Author's Note: A big thank you to everyone who reviewed last time! I'm sorry this chapter is late, but I've been really sick lately and over the past few days I've only just recovered and tried my hardest to get myself back up to date with my huge workload. So I'm glad to be back!
But something came to my attention last chapter thanks to all the lovely people who reviewed. Many people have noted the "abusive" aspects of this relationship. I just want to reassure people that I am not trying to write an abusive story, I am simply following the code of the characters to keep them as in-character as possible. I do not wish to glorify abuse and find it absolutely disgusting. There may be abusive elements, but I swear that they will be minimal as part of the character's already established nature and only as an element to help progress the story.
Also, on another note, for the interaction between Smaug and Saphira both times in this chapter, I was listening heavily to "Love the Way You Lie" Part 1&2.
Enjoy!
Chapter 14 – Beasts –
Saphira was practically fuming by the time they returned to the Lonely Mountain. Her anger burned her as if her own fire had detonated in her veins and was consuming her from the inside out. It grew like a thunderstorm that festered and gathered in force as the lightning began to crackle and the thunder echo in warning. Smaug however seemed oblivious to her ever expanding fury, his own anger still scorching and easily matching her as he herded her towards the mountain. She knew that he probably meant to push her back towards the treasure chamber, for as she landed outside the gates, he hit the ground straight after her, snapping at her heels in order to try and force her inside. Saphira complied with him, growling as she pulled back her lips to reveal her fangs in warning, as she bade farewell to the daylight for the last time until she didn't know when, and ducked into the cold and dark of the mountain. But once in the entrance hall, she refused to take another step. Smaug tried to lash her with his tail, to physically push her down the path, but she snapped her jaws at him ferociously, snarling savagely to show that she would not submit to him for a second longer.
Smaug immediately reared himself higher, puffing out his chest as he bared his teeth in a show of dominance, though Saphira matched him move for move, flaring her wings to make herself appear bigger. Smaug once again tried to force her onwards, but she snarled at him, snapping her teeth dangerously close to his flesh. Smaug roared as he viciously tried to sink his fangs into her flesh once again, but she was ready for him this time, and at the exact moment, Saphira spun on her heel wincing to herself as her injured ankle protested with shooting pain. She struck out with her tail, smashing it into the side of Smaug's face and sending him careening off to the side. He yowled in pain from the force of the blow, shaking his head as if to clear it of sudden dizziness as he whirled back around to face her. The pair of dragons faced each other, baring their teeth as they growled and snarled at each other, hissing and spitting like snakes if one dared come too close.
"I will go nowhere with you, murderer." Saphira growled in a dangerously low voice inside Smaug's mind, her words coloured with her fury. She was absolutely seething, her mind unable to banish the images of what had happened by the lake, how Smaug had been able to slaughter innocents, even children, unable to defend themselves. And what was more sinful, was his blatant disregard of her dignity. "You cannot treat me this way!"
"I can punish you however I wish." Smaug retorted with a snort. "I don't suffer traitors well."
"Traitor to what?!" she demanded hotly, the accusation burning her already sore pride.
"You would betray me for filthy humans!" he snarled furiously. "You conspire with them against me!"
"You are delusional!" Saphira snapped. "I have done no such thing! You would accuse me of betrayal with no tangible proof?"
"I saw you with the human!"
"Which proves NOTHING!" She raged, tail lashing behind her as she bared her teeth. "You murdered innocents on the basis of nothing!"
