Chapter Text
Dragon’s cave, dragon’s cave. Find a white jewel inside the dragon’s cave. You’ll know it when you see it. Very helpful advice. Oh, along with, ‘Don’t wake up the dragon,’ Bilbo thought sarcastically as he pawed through the loose gold. There was a massive cave full of gold, jewels, paintings, vessels, statues, tapestries, books, because apparently this dragon didn’t believe in being tidy and organized, and Bilbo was supposed to find one particular jewel. Why? Was it magical? Or merely symbolic? Symbols could be very powerful, of course, but Bilbo wasn’t sure this entire perilous journey was really worth it if all he did was retrieve a symbol.
The gold shifted slightly near him, a little gold-fall tumbling down a gold-cliff. Coincidence? The result of his disturbance of the treasure strata?
Or something worse?
More gold-falls, everywhere he looked, and a rumbling almost too low to hear that shook his bones, and the gold rising up like a tidal wave before him—Quickly Bilbo pulled out his magic ring and slipped it on his finger, heavy and oddly comforting, like he was meant to wear it always. Instantly his view drained of color, became shadowy and distorted, and he knew he was invisible. Neat trick, that. Of course, invisible or not he could still be easily crushed by the tumbling treasure, so he fought his way uphill, behind a wide pillar. Possibly he could climb it if his footing became unstable.
Bilbo glanced around one side of the pillar, then snapped back. There was an eye. A huge eye with a vertical slit for a pupil, surrounded by reddish-gold scales, almost blending into the gold coins but not quite. Maybe it was just some kind of—Bilbo checked again, and the eye blinked. So, real then. A dragon eye. An open dragon eye.
Bilbo peered around the opposite side of the column, where something twitched in the gold. He thought it was a snake at first—because that would just be wonderful—but then realized it was the tip of the dragon’s tail. A quick calculation showed that with an eye here and a tail there, the dragon was in total—well, quite large. Of course Bilbo had realized that—being a Hobbit he was used to things being very big compared to him—but seeing it laid out concretely, understanding what those great lumps under the gold were as they rose and fell with irregular breaths… that was a different thing altogether.
Balin had said to find the Arkenstone if he could. Well, clearly he couldn’t, not with the dragon starting to wake up, shaking and turning, shifting the treasure and rattling the walls. Time to get out the way he’d come and see what Thorin had in mind for Plan B. Probably, it involved beating and stabbing.
Bilbo made a break for it, hoping the dragon hadn’t fully awakened yet. Behind him there was a roar like a waterfall and the clanging of ten thousand coins changing places. He can’t see you, he can’t see you, he told himself frantically as he hopped over the treasure towards the door.
“I know you’re here,” said a voice, deep, silky, vaguely amused. “I can smell you.” The dragon inhaled deeply, almost obscenely, and his massive reptilian head swung around to face Bilbo, who had foolishly stopped and looked back. “I can hear you,” the dragon continued, flicking his long tongue out of his scaly lips. “I can hear your tiny heart pounding in your ribcage. Your bones would be too small to pick my teeth with,” he predicted disdainfully. “But I have been waiting for you.”
At this Bilbo paused. Partly it was because a huge claw, attached to a wing of leathery fineness, had come down to block his exit, inadvertently perhaps. But partly it was because there was something in that sinister, seductive voice that he found familiar. Elation shot through him, but also dread, deep despair—to meet again, but like this! There could be no hope for them, surely.
“Show yourself, little creature,” the dragon persuaded, his head turning from side to side to give both eyes a chance to hunt. “Show yourself to me now.”
Almost against his will, as if hypnotized, Bilbo pulled the magic ring off his finger. The world snapped back into color and he staggered slightly, and the dragon’s golden eye fixed on him. Slowly Smaug lowered his head until it nearly rested on the gold-covered floor—then proceeded to nudge Bilbo with his muzzle, none too gently, sniffing all the while like an overeager hunting dog.
“Here, stop that!” Bilbo insisted, pushing on his warm, scaly nose.
Smaug pulled back, enough to see Bilbo, and his lips seemed to curl back from his teeth in a smile. “Just making sure I know your scent,” he claimed, a threat implicit in his tone. “You stink of Dwarves, yet aren’t one yourself,” he judged, curious. “What are you?”
