It was hard to think of a way for Harry to be semi-friendly with Smaug without it seeming corny. And also, must follow the canon as much as possible, right? Sorry it took so long. I have exams coming up, so updates will be a little slower, unless you all want (much) shorter chapters?

Words: 6,553
Chapter 07
Kili threw himself to the ground, hands over his head to keep his hair from flying up and catching alight as Smaug breathed a jet of fire directly over him. It would have been through him, if not for his fast reflexes and Nori's scream of warning. His bow went flying and the arrow he had been about to notch sailed in the other direction, and Kili was left to scramble along the ground on hands and knees, trying desperately to get out of sight of the dragon.

Their plan hadn't worked, and Bilbo had accidentally woken him, and now Smaug was on the war path. He crashed into statues that he had long left standing, purposely bashed his head off of walls to try and bring them down upon the cowering Dwarves and he hurled fire as far as he could manage, hissing and wailing about thieves and liars and barrel-riders in particular.

The barrel-rider in question was hiding behind a rather large stone pillar, carved to bear likeness to a long-dead King. Thorin was in front of him, hiding the Hobbit with his body and keeping him as safe as he possibly could. It was Thorin's fault that Smaug had awoken, Thorin who had demanded proof that Bilbo had found the hoard of treasure and the sleeping dragon beneath, Thorin who had so foolishly sent his One back into the Wyrm's lair, into the jaws of the creature who was woken and waiting for the thief to return. And now his nephew was trembling, spread prostrate along the ground, and his other was begging Mahal for mercy, screaming at Kili to "come faster!" His friends were scorched and bruised and terrified, and none the richer for their troubles, and he had threatened his One at sword-point for a gem that none of them had managed to find.

"Run!" Thorin shouted, his voice startling the dragon into turning. It was the first time Thorin had spoken loudly enough for the others to hear him since his almost attack against Bilbo over the Arkenstone. Mostly, he had mumbled to himself, whispered softly that he was a fool or that he was sorry, but when he spoke this time his voice was loud enough to shake the coins around them. Some toppled down, rolling amongst its fellows like cresting waves, and Smaug's attention was drawn instantly to the direction it came from.

The dragon remembered that voice. It had sworn vengeance against him once, had screamed at him as its owner had dragged the old, mad King away from the gold they had all so coveted. The voice was wearier, shakier than it had been, but it was unmistakably the same voice.

"So, you have returned," Smaug whispered. That 'whisper' was not the same as a person's whisper. Dragon's vocal chords are incapable of soft sound after all. His voice was like a storm through the trees, shaking the branches and rattling the leaves, while still being at the heart of it all soft as wind. "Well, well," the dragon continued, tongue flicking out to lick its front teeth thoughtfully, probably remembering the taste of Thorin's fellows. "You took your time."

XXX

Their plan to trap Smaug in molten gold failed as badly as their first plan (to trap themselves in the mountain once Smaug went outside looking for them: of course, Smaug came back in again). This time the Dwarves were alone in Erebor, the dragon gone. Unfortunately the dragon had gone towards Esgargoth and the people of Lake-Town were completely unaware of what danger soared towards them.

Speaking of Esgargoth, Harry was rather pleased by the little town in front of him. It reminded him a bit of Knockturn Alley: rickety buildings on top of bigger buildings, no streets fair enough, but canals and walkways that looked like you wouldn't want to be caught out alone at night. It was dirty, and seedy, and the people cast you dirty looks from the corners of their eyes as you walked by, but it reminded him of home, so Harry liked it despite its lack of charms. He had liked it when he last visited with Legolas, and he liked it all the more this time because it was one more stop on his way to rescue a dragon (and how many heroes in fairytales could boast of that, huh?) and he couldn't wait because rescuing the dragon would bring him one step closer to going home.

Harry had apparated to the edge of the town, and waited there, both feet on the first part of the bridge that connected Lake-Town to the shore. He had watched for anyone following them from Mirkwood, but no Elves came, and no humans came running towards them brandishing weapons either, so eventually Novourion's protests had been ignored and Harry had taken his first steps into Esgargoth (for the second time).

No one had greeted him this time; instead everybody seemed too concerned with loading their possessions into their boats (those who had them), or rowing their way into the middle of the lake, back towards Thranduil's kingdom.

