This update didn't take me almost a year and a half to write. I'm proud of myself.

The masterful works of Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, and any other works set in the world of Arda (the world of which Middle-Earth is a part of) all belong to the Tolkien Estate. I am a simple fan with too much time on his hands.

Darkness' grip on me loosened. My senses came back in a rush of touch, smell, and hearing.

I was lying in the back of the cart again, unbound and free to move. The terrain the cart rode over was smoother than any it had gone over before; it bounced rarely.

The air was warm, and pleasant odors filled it. Of sweet ales and smoke, pies and cakes, tilled earth and hints of cooking meats. The scent of the end of summer.

Another scent was also in the air. An odd one that was present among all the other odors. It did not reek of Fast-Breeder, or smell of earth like Short-Ones, yet smelled similar to both. It was not something familiar.

I awoke fully, and Instinct left me. I was in the back of Gandalf's cart again, beneath the fireworks he had with him. I was not bound with rope, but I also was not out in the open, either. The fireworks seemed to be arranged to keep me hidden from view, with a thin cloth placed over top. I could see that the sky was clear and blue, the land around the cart had old, beautiful trees on either side, and Gandalf sitting just ahead of me. Beyond that I was blind.

"Back from your slumber, I see," Gandalf said quietly.

My eyes widened. How did he know I was up? He didn't even turn his head!

"You have slept long, Little Hatchling." Instinct bristled at the name, but I found it suitable. "We are now in the Shire. I have business to attend here, but I do not wish for you to be part of it. The folk here are innocent of the world around them. Peaceful. I will not allow that peace to fade. You must remain out of sight while we are here."

He said that like he hadn't been keeping me out of sight already. What, did he think keeping me bound up had been comfortable? I scoffed, the sound coming out so tiny and high it may as well have come from a mouse.

Really? I can't even scoff without sounding pathetic?! Someone out there either hates me, or has a really twisted sense of humor. Probably both.

"None of that, now," said Gandalf, turning his head slightly so I could catch a glimpse of one of his eyes. He'd somehow known my squeak had been meant as an angry sound. "I have not allowed you to accompany me just to stay here; I expect you need to eat and drink. And if you behave yourself, you will be given both."

My mouth watered at the thought of food.

"Once we are far enough away from proper Hobbiton," Gandalf went on. "I will bring you out from there and allow you to roam. Within reason. You will remain out of sight, and you will not approach any animal or Hobbit you see or smell. If I so much as think you are going against my instructions, you will be right back here, tied up, before you can so much as blink."

Somehow, I didn't doubt him on that.

Gandalf said nothing else as he continued guiding the cart over the smooth… Road? Field? I couldn't tell without being able to see. He started singing that song I'd heard him sing when I awoke—about the road that went ever on and on.

I just sat in the back of the cart. This was all real. That was just starting to kick in for the first time. But how was it real? How did I get here? What brought me here? Why was I a fracking dragon?

What happened to me back in my apartment?

Instinct pushed me aside. The strange odors of this land were growing stronger. One more rapidly than the others. A scent of honey, must of paper, and a hint of sweet smoke.

It was the scent of the people Ancient-Smelling-One spoke of. Not the people as a whole, but of a single individual.

And they were moving toward us.

A moment later, Instinct left me, and I could hear the feet of the unknown individual hitting the ground in a full run. They sounded small. Much smaller than Gandalf. So small that even I—had I been human—would have towered over them.

The scent of the individual became stronger and stronger, and their steps louder and louder, until it felt like they were right in front of the cart. Then they stopped, and a male voice said, "You're late."

The voice was youthful, but not that of a child's. Smug, but in a teasing way. Carefree, but not irresponsible. Where had I heard it before?

Gandalf slowed the cart to a stop, without speaking a command or moving the horse's reins. "A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins," he said, turning his hat-covered head, his voice as serious as I'd ever heard him. "Nor is he early; he arrives precisely when he means to."

There was a long, awkward silence following their exchange. I heard some birds singing both in the distance and in some trees the cart was parked directly beneath. A gentle breeze whispered above me, rustling the cloth.

Then suddenly, Gandalf and the unseen second person started to laugh. Long and loud. Filled with humor on both of their parts.

Uh… What did I miss?

"It's wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" Like he'd fallen from the sky, a small, almost human-like figure fell into the cart, landing almost right into Gandalf's arms and embracing the self-proclaimed wizard.

Gandalf embraced him back, laughing again. They parted, and I got a good look at Frodo—well, at least from his shoulders up; he was clearly quite short. His clean-shaven, pale face was youthful yet mature. His dark hair was curled and of medium length, coming just above his shoulders. And he had the biggest, bluest eyes I'd ever seen. I was little unnerved by them, if I was honest; they were just so blue.