"They are mortals, a mere handful in a nest of vermin," Smaug sneered, lip curling to reveal his teeth. Seeing her furious passion, a cruel glint came over his eyes as he added: "It was rather enjoyable to exterminate the pests,"
Saphira launched herself at Smaug, a roar tearing from her lungs as she leapt for him head on. Their chests collided, the force of her momentum driving him back several steps. She clawed at his shoulder with her claws, and sank her fangs into the softer scales under his throat. Smaug roared, thrashing himself about in an attempt to get her off. Saphira pushed her fangs deep into his tough scales, until she tasted a small amount of blood bead onto her tongue as she savaged his neck. Smaug tried to reach for her with his claws, though she batted his fingers away with her own talons and wings, but eventually he managed to catch a hold on one of her back legs, her injured one. Saphira hissed in pain, causing her to let go of his neck. Smaug didn't waste the opportunity, as he arched his neck out of her reach, snarling as he hauled her away from him. Saphira rolled across the ground, quickly getting her feet under her, though her injured hind leg would still not take most of her weight, causing her to lean on her opposite side. She was, however, smug to see that she had caused Smaug some damage, as he was bleeding slightly from the savage marks she'd put into his neck.
The two dragons began to circle each other, snapping their jaws and lashing their tails. Their necks were arched and Saphira flared her wings in clear signs of aggression. This was no playful fight or little skirmish between them, the savagery in their eyes and the bloodthirsty growl in their throats conveyed that this fight was very real between them. Saphira wanted to rip out the offending male's throat, she wanted to burn him into the ground, and she had no doubt that he wanted to do the same to her. If he didn't she was sure going to make him want to by the time she was done with him.
"You are a naïve fool," Smaug taunted as he spat the words across their makeshift arena between them. "You go to them seeking companionship? You are a child living out a foolish fantasy! They have bewitched you, blinded you to the foul corruption in their hearts!"
"You're wrong!" she shot back, smoke curling from her nostrils in warning of her fire building in her throat. "I have seen plenty of corruption in the hearts of men, but I still choose to see that not all their hearts are the same. And YOU cannot talk of corruption: your greed knows no bounds."
"A yearning for treasure is natural of dragons," Smaug snorted dismissively, before fixing his blazing eyes on her with a disgusted curl of his lip. "What is unnatural is for a dragon to be tamed by humanity. You are no dragon, you are no better than their horses!"
Saphira had to struggle with herself to hold back the impulse to tear this monster apart, his words ignited such a righteous anger in her that she thought she would explode from the force of it. All her life she had to fight for humans to recognise her as a part of a partnership with her rider, where many thought her a glorified battle-steed. The blow was low and harsh against her pride and she felt her fire burn hot in her throat, but she didn't, she wanted to burn him with her words just as he had done to her.
"Then face this 'horse' with honour. Do not hold back simply because I can defend myself from you, coward." She bit out.
Her words had an immediate and desired effect. Her insult made his rage so strong he was almost shaking in place. He narrowed his eyes at her, lips quivering to reveal his fangs, claws itching against the stone. His chest began to glow, and Saphira was given a second of warning before he unleashed the inferno inside of him. The fire exploded outwards from his jaws, bathing the entrance hall in great red light. Saphira ducked and skilfully rolled out of the way to dodge the flames, though Smaug kept his eyes on her, and stopped the flames in his throat to snap his jaws at her as she came too close. Saphira danced back out of his reach, hissing again in pain as she put weight on her injured leg.
Smaug tried to use his brute strength and reach to catch her and knock her off of her feet, but Saphira used her agility to worm around his blows. She allowed herself to come within reach of him, and as he swung his claws at her, Saphira reared onto her hind legs and threw her weight against him. She hit his shoulders and knocked him into the ground, his swing missing its initial mark, but his claws raked down her wing ripping out feathers and drawing blood as he almost tore the membrane beneath. Saphira howled with pain, and managed to get her talons onto Smaug's head, and pushed her weight onto him, smashed his head into the ground, before allowing him a brief moment in an attempt to raise his head before smashing it back down. Over and over she pushed his head back into stone, until he desperately snapped his head towards her, turning his head so suddenly that she lost her grip.