"What's going on?" Harry asked, grabbing the arm of the closest person to him. The man barely stopped running at the contact, flinching a little and tugging his arm away, breaking his stride for a second before he was on the move again. It was Sigrid, Bard's daughter, who stopped to answer him.

Her arms were loaded up with vegetables, most of which didn't look like they were ready to harvest yet. There was a satchel slung over one shoulder, and she tilted under the weight of it, but she carried no weapons, unlike the older men whose hands shook, fingers trembling around their scythes and hoes and oars. The guards in the city had real weapons, maces, swords and axes, bows and arrows, and canons, but there were no guards in the street. The guards were all surrounding the Master of Lake-Town's barge, as Alfrid gave a mighty push and set them on their way away.

"We're evacuating," Sigrid told him. She glanced at Harry accusingly and at Novourion as if he were what they were running from. "Can't you hear it? The wind like a hurricance? Can't you see the trees bending in half as he passes over them? Don't you know what's coming?" Her voice was shrill, but there was something pitying about her eyes, and it made Harry's chest hurt to think these people were so very afraid but that they could spare a little fear on his behalf.

Harry wondered if it was the Dark Lord Thranduil spoke to him about, the one who has slain Gil-Galad, who had destroyed Lindon and Gondolin, who had enslaved Arda once. But Novourion let out a soft exhale, and there was terror in that sound, fear and pain and desperation, and all together it sounded like, "dragon!"

"Dragon?" Harry asked, eyes moving swiftly from Novourion's pale wide-eyed face to the mountain of Erebor, most of whose trees were bent in half, snapped at the trunks; those that still stood upright were burning with dragonfire, torches on the mountainside, like stars against the night sky; the river under Erebor rippled like rapids, wings beating waves into the once calm waters; and though Harry couldn't see it, all in Smaug's path fled in fear, but not all escaped. "The dragon is coming?"

"Yes," the little girl said, and before she could say more Novourion grabbed her around the waist and started running. He dropped her into the nearest boat, unconcerned with ownership and the woman already in it looked more afraid of him than the dragon.

"Flee!" The Elf shouted. His sudden loss of composure startled Harry more than anything else that had happened. Thranduil got angrily, Thranduil got jealous and petty and drunk (most of the Mirkwood Elves were fond of getting drunk). But Harry had never seen an Elf afraid.

"It's only a dragon?" Harry couldn't understand what all the terror was about. Norbert had been lovely, friendly and snuggly, and ok he (she as Harry later learnt) occasionally set fire to Hagrid's home, but it was made of wood! And it was no worse than anything Hagrid himself did to his house when he tried to illegally practice magic. The Hungarian Horntail was a little less friendly, but she had been protecting her nest and uprooted from her home and dragged across the world for a stupid game (that had endangered Harry more than the dragon had). Voldemort hadn't used dragons in the war, nor had the Ministry or the Order of the Phoenix, but that was because they were endangered (and dangerous, but not so much when they were left alone).

Smaug was only defending himself from the Dwarves that had come to kill him. Smaug was probably flying to Lake-Town to hide, to seek protection, and all the people here had to do was call on a dragon-tamer and everything would be fine. They'd bring the dragon to a reservation, re-home him, feed him and care for him, and Smaug would be safe and happy and so would everyone else around him.

But, of course, Arda had no dragon-tamers.

The closest they had was Harry.

So when the Wizard suggested they talk to the dragon, Bard volunteered him.

"Me?" Harry squeaked. Sure he wanted to speak to the dragon- at some point, but not when it was fleeing for his life and had just been attacked by Dwarves! Dragons were always in a bad mood when someone woke them up (that was basically the Hogwarts motto, did these Men know nothing?) and Harry didn't want to talk to anything that could breathe fire while it was in a bad mood. "Why me?"

"You wanted to talk to it, right? Now's your chance," one of the fishermen said, leaning forward to push Harry back by the shoulders. Harry stumbled away from the lake, back towards the houses that were starting to rattle as the dragon approached. The fisherman climbed into a boat, followed by several others.

"Smaug gave up burning out town once we built it on the Lake," a very old lady whispered, as she ducked around Harry and tried to scramble into a boat. Someone had to reach down and drop her in, before climbing down themselves. "Hopefully he'll leave us alone if we're in the water. Not even dragonfire can burn water."

Bard watched as the town cleared out, leaving himself and a handful of others to keep watch. Most of them were hidden, some had been sent as scouts to warn Thranduil that the dragon had awoken, and two others ran fearing for their lives beneath the belly of the beast towards Erebor to see whether the Dwarves lived or if the gold was theirs to claim if the opportunity arose. And why wouldn't it, with an Istari in their midst?