"You didn't think I'd miss your Uncle Bilbo's birthday, did you?" Gandalf asked, chuckling.

Bilbo. I heard him say that name before. Was that another friend of his?

Gandalf and Frodo began talking to each other in earnest, talking about topics and events that happened since Gandalf was last here. Apparently, Gandalf visited this place often, although that was a loose term; it sounded like it had been two or three years since his last visit.

It was fascinating to see how Gandalf spoke to someone he considered an actual friend. He'd known the guard in the last town, but this was different. He was warm and humorous, happy. Completely relaxed. For him, this was home.

And based on the threats he gave me, a home he would defend to his very last breath.

The trees gradually grew further and further away from the cart as Gandalf guided it down the road. The smell of grass reached my sensitive nose, and the other scents I picked up while still half asleep became much, much stronger. We were getting closer to civilization.

"So how is the old rascal?" Gandalf asked Frodo. "I hear it is going to be a party of special magnificence."

"You know Bilbo. He's got the whole place in an uproar," replied Frodo.

So they were talking about Bilbo again. Missed that transition.

"Well, that should please him," Gandalf chuckled, smoke pouring from his pipe like a chimney. I hadn't noticed the pipe being lit.

"Half the Shire's been invited. And the rest of them are turning up anyway."

The two shared a laugh at that, and their conversation turned to other times where this Bilbo upset or entertained large numbers of people. I could tell we were not far from other people now; both my nose and my ears—were they still ears?—were telling me so. At times the people sounded like they were walking just feet from the cart, and their scents were commonly mixed with that of sweat and earth.

The smell of farm work. Hard work, of course, but smelly, and made a hundred times worse due to my sensitive nose. Bleh.

We went over a bridge, through a grouping of houses that had food that smelled delicious, and came to an area that smelled of farms and gardens and people all at once. Was this the town proper?

"To tell you the truth," Frodo went on in a quieter tone, minutes after he and Gandalf had last spoken. Talk about a slow conversation. "Bilbo's been a bit odd lately. I mean, more than usual. He's taken to locking himself in his study, and he spends hours and hours pouring over old maps when he thinks I'm not looking. He's up to something…"

Okay, now I'm confused. First they talk about him like he's a friendly old man the rest of this Shire sees as trouble because he went adventuring in his younger years, now—from how Frodo's talking—he's actually a crazy old man who doesn't want to talk to anyone and has some evil plot in the making. Which one is he?

Gandalf was suspiciously silent after Frodo's statement, and seemed to make a point of not looking at Frodo as he blew more smoke from his pipe.

I was just barely able to see enough of Frodo's head to see him smile. "Alright, then—keep your secrets."

"What?" Gandalf's attempt to sound confused was too poor to have been genuine.

"But I know you have something to do with it."

"Oh, gracious me."

"Before you came along, we Bagginses were very well thought of."

"Indeed." Now that sounded sarcastic. Apparently Gandalf really does have a sense of humor. Who knew.

"Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected."

Sounds like a good life. I'd really like to get back to nothing unexpected.

Now Gandalf sighed. "If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved." He sniffed. "All I did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door."

Wait, what? Did Gandalf push Bilbo out in front of a dragon? And they're still friends? What kind of messed up world is this?

"Whatever you did," Frodo said. "You've been officially labeled a disturber of the peace."

"Oh, really?" Gandalf muttered, looking in the direction I smelled someone standing not far off the road. He seemed unbothered by whoever he saw.

Shortly after, a high-pitched scream came from the right, "Gandalf! It's Gandalf!"

I sniffed. The scent of seven different individuals were approaching us quickly. I couldn't hear their steps, but from their voices they were clearly children. All of them were yelling for Gandalf's attention, asking for fireworks.

Seemed Gandalf was good with kids.

"There's a dragon in Gandalf's cart!"

A sense of panic swept over me at that one kid's shout. I'd been seen. Somehow, I'd been seen. This wasn't good.

Instinct took over. I looked around frantically for the hole in the cart the kid had to have seen me through, neck bending and twisting in directions that made my brain hurt. There were no cracks or breaks in the wood. How had I been spotted? What black magic did that child possess to see through oak?

During my crazed search, my gaze briefly went up. What I saw made me stop my search instantly.

There was a firework above me shaped like a dragon. From how I could see only half of it was covered by the cloth, it was safe to assume the child had been referring to the firework. Not me.

I felt Instinct left me in what felt like embarrassment. Or maybe that was from me. I couldn't really tell.