He sank his fangs into her wrist, causing her to screech in pain. She instinctively clawed at his head with her free hand in an attempt to pry him off of her, her talons barely missing his eyes as she raked her claws down the side of his face. She felt the strength of his jaws tear through the muscle in her forearm, felt her bones creak as they were close to snapping under the pressure. Her blood was running out of his mouth as he held onto her with a vice like grip. In desperation, Saphira unleashed her fire, bellowing a torrent of flame right onto Smaug's head at point blank range. He yowled from the intensity of the flames, instantly letting go of her as he reared his head away from the heat and light that threatened to blind him. Saphira used the moment to smash her tail down onto his neck, knocking the wind from him as she pushed him into the floor, before quickly retreating.
She found that whilst her back leg was bearable, her front leg now couldn't support her weight at all. Nothing was broken, she was thankful for that, but the wound was still great. She licked at the wound, her saliva thick enough to help clog the wound to stop it bleeding. She tried to tentatively put weight on it, but growled when the pain became too much and she was forced to hold the limb above the ground, bringing it protectively close against her chest. She looked over at Smaug to see him rising from the ground, glaring at her. He spat a glob of blood from his mouth, and Saphira was satisfied to see she had knocked a few of his teeth out, and from her clawing she had given him a vicious gash on one of his spiked brows which was bleeding steadily, the red liquid half blinding one eye as he tried to blink it away.
"It's good to see that what you lack in dragon-pride, you make up for in ferociousness, though you lack the conviction of savagery." He growled out to her, a distorted smile pulling at his muzzle that made him look dementedly evil.
"Like you?" she retorted, though she was slightly out of breath as she still held her damaged foreleg against her chest. "The paranoid wyrm who will kill a threat even when it doesn't exist?"
"All threats exist," he snapped.
"And would your hatchlings be a threat? Would they be a threat to your gold? Would you kill them?" she demanded. "And what of me? I'm surprised I still live,"
"Do not speak nonsense, you silly creature," Smaug sneered derisively.
"So you will simply ignore the fact that it was you who destroyed this happy ignorance we had here? You do not know how to love, even the base amount of affection is beyond you! All you care for is useless, lifeless gold!"
"Now you draw the matter away from what this is really about," he said condescendingly as if he were conversing with a child. "You wish to talk of foolishness? Of something utterly irrelevant? Very well. Love is a weakness, something that is relatively unimportant in the grand scheme of things."
"You are wrong."
"Am I? What has love brought other than misery and suffering? What does it do but hold someone back from achieving what is really important? A mortal will keep himself in squalor for the sake of love rather than allowing his ambition to carry him further. Love is a weed that must be rooted out."
"And the alternative is to fester in loathing and bitterness until it consumes you?" Saphira demanded pointedly. "Your wild nature is warped by hatred of everything that is not you. You would rather hate every living creature rather than allow yourself any vulnerability. You even look for something to hate!"
"Now you spout deluded lies," he hissed.
"Do I?" she pressed, taking a dangerous step closer to him. "You couldn't be happy with the simple bliss we had. You had to look for something to fault me with, even if it wasn't there!"
"You betrayed me!" he snarled as he stepped towards her. "You are a craven snake that would rather choose the filth of humans over your own kind. You are their dog that continues to return after every beating you receive."
"A beating worse than this?" she glared at him, growling with a curl of her lip as she held up her savaged arm. Smaug's eyes locked onto the wound, something shifting in his eyes as if he hadn't noticed the wound before. But then he focused his eyes back onto her, the glare back with renewed determination.
"What has your unhealthy love of humans brought you, but misery and pain? Even when they threaten you, you would still go back to them." he spat.
"They are of no threat to me." she sneered. "I have no need to fear them."
"I do not fear them!" Smaug raged, his hackles rising with the burn to his pride. "But I know when something is a threat to me. I'd wager that you never even realised the danger you were in today, your naivety could have cost you your life. You are no longer in your homeland, Saphira, they will not pander to you. Mortals have contributed to the near extinction of our race, they worship the weapons that can kill us, and you would give yourself over into their arms!"