"My King will not be facing a dragon!" Novourion's voice was cold and steely, and Harry cringed at the sound of it. He wasn't as bad as Thranduil, but the tone was close, and Harry could only imagine what his lover might have said had he been there.

"You spent a wet night at my house once, did you not?" Bard asked, as he completely ignored the Elf. That look was back in his eyes, the one that made Harry's spine stiffen and his hackles raise, and he thought of Cornelius Fudge looking for a scapegoat and a photoshoot and someone to help him get the votes. Bard had wanted something then, but Harry hadn't known what at the time, and Bard still wanted something now. "You ate my food. You wore my clothes. You ousted my son from his bed so that you could claim it."

"You offered it to me!" Harry's mouth had dropped open with shock. Legolas had been the one to ask for shelter; Harry had been happy enough to ride to Mirkwood in the rain, because a shield charm would have kept them reasonably dry.

"You owe me," Bard insisted. "You brought the Dwarves here, who have brought Smaug down upon our heads and homes again. You owe it to my children to try and protect them from the trouble you have wrought."

Harry flinched then, because the man was right: if he hadn't released the Dwarves, this wouldn't have happened. Maybe Gandalf would have come back and Harry would have found a way home at some point, and the Dwarves would have left with the Istari, but the dragon would have slept still, buried under the mountain, and Bard's two children wouldn't be trembling in fear, huddled between strangers on the first boats that they could fit in to. "What do you want me to do?"

"Help us kill the dragon," was Bard's demand. Around them, people began to whisper amongst themselves. Those far out in the water shouted back for news and those rowing towards them glanced warily at Harry over their shoulders, but those that hadn't pushed away from the town yet whispered pleadingly for his help.

"I don't know how to kill a dragon!" And he didn't. There was no Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, and so too, must there be no dragon-tamers, or sanctuaries, or friendly dragons that were content to be bred and fed and bathed by their handlers. Harry didn't know how to deal with a dragon that was taller than him, and even Norbert had been a bit of a struggle for him to handle when Harry was eleven! Norwegian Ridgebacks were a friendly breed: from what Harry could see of Smaug as he crested over the hill and forests that lay between them and Erebor, he was a Chinese Fireball... and they were particularly vicious, with a particular taste for boar and humans. But he had survived a nesting Hungarian Horntail, and no one but the dragon had even gotten hurt, so maybe there was hope for him yet. "I can't kill it," Harry admitted softly. He ground his back teeth together for a moment, but when he spoke again his voice was louder, surer. "But I can lead it away from you!"

Shit, he thought as he pulled his wand from the pocket of his Elven-made robe, please let this work.

"Levicorpus," Harry incanted, pointing his wand tip first towards the last boat that remained bobbing in the water just below the wooden walkway. When it started to rise up from the water, people screamed, and distantly Harry could hear the dragon roar, sensing their fear and loving it. He threw himself into the boat, trying to imagine that it was just a slightly bulkier broomstick to keep himself from getting sick over the side, and then Harry pointed behind himself, just over Novourion's shoulder, and crossed the fingers on his left hand. "Wish me luck? Expelliarmus!" Red light shot from the tip of his wand, bouncing harmlessly off the door of the house behind the Elf and propelling Harry, and his boat, into the air directly towards the dragon.

"This was a bad idea, Harry Potter!" He chided himself angrily, trying to ignore his Elf-friend's desperate cry of 'NO!' and the unseen attempt to pull the King's consort back to him. "If the dragon doesn't kill you, Thranduil will!" And suddenly it was very, very important what Thranduil might think of this. Because while Harry was angry that the Elf had lied, he still loved him, and Thranduil loved him too, and with a sinking feeling in his gut Harry remembered that Elves could die of grief.

"Better not get killed them," Harry told himself, a mental semi-pat on the back for luck. He cast another Expelliarmus at the water below him, hitting the edge of one of the boats and making his own boat jump up a foot into the air as if it had been electrocuted. It was something he and Ron had used to do while they were bored at work: with all the Dark Wizards rounded up, there wasn't much for an Auror to do other than rescue cats from trees and deliver summons and fines, which got a little boring. So he and Ron had invented some games, most were harmless, and one almost burnt down the staff canteen, but they had resulted in what Hermione called 'psychics' and Ron called 'that thing with the spells, propulsion-y thing', ending with an argument that Harry got caught in the middle of (again).