Gandalf, for his part, never turned his head at the constant requests from the kids to set off fireworks. He was like an immoveable object. Caring nothing for he pleas of children. Which I was thankful for, consid—

Streams of fire suddenly shot down at me from above. One, two, three at once. Well over a score in total. My pathetically tiny squeaks of terror and pain were lost in the loud reports from the fireworks exploding above the road, followed closely by the shouts of joy from the children.

What the hell?!

Frodo glanced over at Gandalf with a small smile on his face, while the wizard himself laughed and returned Frodo's look with an amused one of his own.

But for a fraction of a second, so short a time I wasn't even sure if it happened, I saw Gandalf's eyes flick down to me from beneath his hat.

And they were immensely smug.

That. Old. Bastard.

He's going to pay for this. Somehow, someway, he will pay. I swear up—

Instinct made me sniff.

Was that bacon I smelled?

Frodo jumped off the cart some time later, though I barely noticed his departure due to smelling all the food around us. I smelled it before, but I hadn't smelled it. Not when it was so close. We had to have been passing just feet away from houses that were baking all sorts of tasty things. Their fantastic scents made my tiny stomach growl.

And it growled even more when I smelled the food getting further away from us. How cruel it was to smell food when you were starving and be unable to eat any of it.

I was practically moping in the back of the cart, Instinct making me wish I could go back and eat everything, until Gandalf finally brought it to a halt after guiding the cart up a winding road that went up a small hill.

That made me shake myself from my disappointment and look up. There was an old oak tree on top of the hill we'd been climbing, but beyond that I saw nothing. From how Gandalf was looking off to the side with a fond look on his face, there was probably a house just out of my view.

"So we finally arrive at Bag End," Gandalf said quietly. He turned his head enough so he could look at me with one eye. "Stay here." He stood up and walked away.

I sat there quietly as I heard Gandalf knock against a door, and after a short conversation through it, greeted Bilbo. They entered the unseen house after exchanging heartfelt greetings.

And so I'm alone again. Not the story of my life at all.

My mind immediately went to my family and what few friends I had. The good memories, and the bad. When they comforted me, and when they hurt me. When we had fun and when we argued. When we enjoyed a movie together, and when plans to go see one fell through. They fell through more often than when they came to be.

Now there wouldn't even be another time when they fell through.

I put a mental clamp on those thoughts. I couldn't think about them. Not now. Not now. I needed to focus on the present, not the past. I couldn't afford to think about the past. I couldn't.

What was the last thing I told my dad?

No. No. Not doing it. I need something to keep my mind busy. But what?

I looked down at my arms—now my front legs. I had yet to actually walk since I woke up like this. Slided myself forward, yeah. But walk? No.

Well, guess I need to learn how to do it all over again.

I started with the basics: standing. A harder task than one would think, when you have four legs, a pair of wings, and a long tail and neck. I managed to get myself up by thinking of my front legs as arms, as I was used to seeing them.

Of course, it also was noticeably darker by the time I was able to achieve just that, but that wasn't important. I was standing! Yay!

Now for walking.

I looked down at my front legs. Right. Just treat them as arms. Like I'm pretending to be a dinosaur and walking around on my hands and knees.

Slowly, ever so slowly, I picked up my right front leg and moved it forward. Just one step. All I needed to succeed was to take one step forward. Steady. Stea—

My left leg suddenly wobbled. I lost my balance almost immediately, and ended up falling forward and onto my chin.

Damn it! So close!

I sighed, the sound painfully high-pitched and quiet.

Right. Attempt Number Two. Here we go.

I managed to take a single step after Attempt Number Forty-four. It took an additional twenty-three attempts to take two steps in a row.

Two people had come and gone—and night had fallen fully, the sun giving way to the moon—by the time I was able to get the hang of walking, and even then I was as unsteady and tipsy as a drunk after Happy Hour. I blame my tail and wings for that.

That still sounded weird.

I was trying to figure out how to get myself out of the cart when I heard—and smelled—someone approaching up the road. I went still immediately, not knowing if these people had good enough ears to hear someone as small as me moving around.

The person smelled familiar as they walked by the cart. Not like Gandalf's scent that radiated power, but also not quite like most people I'd smelled since Gandalf took me here. They smelled of a touch of honey, must of paper, and hint of sweet smoke. It smelled much like…

Frodo.

I heard the door open, and Frodo made a sound of surprise, "Oh! Gandalf. You startled me; I was not expecting you to be coming outside at this hour."