"Do not try and fool me into thinking that this is all because you were worried for me?" Saphira snorted mockingly, showing how much she doubted such a thing.
"You have never had to fight for everything you have!" he snarled. "In the Withered Heath, one had to fight for every day of survival, for every meal, every night in a worthy cave, even for every breath of life! What you didn't fight for was taken from you, and eventually all the fighters were gone. Nature took the weak, and mortals – whether they be elf, dwarf or man – slaughtered the foolish and unworthy. When you fight for everything, you learn to guard everything you hold dear, you do not allow it in your nature to allow anything to take what belongs to you."
"Then why fight me?" she pressed.
"Because you would happily soar away with the humans if given half the chance." He growled in a dangerous voice. "I will not allow for that to happen. I will not allow them to take you from me."
"I am not a jewel for you to hoard!" she snapped.
"No, but you try my patience too much as of late," he retorted curtly, smoke pouring from his nostrils in warning.
"Then why have you not killed me? If I have transgressed against you, then why stand here talking and not try and kill me?" she growled.
"'Try'?" he echoed with a dry chuckle. "You doubt I will be able to?"
"Many have tried. None have succeeded." She hissed.
"Despite how it would be deliciously satisfying to put your ego back in its place, having you dead is not in my agenda," he murmured.
"Then if you will not kill me… then I will take my leave of you." Saphira said, suddenly feeling the ache in her body. She was so tired, both physically and emotionally, she needed time to breathe away from Smaug, and seeing as how their fight seemed to have come to an unlikely abrupt end, she thought it best to make her exit. She hobbled her way towards the exit, but as she tried to pass Smaug, he snarled and suddenly he was standing in front of her. They were almost nose to nose as he glared down at her, his bulk blocking the entrance from her path.
"You DARE to attempt to leave?!" he growled out in a low voice, his chest rumbling a growl of warning.
"Remember our bargain Smaug," Saphira growled back. "As part of our partnership, I have freedom to come and go as I please."
"No."
"No?" she blinked in surprise.
"You are now my mate," he said, pointing a claw at her shoulder where his mark had scarred her flesh. "That voids our previous agreement. You are mine now. I will not let you leave me."
"I will not be a mate whilst I am a prisoner!" she snarled.
"You chose this path when you consorted with those humans." He spat.
Saphira felt her rage so completely overcome her, it was unleashed in a bright burst of flame that erupted from her jaws to hit Smaug in the face. He snarled as the blue flames licked at his flesh, and he thrashed his head to try and clear it of the flames. He charged at her, knocking her to the ground and standing over her with a roar of rage. Saphira writhed beneath him, kicking out at his stomach with her back legs and raking her talons along his chest. He tried to lunge for her throat, but she snapped at his head with her teeth whenever he came too close. She felt her back legs find purchase on his underbelly, and with a heave she tried to push him off of her.
Trying to scramble onto her feet, she was clumsily a second too late as she tried to compensate for her injured foreleg. She felt Smaug's teeth clamp around the scruff of her neck, and with his immense strength he hauled her into the air and threw her against the nearest wall. Saphira felt the breath be knocked from her lungs as she lay in a heap at the bottom of the wall. She tried to get up but Smaug was quickly over her, pinning her in place as he settled his weight over her, and forced his eyes close to hers as she glared up at him.
"Your struggles are pointless," he murmured into her ear. "I will not part with a single one of my treasures. Least of all you, the rarest and most precious of all,"
"Is that supposed to flatter me?!" she hissed up to him breathlessly.
"If that will not suffice, then know this…" his voice took on an edge that Saphira didn't like, something about it echoing like a promise as he spoke. "You care about those miserable Lakemen so much? Good. Then if you try to escape again, you can watch them die for you."
