Author's Note: Alrighty then! This is the first fanfic I have ever written! Yay! It was a request from my best friend, who has been trying to get me to pick up my pen again (or keyboard) for the last three years, who simply said she wanted a fic where everyone lives and with a character based off her who "ends up with Legolas because the poor guys alone". Yeah, sure. I'm sure that's the only reason. *wink* Anyway, I've only ever written original content in the past, so foraying into fanfiction is more than a bit daunting for me as I've read some incredible works from many people. Constructive criticism and comments would be much appreciated, but please, no flaming. Apologies for the long note, thanks, and I hope you have a good read! ~Aura

Disclaimer: I do not own "The Hobbit" or "The Lord of the Rings" in any way, shape, or form. All recognized characters and locations are just borrowed for a bit of fun.


Chapter 1

Explore the mountain and find any supplies to help the wounded. Sure, it sounded like an easy request when Legolas had asked it of Lossendes, but had anyone actually bothered to look at the size of this place? It had been abandoned for generations to the care of that dragon. And when she said care, she meant that Erebor was an utter disaster after you walked past the great hall. Then again, it was a testament to the skills of the Dwarves that it was still standing at all, crumbling bridges or no.

"Gods, I am going to be lost," Lossendes grumbled as she stepped over yet another boulder, "Wasn't Legolas thinking? I know he was a little frazzled from the battle, but still… After a few hundred years one would think that he would remember I am capable of getting a bit lost. A mountain is not a city. This all looks the same and I'd be much more useful with healing the wounded."

Lossendes sighed as she turned yet another corner, torch in hand, only to find she was back in the great hall. A different end of it, yes, but the great hall nonetheless. Turning to the side again, she set off down a set of old stairs, her white blonde hair flowing behind her. After a few minutes walking down the seemingly endless steps, a crack sounded further down. She froze, listening and searching the darkness with her sharp green eyes. Silently, Lossendes pulled out her blade from its sheath when she heard another crack a moment later. Moving slowly, she stepped down the rest of the staircase and into the hallway it fed into. Squinting into the darkness, she saw that part of the wall had been blown away, the stone surrounding the maw blackened by dragon fire. Directly in front of the hole were the remains of what she assumed used to be a door, but it was a bit large, so maybe a window of some sort? Lossendes snorted when she remembered it very well may have been to accommodate the size of some Dwarves, but she admonished herself quickly. After having met Thorin and his company, her opinions on the other race had slowly been changing. Thorin himself left much to be desired with his annoying sense of entitlement, but Lossendes had found that the company of Fili and Kili was tolerable. She smiled slightly when she thought of Tauriel, who found one of the Dwarves a bit more than tolerable. Honestly, it would be completely scandalous back home, in Rivendell or even Mirkwood; but here on the Lonely Mountain, she doubted anyone (except perhaps Thranduil and maybe Legolas) cared all that much. The world was certainly changing...

Lossendes was thrown from her train of thought when a small explosion sounded from the room before her, rattling the walls and shaking the floor. She gripped the wall for support until the world righted itself before taking the few steps needed to poke her head around the corner of the doorway. Sword at the ready and with only the sound of the crystalline beads in her hair tinkling softly, Lossendes stepped into the room.

Despite her training, she nearly dropped her blade in astonishment at what she was seeing. Curled into a ball, and staring at her pitifully from under its small wing, was a young dragon. They stared at each other for a moment before Lossendes slowly lowered her weapon. She didn't know if the hatchling could breathe fire yet, but she was not going to risk the thing feeling threatened and frying her for her own stupidity. Keeping eye contact, she slowly began backing out of the room, intent on finding Legolas or Tauriel. They would know how to deal with this. Well, she knew how Legolas would. He'd likely want to kill it. Tauriel it is. Lossendes sighed, thinking she was never going to be able to drag Tauriel from the wounded Kili. As she rounded the doorway, stepping backwards lightly, she heard a quiet, "…Wait…"

Hoping against hope that she hadn't just heard the hatchling speak, Lossendes froze again. She raised her eyes to the ceiling while silently praying she'd been hearing things when it came again, "Where's Papa?"