Bilbo glanced around, looking for any other exits. They’d be a run, across shifting terrain, and wouldn’t necessarily lead him to safety or his companions. “I’m—I’m a Hobbit,” he responded, trying to sound conversational as he hopped around, aiming for a rocky outcropping. The most salient feature of a dragon was its ability to breathe fire (which he supposed excused its rather noxious breath) and he wanted to have some protection from that, no matter how scant. “From the Shire?” The golden eyes watched him expectantly, wanting more. “I am Bilbo Baggins,” he added, trying to sound grand. “Riddle-maker, Barrel-rider, Spider-slayer—“
“How amusing,” the dragon interrupted with some impatience. “Where are your Dwarvish friends? Waiting outside for you to return to them?”
“No, no one else here,” Bilbo insisted, ducking behind the rocks.
“Come out where I can see you,” Smaug demanded, suddenly peevish, and Bilbo hurriedly climbed on top of the rocks, reasoning he could quickly jump/fall back behind them if necessary.
“Just getting a better vantage point,” Bilbo claimed. “But, er, as I was saying, no one around but me.”
The dragon’s long neck undulated like a huge serpent, waving his head in front of Bilbo. “And the Dwarves you smell of?” he asked tolerantly.
“Dwarves? Oh, hmm—oh, bought the coat from one,” Bilbo told him casually. “That must be it. He claimed it was new, but I suppose—“
“Enough.” He stopped talking and Smaug sighed, sour breath washing over Bilbo. “Alright, just for the record, why are you here? To help the Dwarves regain their home?”
“I already said—“
“You already said you were alone, yes,” Smaug acknowledged, sounding bored. A bored dragon was probably bad. “Well then, you must be an ordinary thief,” he concluded. “I like them extra-crispy.” He smiled again, baring his teeth.
“No, no, wait,” Bilbo insisted, mind turning rapidly. “I’m not a thief! I came here—to see you!”
Smaug blinked at him, momentarily startled, and Bilbo felt a thrill of (very minor) victory. “To see me?”
“Yes, great Smaug!” Bilbo proclaimed. “To gaze upon your magnificence! Smaug, the Treasure-guarder, the Dwarf-roaster, the City-leveler—“
“Oh please,” Smaug interrupted, rolling the eye Bilbo could see.
“Well, I thought it was rather good myself,” Bilbo commented.
“’Dwarf-roaster’ is amusing,” Smaug conceded, “though I hardly think your friends would agree.”
“I told—“
“Stop.” The dragon’s great head dropped level with Bilbo. “Enough of this nonsense, Bay,” he purred. “I have been waiting for you for a very long time.”
“It’s Bilbo, actually—“ The dragon snorted, the wind powerful enough to shut Bilbo’s mouth for fear something would fly into it.
“Shall we argue about our names?” Smaug snapped in irritation. “If I fill these tunnels with flames and roast all your Dwarvish friends, will you then cease your play-acting and address me properly?”
Bay gave a slight huff. “Play-acting is rather the point,” he noted, but he put an affectionate hand on the dragon’s muzzle. “Magnus.”
A flash of teeth indicating a smile. “Watch the scales, if you rub them the wrong way you’ll slice your fingers off,” he warned.
Bay patted up and down, then removed his hand entirely. “Well, that would be unfortunate,” he replied dryly. “Alright, shall we go back to it, then? No, no Dwarves, came to see you—“
“No, we shan’t go back to it,” Magnus insisted, a frown in his voice.
Bay tapped his foot impatiently. “Alright, look, you’re a dragon, I’m sure you’re very pleased about that—“
“It’s d—n boring, actually.”
“—but unfortunately I’m a Hobbit, and a Hobbit with the goal of defeating you,” Bay went on, trying to remain matter-of-fact. “Shall we just skip to the part where I escape?” He feared they were running behind now.
“You’re not escaping,” Magnus refuted, and he reared up to his full height, filling the vast cavern with his spread wings. Most of his lower body had still been buried in the gold and the treasure clanged noisily as it fell from him, his great hips, back, legs, and tail stretching to their full height. Bay was roughly the size of one of his claws, a middling hors d’oevre at best. The sight made his heart leap into his throat and his eyes sting with tears—what hope did any mere mortals have against such a beast?
One of the dragon’s paws came down and caught him, holding him in a cage of scaly skin and horn as solid as rocks. He was carefully not crushed, however, and set gently atop a stone ledge at a height presumably more comfortable for the dragon. “I have been waiting many a long night and day for you, the prize of my collection,” Magnus declared, “and I will not give you up.”
Bay sighed and relaxed his posture. “Won’t give me up? Come on, that’s not supposed to happen. Magnus, would you just—“ He could be so terribly frustrating sometimes.
“Oh, I know what’s supposed to happen,” the dragon assured him, with a touch of menace. “You and your Dwarvish friends are here to kill me, and take back their home. Why should I sit back and allow that?”