For Eragon it was a very unsettling experience to suddenly be the passenger on the back of a dragon, when he had always been the main rider before. He had spent so long riding with Saphira and giving other people the privilege of riding with them, that to be in the back of the saddle now felt very strange to him. But he did not voice his complaints; after all it was stupid to complain about something like that, that he should feel strange because he no longer had a dragon of his own to ride? That some instinct inside of him found it odd to be a passenger? So he scolded himself for such thoughts, and suffered in silence.
He and Murtagh rode Thorn out to the west, the dragon's saddlebags holding much of their kit, including supplies, their armour, strips of leather for Eragon to make a saddle for Saphira when he eventually found her – as her proper saddle was too hefty to cart around with them everywhere. Also, they had brought the armour for both dragons, special enchantments having been placed on them to make them extra light for Thorn to carry. They didn't know what they would face in this strange land, and so it was best to be prepared for every eventuality.
They'd travelled west and then made their way south on the western side of the mountain range that split the land from north to south. What would have taken them months to traverse on foot was made possible over a few short weeks, and soon they left the shadows of the mountains to search the plains of the west. After scouring the mountains and having found no sign of Saphira, the group continued on in their search, thinking that perhaps she would be found where there was plenty of game. Thorn had put back on whatever weight he had lost on the journey across the sea, gorging himself and absorbing whatever energy he could take from the world around him. They had all spotted several lonely humans along their journey, but decided to stay out of sight, for they had no idea how the local inhabitants would react to them, or if they could communicate.
But one afternoon, the three were flying through the clouds, silent as all of their thoughts were elsewhere on separate matters, when all of a sudden, they heard a noise. It was a sound that howled above the winds, an unearthly screech of an animal in distress. It had the howl like a wolf but it didn't sound like any wolf Eragon had ever heard before, it screeched like a banshee yet had a deep roar as if from a large chest. The sound was so unexpected that it startled the group in the sky and made all three of them look down through the cloud cover to the rocky plains below. There they saw a pack of what looked to be giant monstrous wolves, and for a moment, Eragon thought them to be a pack of Shrrg, but was stopped when he noticed strange creatures riding on the backs of the ferocious looking canines.
"What is it?" Murtagh asked.
"I don't know, we're too high up to make it out clearly," Eragon replied.
"Thorn!" Murtagh called to his dragon. "How close do you think we can get?"
"Close enough." Came Thorn's reply, before he dived back down through the cloud cover. He circled the plain, the rocky terrain due to being so close to the mountains provided him enough cover so that they could swoop low to inspect the commotion without being seen. And what an interesting scene it was.
The large wolves were being ridden by monstrously hideous creatures, creatures that looked like Urgals but they lacked the distinctive horns of the large brutes. They wore crude armour and had jagged black weapons, but their teeth gnashed as their eyes roamed the plains, as if searching for something. The pack of them all looked about, as if they too had been disturbed by the noise, and the two riders and dragon all watched, very interested to see what these creatures would do.
They all heard the growling in the distance, and then the distinctive strike of weapons against flesh. Eragon felt somewhere inside him instinctively awaken, one that was always present when the time for battle arrived. The leader of these strange creatures snarled in a language that Eragon did not understand, and he looked over to Murtagh, who seemed just as confused. The creatures then all rode their wolfish creatures towards a rock, where everyone assumed the sound to be coming from.
"Move!" they suddenly heard the word, surprising both riders at the fact that they understood the language. "Run!" and then, from behind the rocks, came an old man, dressed in grey robes and a pointed hat, holding a staff as he ran from the wolf creatures. Behind him came a total of fourteen little people that Eragon immediately recognised as dwarves, making his eyebrows rise on his head in surprise. The situation became clear quickly, as did the need for them to become involved.
"We must help them!" Eragon said to Murtagh.
"We don't have to do anything!" Murtagh retorted. "This has nothing to do with us and could derail us from our quest!"