"Oi! Smaug!" He called out to the dragon, waving his left hand over his head to catch the creature's eye. Yellow orbs locked onto him and Harry's entire body shuddered at the realisation that he was probably going to be eaten alive (by something other than a basilisk or Fluffy or a giant spider or- actually, that happened to him a lot, so his sudden fear probably had more to do with the fact that he could still hear Novourion screaming for him to run). "I have something that belongs to you!" He didn't, but the dragon didn't know that.

Harry flew right under Smaug's belly, and the creature back flipped in the air in order to follow him. It chased Harry's boat back towards the mountain, growling about thieves all the while (likely thinking that Harry was the invisible burglar who had stolen his chalice, escaping, and leaving the Dwarves to face his fury alone). Harry cancelled the levitation charm on the boat as he passed over the trees that hid the lake from view. Once out of sight of the terrified humans, Harry plummeted into the greenery with a shriek; he could have planned that out better, he realised as he threw himself to the side, over the edge of the boat and into a tree. His arms locked around a branch, jaw knocking off of it too and rattling the teeth almost out of his head. He felt fuzzy and dizzy and it came as no surprise that his arms couldn't hold his weight for long.

Harry fell again, and Smaug soared down after him, a wrathful shadow, snapping the same branch from the tree and ploughing into the ground with his claws. He missed Harry, but only because his instincts were as sharp as ever. Apparating behind the tree didn't help his headache much, but it saved his life and Harry allowed himself a moment to lean back against the tree as he tried to catch his breath.

There was no point staying hidden forever though. The dragon could smell him. Merlin, the dragon could probably hear him, he was panting so hard.

"Uh, Mr Smaug?" Harry cautiously stuck his head around the trunk of the tree. He had to pull back twice as fast though, as Smaug aimed a jet of fire right at where his face had been. The sleeves of his robe singed, fabric catching until Harry frantically patted them out. The bark behind him cracked from the heat, groaning and flaking, and the leaves turned to ash that made Harry cough and sputter and wave his hand in front of his face to blow them away.

"Mr dragon?" Harry tried again, this time keeping safely hidden. To be safe though, he apparated into the tree, fingers crossing as he mentally ordered the dragon not to look up. "I didn't really take anything. I was just trying to get you away from the town."

"A liar," came the sibilant whisper, like the basilisk crying 'kill' as he swept through the plumbing at Hogwarts. "A liar… and a thief."

"I'm not a thief!" Harry insisted. "I didn't take anything from you! I just wanted to talk to you away from the Muggles, uh, I mean people. They were kind of distracting, you know, with the hysteria and the screaming and, well you probably get that a lot?"

"It is truth that I oft strike fear into the hearts of those that see me. Most, however, do not see me coming, but at times it amuses me to play with my food." The dragon sounded like Lucius Malfoy as he had threatened Harry, cane poking the child in the chest with every syllable. Harry could imagine Malfoy's smirk on Smaug's face, the narrowed eyes, the sharp curl of his thin lips; the Wizard shuddered, not wanting to think of Malfoy from before he reformed (though he was still a slimy git even after the war).

"Right," Harry stammered after a moment, unsure of what to say in response, "well. Uh, is now a good time to talk to you?"

Crunching sounds filtered up into the tree that Harry hid in. He glanced down, catching sight of a long red tail as it disappeared from sight, trailing across the ground like a giant snake as Smaug moved around the forest searching for him. The dragon went in circles around the crop of trees that Harry had first crashed into and then apparated into next. He knew the human was somewhere here, but like all villains, Smaug failed to look up, and Harry really hoped he didn't any time soon.

"About what, little liar?" The creature asked, tongue flicking out to lick at his snout.

"Well, dragons are clever, right? And you're very old, so you must now an awful lot of clever stuff, right?" Malfoy was like a peacock; flattery could get you anywhere with him (with either of them) and wounded pride made life long enemies of them. The dragon was cut from the same cloth: same drawling tone, same smugness as he spoke of horrible things he had done, and same preening, puffed out chest reaction to Harry's praise.

"I am awfully clever, little liar." Smaug's tone was suddenly more agreeable than it had been seconds earlier, and Harry risked a deep, relieved exhale at the change. "But why should I speak to you instead of simply eating you?"

