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Valgrind bleated in distress.

Mattias sent the drake a sad, but affectionate look. “Come along, then, little one, and we’ll take care of him.”

To Oliver’s surprise, Valgrind turned to follow them, crooning and worrying the whole way.

He’d known that Valgrind wanted to be Náli’s dragon, but hadn’t thought Val would abandon his parents in favor of his human.

It figured, though. Once chosen, and all that.

Oliver blinked. Erik pushed him more upright – oh, he’d slumped – and he shook his head, and tried to gather his wits. He still held the torq. It seemed as though it ought to be glowing and pulsing, but outwardly, it looked no different.

He traded glances with Tessa, who seemed as dazed as he felt, but, with Rune massaging her shoulders, offered a scrap of a smile. “Did it work?” she asked.

“I think so.”

Erik towed Oliver back far enough to grip his chin and turn his face up. “Are you all right?”

Breathless, still, but whole, and standing, Oliver nodded. “Yes. And it worked, I think.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

And he did know. He felt it bone-deep, in a way he never had before. He’d used magic – not to talk to the drakes, but to cast a spell, and he’d never thought to do that, ever.

He gathered himself, stood on his own power, and shook out his cloak.

He still held the torq, and turned toward Ragnar – who grinned at him, all his teeth bared.

“Oh, stop,” Oliver said. “You’re not in control here, you wanker.”

Erik snorted.

Tessa laughed and tried to suppress it in her hands.

“All right, then.” Oliver knew a moment’s nerves, but pushed through it, expression steeled. “Come along, Tess, and let’s see.”

Leif had to unlock the collar Ragnar already wore, a thick, silver number that required a key. Oliver thought that might be the crucial moment…but, once the collar was loose, Leif growled, low and deep like a wolf, and Ragnar submitted. Like a sad puppy, he stood still while Oliver stepped in to fasten the new torq around his neck.

Oliver smelled an overpowering woodsy scent of pine and wolf; and he was all too aware of the flicker of too-strong muscle in Ragnar’s neck as he clicked the latch into place at the other man’s throat.

But, in the end, the enchanted torq was on, and that meant Ragnar couldn’t shift until someone who loved him – truly – tried to remove it.

Oliver couldn’t imagine that moment coming – not soon, nor ever.

Ragnar’s eyes closed, and he breathed harshly through his nostrils a moment, breath audible and visible as steam in the early morning. He went to his knees – Oliver and Tessa stepped back – and stayed there, head bowed, shoulders heaving.

It was Leif who stepped forward, and, first, unlatched his wrists and ankles, and, then, circled around to take Ragnar’s face in both hands.

“Oh,” Tessa murmured, gripping Oliver’s arm.

“It’s fine,” he murmured back, transfixed by the tableau before him.

Leif growled a sound not at all human, and, a moment later, Ragnar’s gaze dropped, and he whined a response.

Leif nodded, and stepped back, surveying them all, his eyes unnaturally bright. “He won’t be a problem.” To Ragnar: “Will you?”

“No, alpha.”

Erik and Rune, Oliver noticed, looked crestfallen.