, you would scream, or cry, or whatever else it is humans do when they hurt. Imagine how horrified we were to discover that a species we routinely hunted were thinking, feeling, creatures!"

"That's… Damn," Anna gasps. "That's pretty horrible. Damn. But animals aren't people. They don't talk, and they don't build things they're… just dumb animals."

"Did you know that Dolphins have their own languages?" Elsa asks. "I speak most of them. Sure, dolphins are advanced 'for animals,' so another example. Many types of monkeys have learned sign language. Many of them even fashion tools. One of those species has invented a way to go to the moon- that's you by the way. Too close to 'human' to count as 'animal?' Did you know that I speak some of the meerkat languages? They don't have a lot to say- they only have a few hundred words, and their grammar is nearly non-existent, but they speak. I've talked to one colony a few times. They had some very interesting things to say about the dangers of warthogs. Or is intelligence not a factor? Is it that 'animals' don't feel pain? Do you know what happens if I pull the legs off a horse? It screams. Not like a human, and not like a dragon, but it screams. Do you think it won't try to escape? That it won't fight back? How exactly would you have me measure suffering?"

"Oh my god," Anna gasps, crumples in on herself. "I never thought… Oh my god."

"We made a mistake with humans," Elsa says. "My species did. We should never have hunted you. We won't make that mistake again. Oh, if we're attacked, we'll retaliate. If I see a humanist, I will destroy them so utterly that they are no longer recognizable, that no atom remains bonded to its neighbors, but I shan't hunt humans, and I will not hunt any other animal. Do the same, and I can't imagine anyone would fault you."

"Ok!" Anna says quickly. "I can do that… I… assume this means you don't want to cook after all?"

"Of course I want to cook," Elsa says kindly, brushes Anna's face with the soft back edge of her wing. "Just, maybe let me get the ingredients?"

"Sure," Anna nods agreeably. "Steak- that's cow meat, and bacon, um. Pork? And you don't mind if I use seasonings, right? They're all from plants. I think."

"It's fine," Elsa laughs her clicking, stuttering, laugh. "Humans eat cows? I would have thought cows were too big?"

They cook well together. Anna sprinkles pepper in Elsa's hair. Elsa licks her. Almost before they know it, the steaks are tenderized, marinated, seasoned, stuffed with bacon, and in the oven. They chat about playful nothings as their meals cook. About the unfortunate scarcity of reptile costumes at the Halloween party, about the meaning of the fast approaching Christmas, about movies, and what they should watch next.

"Draconic masculine endings?" Elsa prompts.

"Masculine?" Anna bangs her head down on the table. "I don't know masculine. I know neuter. I can do neuter. I know feminine. I don't know goddamn masculine."

"Yes you do," Elsa says encouragingly- soothingly, though her voice has the characteristic rasp of a too-rigid throat not built for human speech. Anna thinks of it like an accent. A sexy exotic accent, when she's honest with herself. She blushes. Elsa continues, "they're all the same, aside from a few minor changes in the last few runes. Just start with the nominative."

"Nominative," Anna repeats. She looks up and frowns. "-ang?"

"Excellent," Elsa's great, scale-rimmed eyes blink encouragement. "What's next?"

"What's…" Anna thinks for a moment. "Genitive? -thang? Um. Dative? Fuck. -phang? What's next?"

"Good," Elsa says. "Accusative?"

"Uh. -Ssang?" Anna's face is screwed up in concentration. Elsa lets out a brief, clicking, snicker. Anna sticks her tongue out at the dragon. "Um. Vocative's the last one, right?"

"Yes darling," Elsa's tail twitches.

"Um. It's -anang, right?" Anna eyes Elsa's tail murderously.

"See!" Elsa shakes her horned head. "You do know the masculine endings! Are you up for masculine plural?"

"Oh god there's a plural?" Anna groans. "It's not just like the verbs?"

"Anna, it's only the first person that doesn't have a plural verb ending," Elsa deliberately rolls one big blue eye.

"Oh." Anna blinks. "Right. So, um… There are plural noun endings?"

"Yes," Elsa clicks. "The masculine nominative plural is '-ahng,' can you figure out the rest?"

Whatever Anna was going to say in reply is truncated by the insistent chime of the doorbell. She sighs, makes a vaguely apologetic gesture, stands.

"Elsa," she calls a moment later. "Did you order a coffin?"

"A coffin?" The dragon stands, shrugs into her human shape. "What use would I have for a coffin?"

