Author's note: M rated for future chapters

Bilbo carefully stepped down a broken staircase, some stone steps crumbled away beneath his feet and the hobbit let out gasps of fright. With a torch burning bright in his hand, and a satchel slung over one shoulder, the hobbit squinted his eyes as he peered into the darkness of the grand hall.

It was not utter darkness, however, as he could make out a warm gleam of light spilling from what he supposed was a connecting room further down into the hall.

Finally, Bilbo managed to arrive safely at the bottom of the staircase. The hobbit let out a sullen sigh, before adjusting his satchel and continuing to step forward stiffly towards the source of light. It was not courage that had pushed him this far, it was the blunt numbness etched deep in his heart.

He knew he could not grant what The King in Exile desired of him, and for all the tenderness Thorin had been bestowing upon him lately, he felt naught but guilt. He could not return his feelings.

More light was spilling from the room now as Bilbo walked closer. The double doors were tall, wiith intricate runes carved into the stone. Out of sheer madness, the hobbit slipped inside without a second thought.

He only had a second to take in all that was in the room, before having to duck behind a pillar to escape being burnt alive by a trail of scorching flames that immediately seared it way towards where he stood upon his intrusion.

He had not seen the dragon, but he realized it knew he was there, and somehow, rather peculiarly, Bilbo did not feel afraid. His heart sped up in his chest, surely, but the hobbit was no where near as nervous as he was supposed to be, and he did not know why. For Aulë's sake, he was in the same room as Smaug the Terrible! The dragon who razed Erebor to the ground and forced the dwarves to flee for their lives over a hundred years ago!

No, he still was not as terrified as he should be. Bilbo knitted his brows at his own indiffrence and gave his chest a gentle pat as if to check if his heart was still there. Then suddenly, a powerful voice thundered from the center of the room, shaking even the very air within it.

"WHO DARES ENTER MY DOMAIN!"

It was now that fear began to clench at his heart. Bilbo piped up to reply back weakly.

"It matters not who I am!" His voice was shrill, "I come here to negotiate with you!"

Negotiate, right. Dragons love negotiations, especially ones that end with more treasure pouring their way. He knew Smaug would not roast him alive with the opening of this offer. With that, Bilbo stepped out from behind the pillar, and turned to face the...-

There was no dragon.

Furrowing his brows, Bilbo adjusted the torch in his hand and started to pick his way towards the center of the hall. The gigantic room was bathed in the luscious glow of thousands and thousands of candles whose glimmers reflected off the piles of gold that floored the room.

Bilbo started his climb onto a pile of goal, his eyes still darting around the hall to check for any movements.

A large diamond chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and Bilbo realized that had this not been a situation where he could be reduced to nothing but a pile of ash at any given moment, he would have complimented the host for their good taste in decorations. Smaug's lair was truly a sight to behold.

Suddenly, Bilbo lost his footing, slipped, and was half buried in the pile of gold coins. Breath hitched in his throat, and in alarm, he tried to clamber back to his feet.

It was then that a low-pitched mocking laugher sounded right behind him...

Bilbo froze, his heart raced, for it did not sound like the booming voice of the dragon he heard a mere moment ago. The laugh sounded rather... Human.

Biting his lips, the hobbit swallowed slowly and craned his neck back to look at his host.

A surprise gasp escaped his lips.

The man who towered over him was donned in a long, tri-layer garment made of black leather. Scarlet patterns ran along it, embroidered with intricate threads of gold. The leather clung to his broad shoulders like wings, and cascaded down his majestic form, splaying around his ankles like a waterfall on the mountain of gold he stood upon. His curly locks were black as night, and his slanted fiery golden eyes were striking, like two suns in a roaring tempest.

His tall and imposing figure towered over the little hobbit who scrambled backward on the pile of golden coins that kept drawing him down. Bilbo's eyes were wide in fright as the magnificent stranger bent down to eye level with him.

"And what are you, mortal?"

His voice was deep, low, and velvety. Bilbo gasped, and the stranger licked his lips, eyeing Bilbo with a look close to amusement; the corner of his mouth drew up in a wicked smile.

"Ah, indeed. A halfling."