Groaning, her worst fears confirmed, Lossendes turned back around and practically marched into the room. The dragon hadn't moved much, but she could tell that it was trying to scoot as far from her as possible with as little movement as it could manage. Raising a delicate eyebrow, Lossendes smiled awkwardly while slowly sitting on the stone floor. It was still staring warily at her when she spoke, nearly at a whisper, "My name is Lossendes Umdis of Rivendell and Mirkwood. Who are you?"

The dragon quirked its head to the side and asked again, "Where's Papa?"

Lossendes grimaced. If her suspicions were right, and really, how could they actually be wrong in this case, the hatchling's "Papa" had been none other than Smaug, who was now dead and at the bottom of Lake Town. In her, and the rest of Middle Earth's, opinion, that was a good thing. But for this hatchling, it would most likely spell disaster. Breathing deeply, she spoke as gently as she could, "I am guessing that your Papa was Smaug? The dragon who has lived under Erebor for generations?"

The hatchling blinked at her and, after a moment, nodded.

Still hoping that the young dragon couldn't breathe fire, Lossendes turned her eyes to the floor and responded, "I fear Smaug has fallen in battle."

She braced herself for, well, she didn't know what. Fire? Teeth? Being thrown against, or through, the stone wall for her words? But none of those things occurred. Glancing up, Lossendes saw that the young dragon wasn't even looking at her anymore. It had turned its head to stare at the tattered drapery on the wall. Biting her lip, a nervous habit that no one had ever been able to break her of, Lossendes scooted a bit closer to the dragon. Hearing her move, the dragon's head snapped up, causing her to freeze again, smiling warily at it.

"Was it you?"

Lossendes blinked in surprise, but at least she could answer honestly, "No, it was not," and added, "Who are you?"

A few moments of hesitation and then, "Bero."

Lossendes immediately recognized the old name, meaning little fire. She couldn't help but quirk an eyebrow at the slight sense of humor Smaug obviously had before his demise. Nodding, she continued staring at the dragon, Bero, before asking, "What are you going to do?"

Bero immediately answered, "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

With a flick of his tail, Bero stood. Lossendes realized that he had seemed a lot bigger sitting down. Stretched out and standing, Bero probably wasn't much bigger than the animals that the humans in Gondor or Rohan called dogs. Well, unless you counted his wings and tail. Then, yes, he was larger, but relatively speaking, he wasn't even as large as that pony she had seen Bilbo, the Hobbit accompanying Thorin, riding. Blinking, Lossendes realized that Bero had begun speaking again.

"What am I to do? I can't be with Papa even if I wanted to."

Lossendes felt her lips turn up, thinking that Legolas would definitely say otherwise. He was a good Elf, but he often did not think before he acted, much to Thranduil's dismay. In her opinion though, Thranduil could do with a little less thinking sometimes.

Obviously seeing her surprise, Bero continued, "I don't want to fight. I don't want to hurt anyone. Papa was sick. He didn't know it, but he was. I couldn't help him get better."

Dragon's sickness was the first thing that came to Lossendes' mind when Bero spoke and she frowned. Bero pouted while she continued to think. She knew that Thorin barely overcame his own Dragon's sickness and he had the help of his kin and Bilbo. But could a Dragon have it too? Admittedly, there wasn't much known about dragons in this part of the world besides the fact that they loved to hoard treasure and burn villages and people. If what this young dragon said was true, those dragons had also been sick. Already, she knew that Bero was either very different or was what other dragons considered normal. A dragon who wasn't sick. Turning again, she could see no bloodlust in Bero's turquoise eyes. Honestly, they looked a little dull. Sad, she realized in a rush. Lost. Bero looked lost.

Something in Lossendes stirred as that thought ran through her and as she sheathed her blade, she found herself saying, "Come with me. I'll take you to the north where no one can hurt you. It'll be alright. In the Wild, you might find freedom that you will not find here."

Bero looked at her again. He looked like he was squinting at her uncertainly, like he was trying to discern a darker motive for her words. She wouldn't be surprised if he was. None of the races of Middle Earth were known for being kind to dragons. Then again, she was quite certain this hadn't happened before. This was new. And maybe, just maybe, it was good.