"Sure, I don't know," Anna calls back. "But it's addressed 'Ms. Elsa, the Norwegian Dragon.' Wait… That's weird…"

"Anna!" Elsa cries, spinning out shields as fast as she can. "Get away!" And then she's beside the rough, wood-slat box, flicking the door closed, and Anna is peering over her shoulder, wondering how she got there so fast. But the box doesn't explode, and it doesn't leak dangerous chemicals, and Elsa is left blinking sheepishly. "Sorry," she says after a moment. "I panicked."

"It's fine," Anna laughs. "You're cute. What do you think is in it?"

"Hmm." Elsa says. "We have had time to prepare. If it were explosive, I think my shields would stop it… The humanists must know that, so it would have exploded already… Hmm."

"Do you think it's dangerous?" Anna moves to see more clearly, to get around Elsa, but a firm pale hand keeps her sheltered behind the dragon's deceptively human body.

"I can't imagine what the humanists would send that wouldn't be dangerous," Elsa frowns, cocks her head, blinks. Anna chokes back a laugh.

"Well," Anna says. "There's one way to find out." She steps quickly around Elsa, and gives the timber lid a rough pull. It doesn't budge, but her actions do prompt Elsa to tear it free. There, nestled in a bed of straw, glints the unmistakable sheen of gold, and the shy glimmer of silver, and the coy sparkle of gemstones.

"Huh," Elsa says. She casts a few quick detection spells, silently, and without movement to keep from worrying Anna. She reaches down and plucks out a heavy golden circlet. Laurels, from a long fallen empire. "This… This belonged to my mother," she says. "Ahsarin. What are they playing at? This was in our cave when she died! What sick game? Why taunt me?"

"...unknown number of hostiles," the man says. He wears black- tough nylon and Kevlar and heavy, laden, combat webbing. A crisp, rectangular white patch above his left breast claims he is called Johnson. "Remember, our target is the dragon. Don't get distracted. If there's a threat, deal with it, but stay on the mission. No trophies, no going out of your way just to boost your 'score.' Smith, I'm looking at you."

"Sir," the contractor nods sheepishly, and runs a gloved hand through his short, blond, hair.

"Right," Johnson continues. "We don't know when deployment is, so sleep in shifts, and know where your kit is. Study a map of the area. I don't want any snafus." His face is ghostly, demonic almost, in the dim red light. The room shakes violently, throws him against his restraints. "Any questions?"

"Sir," one of the other contractors says. Withers, her name is. Probably. "A dragon? We've all read the briefing, but… A dragon?"

"Fuggin f'ry tale," Mcmannon, their sniper, mumbles.

"You're new here," Johnson ignores the big sniper. "We're getting paid. A lot. I once had a customer, wanted me to shoot some guy in Argentina. Said the guy was Hitler, but he didn't look anything like the guy. It doesn't matter what the employer thinks, it matters what they're paying, and we're getting paid enough to overthrow several small countries."He doesn't mention the titanic reptile he saw once, on a forgotten mountain in Peru.

"I… Take your point," Withers nods brusquely. The aircraft shakes again, then jolts magnificently as it slams heavily down on the tarmac. The squeal of abused tires drowns out conversation for a moment.

"Right," Johnson says. "Anyone else? Ask them now or wait forever."

"Hostiles?" Smith asks. "You said hostiles, like more than one? What have we got there? Any faction infighting bullshit we should know about?"

"Good question," Johnson says, unbuckling. "Apparently there are some people- Humanists, they're called. Likely hostile, PMC types. Shouldn't be too scary, but be on your toes. The employer said there might be as many as three factions. The first is apparently attacking this 'dragon' for religious reasons. Thinks they're demons or something? The second is some kind of glory hunting macho crew. Them, we can probably just wait for them to make a mistake. Assuming they exist." There is a smattering of laughter. "The last, our employer said might not be there. People in it for 'immortality.' The employer said they are probably more careful than the the two, they might hang back and purchase what they're after later, once everything's said and done. Might be some kind of resentment there that we can leverage, but we won't know 'til shit goes pear shaped."

"Sir," Withers asks. "Do we know who we're working for?"

"First rule of this kind of job Withers," Johnson laughs- not exactly kindly. "Never ask about the employer, but we're on a Wesselton Industries plane, so I'll give you three guesses."

AN: it should be noted that my views are not necessarily the same as those of my characters. I eat meat, so either I'm a hypocrite, or I don't believe the words I wrote for Elsa. No comment on which of those options it is…

Also, continued thanks to all of the followers/favoriters. You all are wonderful! Special thanks also to those of you who continually write reviews. You all are how I get better.

Also also, moar languages stuffs! It should be possible for those of you who care to reconstruct most of the noun declensions now…