Well howdie doodie there folks! Dragonfyre here just posting up another story. This one is technically a sequel to another story I wrote: A Dragon's Quest. I will endeavor to write this one as closely as possible to a standalone, but honestly you are going to be three kinds of confuzzled at first if you haven't read it. Everything will clear up but the backstory is the windup and this story is the pitch. I hope that you all enjoy this one. I look forward to writing this story and I hope you look forward to reading it.

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or Harry Potter and anything mentioned between the two is borrowed without profit. This is a non-profit story that borrows genius characters and throws in some pretty cool ones. Enjoy!


Chapter 1 - When the Past Catches Up

Hobbits.

Hobbits were…quaint. Hobbits were the size of children even when they were fully grown. It could be disarming and quite adorable. One could forget that they were grown men and take them upon a lap for a story. They were very tactile creatures. They loved to touch and be touched. Why, young Mr. Gamgee was forever fussing and touching at young Frodo to see if the lad was all right. And Masters Took and Brandybuck were quite the riot together. They reminded him of his brothers.

And young Frodo. What to say about Frodo? He was a solemn looking lad. He had a good heart and was brave and loyal. But that debacle with the ring had nearly been the undoing of them all. As it were they had been forced to leave Bree much earlier than intended. Those riders had sought to kill the Hobbits and take the treasure that one of them held. That would not happen on his watch. Not while he drew breath would any of those foul beasts touch one of the fair hobbits.

They were not long out of Bree. His plan was to go towards Archet at first, but to bear right and pass it on the east, and then to steer as straight as he could over the wild lands to Weathertop Hill. In that way they would, if all went well, cut off a great loop of the Road, which further on bent southwards to avoid the Midgewater Marshes. But, of course, they would have to pass through the marshes themselves. The poor Hobbits did not seem encouraged by what he had told them. Their road was winding and filled with turns and doublings so that no one could follow them.

The Midges were unpleasant things. They bit even at him, as unpleasant as he must taste to them, but the poor fair Hobbits must be like a feast to them. He had learned long ago to ignore them, but that didn't make them any easier to deal with. If only the biting insects had been the only thing that bothered him.

Despite his precautions and skill they were being followed.

He did not burden the Hobbits with the knowledge. He was sure it wasn't the Black Riders. Were it them, or even one of them, they would have struck by now. They were not known for their stealth. They were known for their fear-inducing cries and swift strikes. Whatever it was that was following them had been tailing them since they had gotten out of sight of Bree. Whether it was because their stalker was just clever enough not to have followed them directly or just wasn't associated with anyone there he did not know. What he did know was that he did not like being followed.

"Strider,"

He looked down to see Frodo walking right next to him, having sped up considerably to approach his side.

"What is it, Frodo?" he asked softly.

"Something is following us," Frodo said simply.

"I know. I am trying to decide whether it is worth confronting or whether we would be safer just to ignore the hanger on. I am impressed in the skill of whoever it is to keep up such a winding trail as we have led," Strider replied easily. Frodo seemed nervous, his small hand resting on his chest where the ring lay. "Fear not, hobbit-friend. While I am with you I will not allow harm to fall on any of you," he reassured him. Frodo nodded and then fell back with the other three.

Their camping place was miserable; damp, cold and uncomfortable. Strider watched over the hobbits as they tried to sleep, but the sounds of the insects were insufferable and the biting midges did not rest for sleeping Shire-folk. It was not long into the fifth day that they finally left behind the last straggling pools and reed-beds of the marshes.

"I shall not be sorry to see them go," Commented Pippin with a sniff of disdain.

"I only wonder what they eat when they can't get Hobbit!" Sam said softly, reaching up to scratch a place at his neck that had been gnawed at by the midges.

"Are we still attracting someone's attention, Strider?" Pippin asked. Strider turned grey eyes on the youngest Hobbit. Either Frodo had told the lad or he had deduced himself. Strider had not heard Frodo speak of it. If that was the case then Pippin was more discerning than he thought for one so young.

"We are attracting a great deal of attention by a large number of people, my dear young hobbit," Strider replied evenly. Pippin gave him a look that said he was extremely unimpressed with Strider's subterfuge.

"Ya know…I'm the youngest, but I'm not the dumbest. That title goes to Merry."

"Hey!"

"And ergo, I do not need to be babied. Is there someone following us still?" Pippin asked plainly. Strider gave him another searching look, before nodding sharply and continuing on his way. "See now? That wasn't so hard…"

Strider was concerned. The flashes they had seen the night before and the fact that someone was indeed following them was truly bothering him. They walked until night fell, the early darkness and cold making them set up camp. They could have no fire but the hobbits talked amongst themselves for a bit to distract themselves.

Strider watched over them from nearby, his long legs stretched out and his hand idly playing at a trinket he wore around his neck. When the older Hobbits began speaking of darker things and unintentionally left out Pippin, the hobbit gave a huff and sought out their long-legged guide. He plopped down on the ground near the Ranger, leaning back against the boulder and imitating his stance by stretching out his much shorter legs and crossing his arms.