"You don't want to eat me," Harry insisted, hands starting to shake around the branch he clung to, "I'm all bone and gristle. I'd give you indigestion too. But I'm a great listener, and I'd love to hear about all of the places you've been and the magical things you might have seen. I'm magical too, you know?"

"Of course," Smaug agreed, for he hated to admit to not knowing something, even when he didn't. Harry let the lie pass, but he cleared his throat pointedly, and again, until at last Smaug hissed low and long and his head came back into view at the base of the tree trunk Harry hid above. "Once I lived north of here, so long ago that the name is no longer remembered, and there I met an Elf named Melkor."

Smaug began hesitantly, but the more Harry oh'd and ah'd his tale, the more Smaug began to enjoy himself. He even acted out scenes, taking to the sky and somersaulting back down as he described an aerial battle he had taken part in, and razing trees with his claws as he pretended to slay the Elves that had later been known as the Valar, and burning all his fire could reach as he wailed about Morgoth's banishment to Valinor.

It had been an awfully long time since someone had actually listened to him instead of screamed at him of how they would kill him. Perhaps, Smaug thought to himself as he continued the tale of Morgoth and his pupil Sauron the Maiar, he would eat the human later on. Or perhaps not since he was Maiar too, and the Maiar were more fun to corrupt and let loose upon the world than any other race that Smaug had met yet.

He'd decide later, once his tale was done, depending on if he were hungry or not then.

XXX

When Thranduil discovered that Harry was missing, his first reaction was to sit on the edge of Harry's bed. It was that or to collapse where he stood with three of his guards and a concerned servant watching.

The servant had noticed that two days of food had piled up outside of Harry's locked rooms. The guards had come to report that Novourion hadn't shown up for his rostered patrol of the forest that morning (as Harry's personal guard he was exempt expect for once a month out of fairness to the others). Together the group of five had made their way to Harry rooms, which, like the servant had reported had a rather large pile of full trays going to waste outside of the door. The door had been locked from the inside only this time, because it was Harry who was angry and who deserved to be left alone who had locked himself in and not Thranduil who had barricaded the door shut from the hallway out of fear that Harry might talk to a Dwarf. No one had answered, and none of the Elves with their impeccable hearing had been able to detect so much as a heartbeat from within the room. One of the guards had softly apologized to his King for the destruction of his property before kicking in the door, concern for one of his soldiers and the Consort outweighing all other emotions.

There was a fine layer of dust upon everything and the bed was unmade and cold, the food that had been inside on the day Harry left had begun to smell of rot and the water in his cup was stale and filmy. The room smelt of dust and earth, but not of Harry whose scent usually lingered for hours at the least after he left a room. There was something bare about the room, something missing other than its owner. The wand that usually rested upon the bedside table was gone, as was Harry's favoured robe, the black one with the leather laces that he had arrived in that he always wore underneath the Elven made ones Thranduil kept gifting him with. The fur throws from the bed were gone too, taken as a precaution in case the nights grew cold no doubt.

"He seems to have been gone a while," the tallest of the guards remarked, eying the King from the corner of his eyes for his reaction.

Thranduil heard the word 'gone' and thought back to their fight, to all of their fights because it was one of the things they did best, other than make up again. At 'gone' his legs had begun to tremble, his fingers clenching the fabric of his robe to keep them from shakily reaching out to stroke the pillows he and Harry had often laid their heads upon. The King found he had to sit suddenly, one hand over his mouth because he really wanted to scream and he knew he shouldn't whilst in company. Perched on the edge of the bed, Thranduil looked like someone awaiting execution, with his shoulders slumped and his hands pale as bone from their grip over his shaking knees. The toes of his feet curled into the floor, trying to find purchase in a world that had been ripped out from under him. His eyes were wide and sightless, blue from unshed tears and his mouth was slack, all hidden behind a fall of pale golden hair.

"Do you think he ran off with Novourion?" The second guard asked the one who kicked in the door. The tallest one smacked them both lightly on the arm, scolding them with his gesture and his glare.

"My liege," the Elf moved to kneel before his King as he spoke softly, "should we follow after them?"

"Together?" Thranduil asked his voice breathless. "You think they are together?" Anger overtook the grief that had spread through him at the realisation that he had been abandoned. He had expected Harry to leave if he could; Harry wanted to leave him, but for his sons, his friends, his world. Those were acceptable reasons to leave (though not preferable), for Thranduil would have returned to his home for the same reasons. But how dare Harry leave him for a Silvan guard! How dare Harry betray Thranduil Oropheriön in such a way?