"And I was expecting to see you returning home before night fell," Gandalf retorted, his scent floating over to the cart a moment later, along an aroma of… Chicken? He had a plate of food with him? "What has kept you so long?"

My tiny stomach rumbled as another wave of chicken chicken smell went over the cart. Delicious chicken. It smelled so good. But even as I smelled the food, I caught the scent of water. Sweet, cool water. I'd been smelling it everywhere, always out of reach. Only then did I realize just how thirsty I really was. Even my hunger paled in comparison.

"I ran into Merry and Pippin at the Green Dragon. We sat down and had a few pints."

A few pints? Where would they fit all that beer?

"Ah. The Took and the Brandybuck. Your common company, from what I hear."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. They may have some… Maturity issues, but they are kind and good Hobbits. I'm proud to call them my friends and cousins. But what of you, Gandalf? Why are you coming outside?"

"I find the free air to be at its best after the sun has set. I have come out here to enjoy it."

"With food?"

"I also decided to try eating at all hours of the day, as you Hobbits do."

The silence said Frodo did not believe Gandalf.

"You should go on inside," said Gandalf. "The hour is late, and I shall be but a moment."

Frodo continued to be silent. I imagined he was giving Gandalf a suspicious look as he finally said, "Alright. I'll leave the door unlocked for you. Don't be too long." I heard his tiny feet take a few steps, and the door creaked shut.

Gandalf's own steps continued a moment later. "Hatchling," he whispered, voice carrying in the air. "Come out from where you hide."

Had I been able to speak, I would have said, "Here." But since I couldn't speak, all I succeeded in doing was make the tiny squeak I'd used a few times since first waking up.

It made me feel really pathetic.

Gandalf stepped over to the cart, and his bearded face appeared above me. His hat was gone, revealing long grey hair. He looked surprised to see me here. "I expected you to disregard my instruction. Why did you listen to me?"

Was he looking into this like my staying here was a showing of my true moral character? That was funny. I'm only in here because I can barely walk, let alone pull myself up and out of the cart. But how to show that? I couldn't talk, and my arms couldn't exactly use sign language. And even if they could, Gandalf probably wouldn't understand it.

I finally settled for looking away from Gandalf and to the side of the cart, then back up at the wizard. Maybe he can read dragon expressions…?

Gandalf frowned. "And what is that look for?"

I looked away to poke my snout into the bottom of the cart, then I poked the side of the cart, and again rested my gaze on Gandalf.

"Yes, I know you stayed here. What I do not know is why you, a dragon, listened to me."

Okay, this wasn't working. Need to try something else. Maybe walking?

I displayed my poor walking skills, wobbling as I shakily moved one leg at a time. Moving more than that made me dizzy.

Gandalf's frown deepened. "You have not helped yourself to a neighbor's ale, have you?"

Oh, come on! Work with me, Gandalf! I huffed, the sound coming out small and quiet, and placed one front leg at a time against the side of the cart. I almost immediately fell over, my sense of balance thrown off by the shape of my own body.

Only then did understanding appear in Gandalf's eyes. "You could not leave."

Thank you for finally grasping the issue!

The wizard hummed and set the plate of food down out of sight. Then he reached into the cart and picked me up by the neck. It wasn't comfortable, but I took what I could get. He placed me on the ground, right next to the plate he'd set down. Pieces of roast chicken sat on the plate, cold but delicious-looking.

Instinct pushed me aside and shot my head forward to gorge. Only instead of biting down on meat, my tiny jaws snapped at empty air. Instinct made me growl up at Gandalf.

"None of that," Gandalf said quietly, grey eyes stern enough to make Instinct shy away into the back of my mind. "Follow me." He started walking away, and I immediately followed, still driven by my hunger.

The house I hadn't seen until now was built into the top of the hill it sat on. It had several windows on this side of it—all of which were closed—a fence, garden, and a well-kept plot of land that included the large tree at the very top of the hill. The road to our left led down the hill, and in the moonlight I could see there were a number of other houses that were also built into small hills. None were as large or high-class-looking as the first house, and there were a few built apart from hills, but all had a certain charm to them.

Gandalf led me into the garden, past flowers and planted tomatoes, onions, carrots, and other fruits and vegetables. He stopped in front of a small stone well. He picked up the bucket lying on the ground and dropped it down the well, where I heard water splash a moment later. Then—balancing the plate of chicken with one hand—he drew the bucket up and laid it on the ground in front of me. The water it carried smelled cool and clean.

"There we are," said Gandalf. "Drink deeply; you need water before food."