The flash of moonlight against the trinket in his hands caught Pippin's attention.

"What is that, Strider?" he asked. Strider looked down at where his hand held the small pendant. He reached behind his head and lifted the cord from around his neck so that he could show Pippin.

"It was a gift from a friend many years ago."

Pippin touched the round black pendant. It was the size of a coin and black, but when the light hit it a certain way it flashed like a dark rainbow, shimmering with iridescence like an insect's wing. The little thing was set in what appeared to be a mouth with many sharp teeth holding it in place, and a loop in the silver being what the cord was threaded through.

"I've never seen anything like it. It's as hard as stone but so very thin. Here now, what's this little nick on it?" Pippin asked, pointing to a small place where the black material was marred slightly. Strider smiled in memory.

"That is where the pendant saved my life. It deflected an arrow that would have struck my heart," Strider said. Pippin seemed amazed.

"That's right amazing! But it's so thin, sir! How does something so thin deflect an arrow?" he asked, moving his hand away from the necklace. Strider's smile grew into a wide, mischievous grin.

"Because it's a dragon scale, and they are hard as steel despite their thinness." He replied.

"A dragon scale! You must have had some friend to give you the scale of a dragon! And one that's black as night!" Pippin was in awe. Here Strider's smile faded a bit.

"Aye. He was an amazing friend. He saved my life when I was very young. He was very unique," Strider said softly. Pippin said no more, because Strider's face appeared taut with sadness at that. Perhaps his friend had died?

"I believe you should rejoin your friends for the night, young Peregrin," Strider said at length.

"They are on about big things and dark things. Even Merry fancies himself mature enough for their talk. They haven't any time for poor Pippin. Might I stay with you a bit longer, Strider? I won't ask about your friend…" Pippin said, giving a sad face that would have looked at home on a puppy to Strider. The Ranger stifled a grin.

"I suppose I could be put upon to endure your presence for a bit more," Strider said good-naturedly. Pippin laughed sweetly and leaned back against the rock again. After a while Strider felt a small thump against his side and looked down to see Pippin quite asleep against him. He gave a warm smile to the Hobbit and patted his curly head.

Aye…Hobbits were quaint.


Carefully he picked a path amongst the brush and dirt, weaving silently through the almost invisible trail that the Ranger was leading. He knew someone was following him, and that spoke of his skill. But the fact that the halflings also knew rankled him. He had spent decades perfecting his art and learning stealth in the wilds. To be bested by someone of great skill was a harsh mistress, but an acceptable one…but to be found out by Shire-folk was ridiculous.

Oh, he had nothing against the fair folk of the Shire. Let it be known that they were pleasant and kind and deserved to be protected for their innocence. Many times had he and his people guarded the night against thugs who would do harm to the little folk. And no one knew. He preferred it that way, honestly. Because if they knew who guarded their doorsteps at night, they might all pack up and ship out with the next caravan.

The Wraiths were also close at hand. What surprised him was that they were actually skulking along the shadows. Normally they charged into a situation with their ghost dicks waving in the air, but for some reason they seemed to be just at the edge of perception, hiding until the time was right. He supposed it was all to do with the One Ring.

He could feel it whispering to him. It told of promises that he knew it would not keep. It filled him with false hope and a great sense of urgency to get it back to its master. But he firmly told the Ring where it could situate itself in its master and the whispering lessened. It did not quit, because now he was sure the Ring was angry at him. How did Rings get angry? Oh yea….magic.

Weathertop would have been a good place for them to stay had their long-legged guide not left them to their own devices for a bit. He knew that the man was seeking proof of another companion and trying to find out if they were in immediate, pressing danger of the Black Riders, but it did not make the man's decision any brighter. Oh, look. A fire. Yup, that's going to attract the-

Holy Mary, Mother of Christ!

They swarmed like a band of Dark jackals, whirling in their shadowy cloaks around the poor huddled Hobbits. He left his hiding place immediately and began the ascent on the Hill. It would take a few moments for him to reach them, and he hoped that the Wraiths had not attacked yet. Luck was with him. He could see the shadowed figures still dancing around the Hobbits. The one Hobbit, the lad with the piercing blue eyes, seemed to be struggling with some unseen command. He and the other Hobbits were holding short blades. They would have been naught but knives in the hand of a Man.

He decided to spice things up a bit. Five wraiths against four poor hobbits was a terrible odd. And their Ranger was either not who he thought he was or he was off taking a most inopportune shit. Either way he was not here or he would defend the younglings in his stead. He emerged from the shadows in a long-legged leap, landing on silent feet in front of the frightened creatures. Their horrified gazes might well have been comical if his appearance hadn't also riled the wraiths as well.

"Dra-," the chubby one stuttered.