"Get my armour," he ordered his voice like steel. He stood, back straight and shoulders stiff and the second guard demurely lowered his eyes as he ducked back into the corridor, happily accepting any excuse to escape from the furious King.

Thranduil rode out with his royal escort, fifty guards in total and ten attendants (servants who only served during war or diplomatic missions, who carried the standards of Greenwood the Great, who bore messages from one camp to another and rode ahead to scout for danger before the party could meet it). He left Galion, a friend as well as a subject, in charge of his Kingdom until his or Legolas' return. Thranduil did not know where his son was or when he would return, but since he was on his way to drag Harry home (by his hair if needs must) he would happily escort his son back too if their paths happened to cross. They were bound to stumble upon one another at some point, after all, for how far could Legolas have gotten?

XXX

Legolas had hoped the catch the Dwarves before they made it to Lake-Town. Instead, he had caught Tauriel inspecting thirteen empty wine barrels by the edge of the beginning of Long Lake. She was armed and dangerous, but Legolas had surprise on his side. His bow was notched and his arrow fired before Tauriel could raise her knife, and it was only by throwing herself into the lake that she avoided being impaled. Legolas laughed heartedly at his friend as he offered her his hand. She refused him, scowling as she heaved herself back onto the shore, scowling all the while.

"What was that for?" She groused, as she took a fistful of her hair and began wringing it out.

"To keep you on your toes," Legolas informed her smugly. "Or off of them as the case may be."

"What are you doing here?"

"What are you doing here?" Legolas repeated, arching an eyebrow. "At least Ada knows that I am here. You are disobeying orders."

"I was searching for the Dwarves when I came across Orc scouts. I killed the ones I could, but some chose to flee. I was following them along the River Running when I came across these. When the night watch reported that the Dwarves escaped in wine barrels I thought them to be jesting," Tauriel said with an unamused snort, "yet I appear to be wrong."

"First time for everything," Legolas teased. "Any sign of them?"

"Long gone by now, is my guess. The Orcs took up a lot of my time, and if the Dwarves were running from them as well as us, they'd have wanted to make good time." Tauriel started walking, around the lake (rather than across it like Thorin's company had), Legolas at her side, unknowingly trailing behind Azog's son Bolg who was already hot on the heels of the King Under the Mountain.

Azog himself was elsewhere, waiting and gathering as many willing hands as he could find, Goblin and Orc alike, members of Shelob's brood if he could travel them that far without having to sacrifice members of his army to feed them, Wargs, Trolls too. There was an Istari his master had sent him after, though not the one that was already imprisoned in the abandoned fortress of Dol Guldur. This one was young and dangerous, Elf-friend and already living within the shadow of the Necromancer, close by and easy to snatch. But his scouts had informed him that the Istari was gone, chasing after the same dragon that Azog was supposed to have sent Bolg after (not the Dwarf, though the Orc had found that chase the more favourable one). The Necromancer wanted the Dragon for the same reason he wanted the Maiar: power. They were dangerous but uncontrollable, and he wanted Azog to collect them because the pale Orc was renowned for his ability to control others, in the worst ways you could imagine.

XXX

It went without saying that the Dragon Azog thought of was Smaug, and the Wizard was none other than Harry, and to make things easier for the Orcs, the two were already together when they were found.

Bolg let out a war cry—more of a frightened shriek that he tried to salvage—at the sight of Smaug curled up beneath one particular tree. Harry was sitting on the back of his neck, legs dangling on either side, kicking aimlessly as his arms cradled his head on the back of Smaug's own head.

Smaug stopped speaking immediately, his tale finishing abruptly and Harry found himself desperate to know how Isildur's story ended. "Do you mind?" Harry glared at the Orc as he spoke, sitting up so that he could see the small band of creatures that had interrupted them. Then, he really saw them, and he blinked twice, confused and horrified at the sight of them. Smaug had spoken of Sauron's minions, his creations (though Melkor's really), but Harry hadn't really put an image to the word and Smaug had used no word but 'filth' to describe them. "What the fuck?"

Smaug shuddered beneath him, laughing softly at Harry's reaction. He stood up then, surging to his feet in one smooth motion that Harry hardly felt the movement at all except to notice that he was suddenly taller.

