He fell, like an angel, wings cascading by his sides, skin still glowing gold from the transformation. Dark hair swirled around his forehead, chest still lined with red scales here and there. If you look closely, you may even see small horns, peeking out of his hair as he fell. And then he dropped, into the dark murky waters, full of destruction and rubble. Nobody saw this transformation. Nobody saw a man with dark hair crash into the waters. All except for Gandalf.
He ran to the river bank, searching the waters for the wounded man. He jumped in and swam towards the broken figure, dark red blood spilling from his side while his wings hung uselessly behind him, floating in the water. He grabbed the creature's side and pulled him up, gasping for breath since he had long not swum in foreign waters. And slowly, he dragged the man up the bank. A large black arrow was stuck to the man's side, rising up and down with each struggling breath. Left with no choice, Gandalf tightened his grip down the long stake, and wrenched it out.
The man below him gave a sudden intake of air, chest contracting as he began to breathe. Fits of water were coughed up with his ragged breaths as he tried to withstand the burring pain to his side, blood seeping out and down the narrow dirt path that he was lying on. Gandalf carried him to a half destroyed house, deep red wings trailing behind him as the man drew in shaky breaths of air. Finally, Gandalf managed to get him to shelter, and hauled him up to a bed near a low candlelight. Even in the dim light, the old wizard saw blood seep into the clean white sheets, turning the bed crimson red.
Although dragons can heal much faster than humans, the size of the wound will take days for even him to heal. Gandalf quickly began to bandage the wound, pushing cloth to the bleeding hole where the arrow once buried. His hands were swift, cleaning the wound with a wet towel then using fresh bandages to dress the laceration. Soon, the entire abdomen of the strange winged creature was bound, perfect white ribbons of cloth going around and around the middle.
The old wizard finally let out a sigh he didn't realize he was holding, then sat back to admire his makeshift, chuckling to himself as he went to wash the blood off his hands. The dragon looked certainly handsome in the dark light, cheekbones jutting out and lengths of red scales running down his arms and chest. A pair of dark red wings were folded behind him as he slept, curving up towards to the top creating a small halo around his head. Two small dark horns peeked out of the creature's dark curly hair, contrasting with his pale skin and long lashes.
Dragon, Gandalf thought silently in his head, stupid young dragon.
And yet he watched over him, for the next two days.
—
Two days passed with Gandalf, waking up every morning to check on the sleeping figure. It was on the second day, when the sun has set in the west, until the dragon woke up. The wake was slow. He first opened his eyes, revealing glowing golden blue-green irises, like the color of the universe. He then raised his hand, examining it in the refraction of the light, twisting around to see the thin scales on the back.
He didn't see Gandalf till the wizard made a small coughing sound. His golden eyes suddenly flickered up, watching the old man grasp his staff, slowly rocketing back and forth on the large wooden chair. A dark brown pipe was held aloof in his hand, smoke still spiraling up into the air.
"Good evening," he said, looking down at the man, who had now twisted to his side.
The man only glared at him with those bright eyes. And then, he spoke.
"Why did you save me?" His voice was deep yet it had lost it's harsh, grating noise from before. Two sharp teeth poked out from beneath giving him a slight vampire look.
Gandalf smiled warmly. "Because," he began, "I believe that you should be given another chance. You have yet so much to see around the world. I fail to see that I refuse save a life that I can save."
The dragon narrowed his eyes, wary. "I'm nearly five hundred years old," he rumbled.
Gandalf laughed silently, "Ahh yes," he said, "but you slept for two centuries, am I not right?"
Smaug scowled at him. "What are you implying, wizard?" He asked, tone hostile.
Gandalf took a long drawl at his pipe before speaking. "You are one of the last dragons remaining, and you barely had time to go out to see the world. You attacked Erebor as soon as you reached adulthood, so, I'm giving you another chance." Gandalf conculded.
Smaug sat there and blinked at him, clearly confused. "So… you're letting me start over?" He asked, hesitant.
Gandalf smiled and puffed out a cloud of smoke. "Yes," he raised his eyebrows as if there weren't anything more obvious than that.
Smaug stared at him once more but all hostility were lost. Instead, there was almost an inquisitive look in his eyes, like he was still analyzing what Gandalf had just said.
"Very well," he finally said. "What do you want me to do?"
"There is a hobbit, named Bilbo Baggins," Gandalf announced, "I want you to look after him. Follow him around, learn the life of them! There's still much you have not seen, Smaug, and I wish to give you another chance."
And with that, Gandalf sighed then leaned back on the rickety chair he was sitting, puffing his old wooden pipe. "Sleep, dragon, you still need a lot of your energy to make the flight," he said.
And so the dragon slept.
Hey guys, Izzy here. This is my first Hobbit fanfic, so please forgive if I got some of the information wrong. I researched a bit about the dragon's background and the entire Second and Third Age, and judging by the information given, Smaug should be about 500 years old. I might continue this, but first tell me what you think! Ciao.