Chapter Text
Bilbo is not sure now, looking back, when he and Thorin started finding a temporary relief from the seeming futility of their quest with each other. There were no kisses, no post-coital cuddlings in a bedroll, or any sign that it was anything other than a convenient arrangement for the would-be king. Just hot, desperate fumblings to reassure themselves they were still alive. Bilbo was okay with their arrangement until one day he simply…wasn’t. Thorin’s eyes burned hot with lust and Bilbo found himself wishing they contained something more. He did not stop, though. He was not that crazy.
Once Bilbo unraveled the secret of the door to Smaug, Thorin took him a short ways down the path and away from prying eyes. There, he reminded him once more that they were both still flesh, blood, and breathing, because who knew what would happen to any of them once that door opened? Bilbo gratefully accepted the pleasure and ignored the pain of affection's absence in his lover's gaze.
In the passage, Bilbo eyed the red glow in front of him and listened to the deep rumble of the great beast's snore. Moving forward from that spot was the bravest thing he had ever done. Once in the room, he was taken by the sight of the terrifying and magnificent Smaug. He lay on a pile of treasure but slightly on his side. Looking from his great, coiled tail along the length of his body, Bilbo saw the beast's underside encrusted with all things precious from years of lounging on the hoard. His great wings were folded as he slumbered and his face--no doubt horrifying in wakefulness--had a peace that gave Bilbo an urge to reach out and stroke his snout.
He stood for what felt like an age just staring at the enormous creature and the majestic pile of breathtaking, immeasurable wealth that was his bed.
“Well, time to do some burgling, I suppose,” Bilbo thought to himself.
Snatching a two-handled cup, he sneaked back towards the secret entrance. The rumble of the snore changed its note as Smaug flexed a wing and a claw. Bilbo froze in place. Holding the cup carefully so as not to make the clatter should it drop, he slipped on his ring. Not a moment too soon, either, for a great amber eye winked open and looked right at the spot where he stood.
“Well, thief! I smell you and I feel your air. I hear your breath. Where are you? Come now, don’t be shy. Step into the light,” the booming voice purred.
Now, Bilbo had heard his share of dragon-lore. Persuasive and cunning, they had a penchant for riddles and quick talk. Upon hearing Smaug speak for the first time, Bilbo wondered if “persuasive” was a fauntling-friendly way of saying “seductive” in the re-telling of old tales. The voice was certainly that. Bilbo felt almost drawn to show himself. He forced himself to speak instead.
“Truly, the tales and songs fall utterly short of your enormity, O Smaug the Stupendous,” Bilbo said, voice rising and falling with a tremor.
He had thought to flatter the beast, as dragon-lore also taught him dragons were resoundingly vain. He found he spoke sincerely, though, without need to exaggerate. He gently set down the cup and moved forward.
“You seem familiar with my name, but I do not remember smelling you before. You have a scent mostly unknown to me, but,” Smaug inhaled deeply. “You keep the company of dwarves. I cannot say as I recommend it. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?”
“O magnificent Smaug, can you not deduce such things?”
Smaug scoffed and the gust of breath sent coins flying. “I cannot deduce out of thin air! You have told me nothing and shown me less. All I know is what I can smell on you, and I will not yet share all that has taught me.”
Bilbo crept closer. “I come from under the hill, and under the hill and over hills my paths have led. And through the air! I am he that walks unseen.”
“Obvious,” the dragon spat at Bilbo’s last clue.
Bilbo quirked a smile. “I am the clue-finder and the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number. I am he that buries his friends alive and drowns them and pulls them alive from the water again. I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me. I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer, I am Barrel-rider!”
Bilbo was growing so pleased with his riddling that he did not realize he had trodden upon a small pile of gold, leaving two indents where his feet rested.
Smaug cupped two clawed feet around the area of the indents. Bilbo squeaked and tried to scramble up and over, but he was tightened upon.
“Clearly, a great magic of some sort conceals you. Call it off and let me see you or I will squeeze you until you are nothing!” Smaug thundered.
Bilbo worked off his ring and slipped it into a pocket obscured by Smaug’s vision due to his talons.
“Well, now. What is this?” Smaug lifted him higher and looked him over. He took another great sniff.
The deep, resonating voice spoke. “You are with a party of thirteen, mostly if not all dwarves. One of them is your lover. The Lake people have assisted you, but you come from the West. You are a Halfling," Smaug furrowed his forehead, "though you dislike the term. You went to Esgaroth by the water, you and your friends all in barrels. It was your idea. You went through the darkened Greenwood, whatever they are calling it these days. You had an unfortunate encounter with spiders. I’ve no doubt you’ve made the acquaintance of the shape changer near the Carrock as well as Gwahir and his merry band of flying miscreants. You’re here on a mission from one of the dwarves, likely your lover. They’ve told you they have come for noble causes, but would be happy to merely leave with some of the treasure.”
Bilbo was listening in rapt, astonished wonder.
“What? How?” Bilbo stammered. “How did you know all that?”