"It is your lucky day, Istari," the dragon growled. He shook his head furiously to knock Harry loose, sending him sprawling to the ground and then scrambling behind a tree as an arrow came soaring through the air towards him. "I was beginning to grow hungry," Smaug continued, showing his teeth menacingly to the Orcs, "but now I can eat them instead of you."

XXX

Novourion had no idea what he was supposed to do after Harry flew out of sight, chased by a dragon. The Men went back to their hiding places, bows and arrows ready, a Dwarven wind lance of all weapons manned by the one who had forced Harry to fight the Wyrm alone, and on the Lake the others waited in silent terror, listening to the growls that carried back over the trees to them on the wind.

Novourion couldn't fight a dragon alone, nor were these Men likely to accompany him, but Mirkwood was just over a day's ride from here. If Thranduil had noticed Harry missing these last two days then he was surely on his way, and if Novourion left now, if he ran as fast as he was able, they would meet up with plenty of time left to save their Wizard. Assuming the dragon hadn't caught him yet.

"Please be alive," the Elf prayed to the Valor for protection, strength and bravery, but for himself as well as Harry, for he was the one who would have to explain to the Elven-king (with his fear of dragons as strong as his hatred for Dwarves) that his mate was alone with Smaug and no weapons. He had no wish to die that day, but if he had to choose a method, dragon fire would be kinder than anything King Thranduil might do.

XXX

Thranduil's anger burned hot in his veins, quickening his heart and drying his mouth and making the blood lust surge up within him. He wanted to hurt something, kill someone in particular, but he refused to look anything but composed as he rode out at the head of his guard. They rode hard and fast, pushing their horses (though Thranduil rode a Mearas rather than his usual Elk if only for speed) beyond what they were capable. But Thranduil was determined to catch up with his fea-meldor before Harry could get too far from him, or find Gandalf and leave Arda forever.

It was not Harry he found though, nor Legolas who had since been set upon by a second party of Orcs. It was Novourion.

His sword was in his hand before Thranduil had even dismounted. He strode towards the guard, who was suddenly prostrate upon the floor, hands held out before his bowed head as he mumbled apologies long enough for Thranduil to lower his sword (always unwilling to kill an unarmed opponent). Once the sword was down, Novourion was up. He lunged at Thranduil, pulling at his robes furiously, trying to tug him forward as he babbled desperately. He was red faced and out of breath, legs sore from running, but terror kept him moving. Thranduil had travelled further than he had, but it had still taken Novourion far too long to find his King.

"Please, please, come, you have to come," the Elf insisted frantically. Two guards dismounted, striding forward to pull Thranduil from his attacker, but Novourion wrenched the King's sword from his stunned hands, waving it frantically at the other guards who stopped suddenly, fearing that Novourion meant to kill their liege. "You have to come! You need to. I don't know what to do and Harry is alone with it and they made Harry go and they're hiding and I don't know what to do! Please?"

"No one can understand you." It was Thranduil's valet who spoke. In one hand, Lanolar carried a flag with Thranduil's emblem stitched upon it, and in the other was a knife that he purposely tucked back into the belt at his waist once he knew Novourion was watching him. He held that hand up placatingly, empty of threat and beseeching. "Repeat it slowly, and release the King."

"No! No he has to come!" The Elf looked terrified, Thranduil realised, and with a sudden sickness that churned in his gut he realised that Harry was nowhere to be seen.

"Where is he?" The King asked quietly, fearing the answer. He had thought the Wizard might be hiding, afraid of his wrath, or waiting in ambush until Novourion struck the first blow and he was required for backup. But no one was there but them, and Thranduil couldn't think of any reason why a couple who had eloped together would be apart already.

"I told you! Harry is alone with it and I don't know what to do!" Novourion let out a tortured sounding groan at the multiple looks of confusion he was met with. He shook Thranduil by the robes again, fingers clenching tight enough to wrinkle cloth and to tug at the strands of hair that had unfortunately been taken captive too. "I don't know what to do, sire, I don't know how to kill a dragon!"

Once more, Thranduil thought his legs might give out under him. He stayed standing only by virtue of Novourion's unreasonably tight grip on him, but his skin bleached of all colour as horror and terror both settled into his heart. His hands trembled and he could think of nothing to say, and Novourion shook him once more, pleading for help that Thranduil was not sure he could give, because this was a dragon they were speaking of. And Thranduil never wanted to face a dragon again. Let alone battle one.

XXX

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