Bilbo's breath was hitched in his throat, and a question slipped out before he even caught himself.

"Wh...- What do you know about haflings?"

The stranger's sharp eyes glared like embers.

"There are many things I know about you, Bilbo Baggins."

Bilbo's jaw fell down, almost comically.

"Wait! How did you know my na...-"

"Deduction." His resonating voice echoed within the chamber, silencing the bewildered hobbit.

"D...Deduction?"

The stranger whipped around, his hands behind his back, and started marching in circles without looking at him. It was then that Bilbo managed to clamber to position himself atop the pile of gold again.

"Small in form with short, curly hair, pointy ears, walks barefoot, fury feet. You, mortal, are a hobbit."

Then suddenly the stranger's presence was on him. Bilbo gasped in alarm and fell backward. The man towered over him with his hands planted on either sides of Bilbo's head, their faces inches apart. The little hobbit trembled as the intense golden eyes glared into his, and words were pouring out from the stranger's lips.

"Your skin is pale underneath your vest." His long finger traced its way down Bilbo's chest where the buttons had become undone, "You have travelled far, although you seldom do so - No. In fact, this is your first journey."

The stranger's eyes bore into his as Bilbo gaped, his mystically handsome face now only an inch away from the hobbit's.

"Loose fitting clothes fancied by a thin hobbit? I think not." His soft breath ghosted over Bilbo's lips."You have lost a considerable amount of weight during the past few months but had not the chance to acquire a new set of clothing. Why? You were in a hurry leaving - oh yes, the Shire, and in an even greater hurry traveling. Why?"

The golden-eyed man eyed him with a sidelong glance before pushing himself off of Bilbo, and resumed his pacing.

"Do not think I have not travelled far and wide, halfing. Your jacket is worn beyond repair now but it was well tailored. Only a few families in Westfarthing would be able to afford - oh please don't look surprised. You are neither a Stoor nor a Fallohide, hence Westfarthing. Your tender skin does not speak much of adventure; not a Brandybuck, and is that pride I sense? Yes. You are, or were, a well respected Baggins."

Bilbo pursed his lips to pluck up his courage.

"What about my name?" He asked indignantly. "How did you come by my name?"

"You have lost many pocket handkerchiefs along the way, but a well worn one hanging out of your pocket right now is treasured. Why? Your mother made it for you a long time ago and she even sew your name on it."

Bilbo heaved a sigh of defeat.

"But what made Bilbo Baggins of the Shire leave his warm hole in such a hurry and came all the way here...?" The stranger mused, audibly drawing in a breath, his fingers drumming against the back of his other hand. Then, his brows knitted, and he suddenly whirled back and dashed over to the hobbit. Two pale fingers tugged at the collars of his jacket, and the stranger bent down so close the tip of his nose almost came into contact with Bilbo's neck.

Bilbo felt heat flushing up to his face and neck as he drew his chin up and turned the other way, trying desperately to show that he was not afraid. His heart pounded wildly in his chest.

"You reek of that coward..." He heard the stranger whisper, his breath still hot on Bilbo's neck. "That castaway prince!"

His pale, yet strong hand grabbed Bilbo's chin roughly, forcing the hobbit to gaze into his amber eyes.

"Tell Thorin Oakenshield that Smaug the Magnificent sends his regards."

Then he leant down, and placed a searing kiss on the hobbit's slightly parted lips.

"Until then, Master Baggins!"

With a gush of wind, all the candles in the hall went out, and Bilbo closed his eyes as a strong gale rushed past him.

When he opened his eyes again, he was outside the secret door. The hobbit blinked, his rosy cheeks still burned, and he lifted a finger up to trace his lips as it felt like they were on fire.

The sun was on the edge of the horizon, radiating its pinkish orange glow against the purple sky. The thrushes were making their ways back to their nests, and the cold evening wind was biting into his skin. Bilbo shivered, not from the cold but from the fire that seemed to have ignited within his chest. He felt his face flushing as the images of that pair of amber eyes roaming his face flashed back into his mental vision; that deep, low resonating voice. Perhaps it also was the enticing peril, the dominating presence, and the temptation to succumb to all that was asked of him.

Had he fallen for the beast?