“I observed. You mentioned ‘lucky number’ and we’ve already established you’re traveling with dwarves. It is not a great host or I would have heard the incessant cackling of the mountain ravens. You wear the raiment of Esgaroth but it is ill-fitting. There aren’t many Halflings there, if any. Your accent is also not at all Eastern. You dislike the term Halfling, I can tell by the way your eyes narrow when I use it. Plus your people probably have a proud term they use for themselves and you do not appreciate to being reduced to what is more or less an epithet from where you hail. You mentioned being a web-cutter and stinging fly. You were in the dark wood and had to battle your way through an attack by the spiders that have taken up residence there. There is a small amount of webbing tangled in the hair behind your ear that you’ve not been able to get out that would confirm it. All the roads into and out of Esgaroth have been long compromised by the aforementioned darkness and the barricades raised in an attempt to stem its spread. Quite useless in the long term, by the way. You had to come up with a clever method to make your way down the river, hence the barrels. I say it was your idea because your language suggests dominance, for you 'rode the barrels' and 'drowned your friends.' You said you are the friend of bears. Bears do not make friends and honestly, neither do the shape changers but you’re more likely to have civilized dealings with the latter than the former. As for the eagles, well, you more or less simply told me about them, didn't you? The dwarves have sent you down here to suss things out for them. Chances are, they knew your smell would throw me off. They are not intelligent enough to have come up with that on their own, so they must have gotten advice from someone older, wiser. Wizard, likely, or maybe an elf, though elves usually are too wrapped in themselves to bother with the business of others, particularly dwarves. A Halfling from halfway across Middle Earth would not venture this far for mere gold, or you would have filled your pockets and tried to leave with as much as you could carry. You came for a bigger reason. Thirteen dwarves cannot defeat a dragon, but they might be able to sneak off with some treasure, particularly with such a delectable decoy. It is possible that whatever they told you was a hope of theirs, but I suspect it was more a pretense. I’d need more data to be sure.”
Bilbo knew dragons were clever, but he had not realized they were anything like this.
“That was amazing. Extraordinary. Quite extraordinary,” Bilbo said.
“That’s not what people usually say,” Smaug said.
Bilbo could not believe that. “What do they usually say?”
“They usually say ‘It’s a bloody dragon’ and then there is yelling and screaming and they shoot useless arrows at me.” Smaug rolled his great eyes. “Tedious.”
Bilbo couldn’t help but giggle. Smaug turned his gaze back on him and Bilbo remembered quite suddenly that he was supposed to be afraid.
“Did you just…laugh?” Smaug asked.
“Not at you! Not on purpose. You’re just sort of, ah, witty. It is cute,” Bilbo winced. He sounded like a right arse.
“Dragons may get called witty but I’ve never been called ‘cute.’”
“M-my apologies. I meant no offense. Are you going to eat me now?”
“No. Your bones are so small I could not even use them to pick my teeth. Besides, I rather like you. For someone of such small stature to have so much courage when battle-hardened warriors would not...your lover should be ashamed of himself to send you down here.”
“Yes, how did you know about the lover?” Bilbo asked curiously.
“I smell the sex on you. More specifically, I smell the semen, which would suggest he was the dominant partner in your most recent coupling. It is strictly a sexual relationship but you have developed an attachment. Pity, that.”
“Okay, how do you know that?” Bilbo demanded.
“Shot in the dark. A good one, though. When I mention him, your expression changes unpleasantly, painfully. You care enough about him to risk your hide to enter my chamber, so the detachment is not on your part. Possibly he started the sex as a means to cajole you down here if you were hesitant, or maybe it was just a release from what was no doubt a stressful undertaking to travel here. He kept doing it because he enjoyed it, but he will not carry on a relationship or even a marriage outside his race or social class.”
Bilbo bristled. “What makes you think I’m outside his social class?”
“Oh, I've offended you. Rest assured, I can tell by your speech and your manners that you are of comfortable social standing in your homeland. Your demeanor and your body language with me, a potential foe, is that of someone only very recently accustomed to dealing with adversity. However, the dwarf leading this expedition had artifacts that allowed you to find and open an outside passage. A passage concealed by dwarven craft, otherwise it would have long since been smashed by myself. I would guess he was an heir to this mountain or close kin to one thereof. He might let you warm his bed, but your head will never wear a crown.”
Bilbo knew this was true, but it did not lessen the sting of it. He put a hand to his eyes to hide the emotion they no doubt betrayed to this dragon who seemed to see everything.
“Not good?” Smaug asked.
“No,” Bilbo said shakily. “It was all spot-on. It just hurt a little more than I thought it would to hear you say it out loud.”
“I am…sorry,” Smaug said.
Bilbo laughed bitterly. “A dragon apologizing to a hobbit? I think I must already be dead.”
“Hobbit? Is that what you call yourselves?”
“Yes. And for the record, you were right about the rest of it, too. Except for the barrels. We didn’t know the roads were closed. We were being held captive by the Elven king and sneaking out in barrels into a river shipment was our only means of escape.”
The dragon made a noise of disgust. “There’s always something.”
“That is hardly worth mentioning. The rest was quite brilliant.”
Bilbo told himself he must be imagining that the dragon looked proud to be praised.
Smaug asked, “What is your name, little one?”
“I am Bilbo Baggins of the West.” Bilbo decided it was not a good idea to tell a dragon his exact origin.
“Well met, Bilbo Baggins of the West.”
Smaug set him down and loomed over him. Bilbo could not help but tremble.
Smaug cocked his head. “Do I still frighten you, Master Baggins? I did promise not to eat you, after all.”
“Forgive me, for as much as I find you majestic and handsome, your size is fearsome to me,” Bilbo said.
“Handsome but fearsome you say?” Smaug’s jowls curved away from his terrible teeth in a smile. “Let me see if I can manage a form that is less alarming but no less pleasing, shall I?”
Smaug’s form began to quake. “You may want to duck and protect your head,” he warned.
Bilbo’s survival instincts would have had him do it, regardless, once the floor began to rumble. He ran backward before rolling into a small ball. Gusts of non-lethal heat blasted near him and coins rained down on his head. When the sound died down, he looked up. The firedrake was gone. In his place was the most breathtaking creature on which Bilbo had ever set eyes.