Bay saw his point, but really, options were limited. “Well, it’s not as if I want to see you dead,” he explained. “I mean, we’ve just met, haven’t we?” He held out his hand and the dragon lowered his head carefully to meet it, letting Bay pat his nose again. He felt the connection between them, the eternal link, no matter how strange Magnus’s appearance was. If he closed his eyes he could see the usual face that went with that voice, imagine it was the warmth of skin, not scales, under his hand. No, he did not want to lose him again so soon. “Uh, an alternative,” he continued, opening his eyes, “is to just give up and leave on your own.” He could predict how well that would go over.
The dragon let out a snort that nearly knocked Bay flat. “An alternative,” he snarled, rising up to the rafters of the hall, “is to burn those Dwarves and drop their carcasses in the nearest village, as a warning to all other adventurers!”
This was no idle threat, Bay knew—Magnus could be filled with malevolence sometimes, his disdain for those around him given free rein by the character he played. What better persona than a dragon, covetous for gold that belonged to others?
“No, okay, no,” Bay insisted, trying to calm him down. “Listen, I’m sure we can work something out.”
“Yes, perhaps Thorin Oakenshield will give up on his life’s quest and slink quietly back to the Blue Mountains!” Magnus suggested scornfully.
“Mmm, yes, that seems unlikely,” Bay agreed. “Look, come on and help me think outside the box here. Let’s talk about your goals.”
“You’re so tiny,” Magnus observed instead, his head invading Bay’s personal space again. “How do you function? Look at your coat. Like doll clothes.”
Bay rolled his eyes. “Well, where I come from this is a perfectly normal size,” he pointed out briskly. “Now what do you—“
“I could have a whole collection of Hobbits, and keep them in a glass case in the corner,” Magnus mused. Bay hoped he was just being obnoxious, not serious. “Little Hobbit homes and gardens and carts and wheelbarrows! Do you have miniature animals as well?”
“Magnus,” Bay said, trying to leash his patience before it could escape. “Let’s focus on the here and now, alright? So what is it you most want?”
“You, and treasure,” Magnus listed promptly. His tail curled up to Bay’s perch and poked inquisitively at his coat buttons, as if seeing how they were affixed. “This is a very nice place,” he purred to Bay. “I suppose living in a cave doesn’t sound immediately appealing to everyone, but trust me, these Dwarves were hardly roughing it. There’s kitchens, great halls, bedchambers, even indoor plumbing—“
“All of which belongs to Thorin, and his people,” Bay insisted stubbornly.
Magnus’s tail flicked at him dismissively. “Oh, why do I bother arguing with you?” he asked rhetorically. “You just sit there and I’ll go take care of those Dwarves. Back in a tic.”
He started to turn and Bay felt a wave of panic wash over him. “No, don’t hurt them!” he shouted, feeling completely helpless. “Please, they’re my friends!” His companions he had journeyed so long with, through so many dangers, proving himself worthy of them—to let them die now would be something he could never forgive himself for.
Magnus was unsympathetic, as usual. “Well you shouldn’t have let yourself get attached,” he tossed off. “Honestly. Dwarves are hardly endearing.”
With a blink Bay cast aside his mortal limitations and willed Magnus’s tail into his grasp, fingers clinging to the slick scales with strength a mere Hobbit could not possess. Magnus stopped short and looked back over his shoulder. “Are you playing tug-of-war with a dragon’s tail?” he accused, equal parts incredulity and menace.
“You will listen to me!” Bay demanded, yanking on the tail. “I will not let you harm them!”
Magnus whipped around suddenly, flexible tail curling around him as he glared down at Bay. “Oh, you will not let me, hmm?” he repeated in a sneer. “Shall we see which of us is stronger this time? Who has more cunning and will?”
Bay did not like to be at odds with Magnus. Personality-wise, there was always some friction, yes, which made life interesting, but he didn’t want to be enemies. He didn’t want to defeat Magnus—or live with him after letting him kill his friends. With reluctance he let the tail go, and pulled out his sword instead.
“I think you’re outmatched,” Magnus noted dryly. Then Bay laid the blade of the sword against his own wrist and saw the dragon tense up immediately. “Don’t—don’t be ridiculous, Bay,” Magnus snapped. “You would die for a bunch of Dwarves? They would not do the same for you, I promise you that!”
“Actually, they would,” Bay asserted confidently. “These particular Dwarves, they would.” They had demonstrated this many times on this quest.
“Alright, let’s just calm down,” Magnus soothed, in an ironic reversal of their roles. “Let’s think about this a moment, Bay. Cutting your wrist is hardly instantaneous death, is it? I would bind your wounds before you died.”
