Ignoring all that lore about the rings of horn etc.
Imagine a sparkling, pristine halo perched gently above a pair of horns, and the owner's reaction to this new development. -- Gallifreya
[AN: I'm not certain about that lore, I guess I'll learn later]
Everyone knows about evil dragons. They eat maidens and spread blight, hoard treasure and are otherwise the bad apple that spoils the entire barrel. Most regular dragons try to eliminate them before the knight errant is required.
That sort of news always spreads way too fast.
Most dragons co-exist with their territory. The sight of massive wings overhead is no reason for fear. They politely ask which cattle can be taken without harm to the farmer's economy.
Dragons might be obligate carnivores, but they don't need to eat very often.
And then there's Rillfin.
Small for a dragon, with a mere thirty-foot wingspan, Rillfin Silverscale farms her own cattle. Her abundant herds are frequently shared out to her human neighbours as well as any dragon in need. She farms fish, at the other end of her caverns, and hires humans to tend fields that, essentially, grow fish food.
None have been able to determine what her hoard is. Her bed, a collection of glittering quartz, is not enough to be a proper dragon hoard. She apparently covets nothing.
The bard Perriwinkle was fascinated by her, and spent months in her caverns. Talking of this or that. Indulging in the kind of late-night philosophy that could change the world if only it could be remembered come the morrow.
And it was on one of those evening chats that she noticed the ring.
Balanced between her horn-tips, apparently supported by nothing, was a ring. No. A disc. Partially transparent, but definitely gold. And glowing with its own light.
Perriwinkle stared. "I've seen many fae things," she whispered. "But before today, I've never seen a dragon with a halo..."
Rillfin took a look in one glassy wall, cooing at the bright, shiny vision in her reflection. "Oh my," she said. "That is pretty... I wish I could share it, but I don't know how I got it."
Perriwinkle giggled. "It's a symptom of chaste living, I'm told. A gift from the Gods so all may know you're virtuous."
"You don't have one," said Rillfin.
"Of course not," said Perriwinkle. "I'm a bard."