Despite the rumblings of my stomach, I agreed. I pushed my snout forward into the water, only to find that it was hard to drink. The shape of my mouth felt wrong, and my lips didn't make a seal around my teeth. Not a proper one, anyway. Each time I filled my mouth with water, more than half of it spilled out before I started to swallow. Before I knew it, I went through all the water in the bucket, and only a few small mouthfuls didn't end up on the ground.

Gandalf seemed unsurprised by my inefficient water usage, and refilled the bucket for me. Then again when I nudged the bucket closer to the well with my snout. When I was almost through with the third, Instinct appeared at the forefront of my mind and made me step away from the water.

That was enough water. Now it was a time to feed.

My head snapped up to the plate Gandalf held, where the flesh of a feathered-one awaited devouring. The flesh of a feathered-one was not typical prey, but it would do.

I coiled back, and leapt up. Instinct pushed me to jump and hit the plate out of the hand of Ancient-Smelling-One. The plate would fall to the ground, and I would eat all the feathered-one's flesh. It would taste delicious.

Only Instinct did account for how new I was to moving with four legs.

Instead of jumping up and knocking the plate from Gandalf's hand, I had a Fat Cat moment. Where a big, fat, overweight cat tries to leap across a gap or up onto something, and succeeds only in landing on their feet right back where they'd been standing.

Only I wasn't fat.

Or a cat.

And I didn't land on my feet.

My snout hit the ground, and a loud thump sounded out as half my head immediately sank into the mud I'd created while drinking. The rest of me hit a split second later and joined my head in sinking deep into the mud.

There was a long moment where my entire head was filled with silence. No thought or random song lyric playing in the back of my mind. Just dead quiet.

Then Instinct slowly slinked away in what was definitely embarrassment this time.

Gee, thanks for joining in, Instincts.

I sat there, motionless and angry at how my own body made me do something stupid, as Gandalf struggled not to laugh.

To his credit—and my benefit—he did not. He just let out a sigh, picked me up, set me down on dry ground, refilled the bucket and used it to wash me off. I felt like I understood why dogs always looked so upset when people gave them baths by the time he was done.

"You seem to be hungry," Gandalf said, no obvious humor in his voice. "Here you are. Be careful this time."

He set the plate down in front of me.

All thoughts of embarrassment vanished at the sight of chicken legs waiting for me. Instinct came barreling through my mind again, and I dove into the food.

I wasn't sure how long I spent biting, tearing, and slicing my way through the meat, only that when Instinct finally left me, I was lying down in the grass, gnawing on a chicken bone, and the plate was empty but surrounded by discarded bones.

Gandalf was looking down at me with both eyebrows raised a quarter inch. "That was surprisingly… Ravenous for a hatchling. Impressive."

I took Gandalf for his word; I didn't remember much of the actual eating. Just claws and teeth.

Gandalf placed the bones on the plate and picked it up. "If you are done, you should find a place to hole yourself up for the night. It is not not cold at night here, so you should not worry about containing warmth. Just make sure to stay out of sight."

I managed to make myself stop gnawing on the bone long enough to give him a shaky nod.

He huffed. "Good. Remember that I will know if you cause mischief nearby." With that final threat, he walked away. I heard him open and close the house door a few seconds later.

Right, alone again. Nice.

I gnawed on the bone for a little longer before Instinct popped in again to make me spit it out. Just what was Instinct, really? It came and went as it pleased, forcing me to its will before leaving just as abruptly as it appeared. Was it just as I called it—the base instincts of a dragon? Or was it something else?

Even as I thought about it, Instinct reappeared and forced me up on my feet. It felt like I was in a dream as I made my way through the garden, sniffing at small holes in the ground, searching for one to crawl in and sleep.

Instinct gradually lessened its control of me after I exited the garden and walked up the hill over the top of the house Gandalf and his Hobbit friends resided. I thought the long grass was a nice place to lay down, but Instinct disagreed, and pushed me further up towards the tree at the top of the hill. From its height and width, it was a very old tree, but I had no idea how old. Nor did I care at the moment.

There was a gap in the tree's roots that was large enough for me to fit inside, but small enough to be hard to spot. Instinct found it perfect, and made me crawl inside and curl up. It felt strange to be curled into a ball when I was so used to being stretched out flat, but Instinct thought it was very comfortable. And what Instinct likes I had to like. No matter how much I wanted to sleep like a human, what I should have been.

My thoughts were cut short as I quickly fell to sleep.

I know I'm cheating with having my character black out or fall asleep two chapters in a row, but my idea for this chapter ended up taking more time than I thought it would. I will be getting to the true idea with my next update.

Thank you for reading, and feel free to leave a review. And also have a nice day or night.

See you soon.