“Oh, you would bind my wounds?” Bay scoffed. “You can’t even pick up a goose with those gigantic claws, let alone wrap a bandage around my tiny wrist!” He did rather get tired of being called small. Everything was relative, wasn’t it? In Hobbiton he’d been considered slightly tall.
Magnus’s golden reptilian eyes narrowed at him. “There are things I could do,” he threatened.
Bay met his gaze. “Before the things I could do?” he countered.
For a long moment they had a standoff, each assessing the other’s resolve. Bay felt his strength flowing through him, exhilaration and adrenaline, like he felt when facing down wargs and Orcs and Trolls in the company of his fellows, when all that mattered was defending himself and the others. He didn’t want to die, he never wanted to die, but if death were to happen he wanted it to be in a good cause. And this was the best cause he could think of. He laid the edge closer to his flesh.
Magnus growled low in his throat, a rumble that filled the cave and rattled the precariously-stacked treasures around them. After a moment he blinked and turned his head slightly, and Bay had the feeling he’d won. He relished the fanatic gleam he imagined was in his eye, almost disappointed that it was no longer needed.
Magnus moved his head very close to Bay. “What are your requirements?” he ground out, slowly.
Bay didn’t put his sword away, just in case. “First,” he began with some delicacy, “a breath mint?” The dragon blinked at him several times, then suddenly the hot, sour breath that wafted over Bay became cool and minty. “Thank you,” he replied.
“You could’ve just said.”
“Second,” Bay went on, before they could get distracted, “you and I will leave this place, and do the Dwarves no harm.”
Magnus did not like this provision. “Leave? And go where?” he snarled.
Bay obviously didn’t know as yet. “Well, somewhere,” he insisted.
“Somewhere!” Magnus huffed, gazing over his stores of gold regretfully. “They do not exactly make suburbs for dragons!”
“Look, we’ll find a place,” Bay told him, finally putting his sword back in his belt. His dragon was not happy, but he was resigned. “A cave, or an abandoned palace somewhere, with a stash of forgotten gold, unguarded—“
“You might as well ask a fortune to fall from the sky!” Magnus snapped sarcastically. He scooted his tail end down into the gold, as if enjoying it one last time.
“We’ll find a place,” Bay repeated more gently. “And we’ll be together.”
Magnus turned to look at him then, and poked him with his muzzle again. “And what shall I do with a tiny little Hobbit, hmm?” he asked in a low voice, both amused and seductive.
Bay’s mind had not really gone down that path yet. “Um, well, we’ll have to be creative, I guess,” he stammered. Magnus looked like he was already coming up with ideas. “Um, okay, focus, please,” Bay requested, clearing his throat. “There’s Dwarves about, you know, don’t want to make a scene.”
Magnus bared his teeth in a grin that was somehow very Magnus-like, for all his dragon form. “What else do you require?” he wanted to know.
Bay tried to think. “Uh, generally no killing people, or hurting them,” he specified.
Magnus growled. “What if they’re trying to hurt me?”
“You’re a dragon, you have the advantage in most situations,” Bay reminded him.
“Yes.”
“So you can simply… withdraw,” Bay suggested optimistically.
“Oh, is that what you would have me do?” Magnus scoffed, his tone acidic. Bay rolled his eyes. “The mighty Smaug, who runs away from Dwarves, and peasants with pitchforks, and children with stones—“
“If that’s what it takes,” Bay confirmed coolly. He might well have the first pacifist dragon in Middle-Earth. Magnus rose up on his hind legs and roared his frustration to the stone ceiling, shaking Bay off his feet and rocks down from the wall. Bay could only imagine what the Dwarves thought of that—they could probably hear him all the way in Lake-town. “Well if you’re just going to be in a strop about it,” Bay complained, brushing himself off, “just refuse my terms, and we’ll see each other in the next life.”
“You’re bluffing,” Magnus accused.
“Oh yes,” Bay replied with sarcasm. “Yes, this whole thing has just been a gigantic bluff.”
Magnus huffed, which at least was cool and minty now. “Fine, I agree,” he snarled, with ill grace. He scooped Bay up and set him on the ground, less gently than before. “Go tell your Dwarves. Make it fast,” he ordered, petulantly.
“Right. Thank you,” Bay added awkwardly, feeling like he ought to say something else. “Hey, it will be great, we’ll be together—“ Magnus snorted in displeasure and turned his back on him, nearly whipping him with his tail. “Well, fine then,” Bay decided, and he ducked back out the way he’d come.