"Dra-," The golden-haired one said. He appeared to be the youngest.

"Dragon. Thou dost have a most inopportune sense of timing." The tallest wraith stepped forward. His shrouded head was also protected by an iron helm decorated with spikes.

The dragon gave the hobbits a dangerous grin before turning and facing the wraith. The dragon was the size of a horse and was black as night, his scales gleaming under the light of the moon. They shimmered with a dark opalescence, and the color of it niggled against Pippin's mind for some reason. His eyes were gleaming gold, the pupils slitted like a cat's and wide in the darkness. His legs were long and his paws tipped in shiny black talons that were curved and wicked-looking. The dragon was very thin, almost skeletal looking, and his long tail was swishing languidly behind him as he hunched his shoulders to prepare for an attack.

"Witch-king. Still sucking Sauron's cock?" The dragon asked cheekily. The hobbits were quite surprised not only to hear the dragon speak the Dark Lord's name, but to address the wraith as though it knew it.

The Witch-King of Angmar let out an unearthly shriek and made a motion with his hands. The other four wraiths attacked the dragon, ghostly pale swords glimmering in the moonlight. The dragon danced and twirled like a top as his claws glittered and struck out at the wraiths.

The tallest wraith stepped around the fight, advancing on the hobbits. Sam moved forward clutching his blade.

"Back, you devil!" he said, striking out with the short dagger. The Witch-king laughed and bandied the little fool back. The other two just stared at him in horror and he shoved them aside roughly. This one. This last one held what he sought. The Halfling took a few steps back from him and stumbled quite spectacularly. He could almost see the influence of the Ring taking the creature. Yes, yes….put it on. Draw the Eye to you, little one.

And he did.

The Ring was on the foul little creature's hand! His Master's Ring…just there. Right within reach. His hand lowered slightly to take it, a grin on his ghostly face. With a yelp of effort the lad pulled his hand back. Impressive Will, this one. But it angered the Witch-King. He drew the Morgul Blade from within his cloak and stabbed downwards into the hobbit's shoulder.

Then he saw fire. He felt fire. He tasted fire.

The dragon had gotten tired of whirling about with the other wraiths and had used that fantastic breath on them. Now there was another creature there, a Man with a sword and a flaming brand. The brand had been touched against his cloak and now the flames licked at him.

He fled.

"Strider!" Sam called, looking down at the wound on Frodo's shoulder. The Ranger knelt down next to Frodo, examining the wound. He picked up the dagger that had been used to wound him.

"He has been stabbed with a Morgul Blade," he said softly. The blade disintegrated and he cast aside the handle with distaste. "I can do little for him. He needs Elvish medicine." Strider said.

"We're still six days from Rivendell. He'll never make it!" Sam argued.

"Pardon me, sirs. You have a problem."

They all whirled around to see the black dragon sitting calm-as-you-please against the old stones, his long tail wrapped around him and tapping gently at the ground. Strider seemed to notice the beast for the first time.

"Naurlam…" he said softly. The dragon seemed to grin a bit. Strider noticed a long pale scar across the dragon's face, going from the top of its head down between its eyes and beneath its left eye.

"Your pony holds supplies. I can hold hobbit," he said. His voice was thick and accented and it appeared to be of great effort just to speak. Strider noticed from the few words he had spoken that he seemed only to be able to get out four words per sentence before he had to pause.

"I won't have Master Frodo being hauled around by the likes of a dragon!" Sam yelled, brandishing his blade again. Naurlam threw back his head and laughed.

"You are all lucky. I am feeling benevolent," he said, standing to his feet and approaching them. Sam swung the sword in warning.

"Mister Gamgee. This dragon is trustworthy. Lower your blade," Strider said with authority. Sam looked at the Ranger and then at the dragon.

"What kind of world do we live in where Dragons are trustworthy?" Sam exclaimed.

"A weird one. We can argue...or we can go." Naurlam said, moving gracefully up next to Strider who had picked up Frodo. Strider noticed criss crossing scars across Naurlam's back, right between his wings. The wounds would have had to be quite deep to scar the tough dragon hide, even the more tender flesh between his wings. Strider sighed softly as he thought about the injustices that Naurlam had suffered. But then he settled the young Hobbit onto his back and they were on their way to Rivendell, making very good time with their scaly steed holding Frodo and trusty Bill holding the supplies. Naurlam did not seem to mind being a beast of burden too much, and even hummed a bit as they walked. It did wonders to decrease the nervousness of the Hobbits.

Naurlam even thought they might have arrived at Rivendell earlier than expected had the Ring-wraiths not decided to try their specific brand of douche-fuckery again.


Well that was fun! I hope you've been caught neatly in my net. (Or Jedi Mend-tricked into reading. Lol)

I hope you drop me a line to let me know if this is to your liking. I'll probably continue either way, but it's always a nice gesture to know that a work is appreciated, especially if the work is non-profit.