"We cannot simply stand by and watch." Eragon snapped, and pulled his bow from his back, unleashing an arrow into one of the creatures, and with Eragon's enhanced vision and strength, the mark was true and the arrow buried itself in the back of a creature's head. "If you won't help then have Thorn land long enough for me to do something!"
"Fool," Murtagh muttered, but by the roll of his eyes and the set of his jaw, Eragon knew that he would help. "Thorn! Take us down but remain out of sight,"
"You do not wish for me to fight?" he asked as if such a thought was alien to him.
"We don't know how these people will react to dragons, best for you to remain undetected," Murtagh said. Eragon knew that Murtagh and Thorn were speaking so that he could not feel excluded, and their pity burned his pride.
"Very well. I will try and kill those that venture too far." Replied the dragon in his strangely musical voice. He landed briefly enough behind an outcropping of rocks, allowing Eragon and Murtagh long enough to jump from his back and start running towards the strange creatures. Eragon let loose another arrow, and then another, watching the missiles fly as they reached their targets. The creatures began to realise that they were being attacked from behind, and some turned to see the two young men running towards them. Three broke off in order to engage them with sick, malicious grins.
Eragon strapped his bow onto his back and withdrew Brisingr from its sheath at his hip. Murtagh also withdrew Zar'roc, and the two stood side by side as they awaited their coming enemies. As one wolf-monster came close, its creature-rider leaning down as if to cleave the two men in two, Murtagh lashed out with his sword with practised ease. His red blade cut into the monster-wolf's leg and chest, causing it to howl as it collapsed to the ground, unseating its rider. Murtagh quickly stabbed Zar'roc's blade through the creature's chest to end its life, before doing the same to the wolf beast. He then looked back up to the other creatures with deceptive calm on his face.
The remaining two creatures snarled in their horrid sounding language, and one unleashed a volley of arrows at the two humans. The wards of the two riders repelled the arrows, much to the astonishment of the creatures. One then charged at them, and using his super-human strength, Eragon leapt into the air aiming straight for the creature. They smashed into each other, Eragon uprooting the creature from its saddle and thrusting his sword into its gut as they flew. Eragon made sure they landed with him straddling the creature and driving it into the ground, allowing him to hop off when they finally came to a stop. The last creature jumped down from its steed, attacking Eragon with a flurry of blows as he hacked and slashed at him. Eragon easily kept pace and blocked each and every strike, but the attack was crude and careless compared with the master swordsmen that he had fought and trained with over the course of this past year. Eragon kept the creature so focused that it didn't even realise that Murtagh was behind it until the blade of Zar'roc erupted through its chest. As the creature fell to the ground limp, the two half-brothers exchanged a look.
"You're welcome," Murtagh murmured.
"I could have taken him," Eragon replied with an easy grin.
"Of course you could of," Murtagh replied with a roll of his eyes. And just like that, Eragon thought he felt a spark of companionship, that easy rhythm of friendship between them flowing just like it had in the old days. And for a moment Eragon could have smiled, but that moment ended when Murtagh went stiff, his face becoming gravely serious once more, as if they had not just been smiling with each other a second ago.
"Thorn says that the dwarves are surrounded," Murtagh said after a moment as his eyes shifted to Eragon. "Come on!" and then they were running across the plain in the direction of the dwarves, and as they came over the next hill, sure enough, the dwarves were surrounded by the pack of creatures.
"Where's Gandalf?" called out one dwarf.
"He's abandoned us!" snarled another. And Eragon had to look, for the old human man with the staff was indeed nowhere to be found. The dwarves tried to keep the creatures off of them, either with arrows or rocks, but it didn't seem to be working.
"Hold your ground!" shouted one dwarf with long raven dark hair and beard and deep blue eyes. Eragon and Murtagh quickly charged through the ranks of the creatures, Brisingr slicing open the side of one wolf-monster before stabbing its creature-rider through the gut. Zar'roc sliced out with masterful precision as it ripped through the chest of one creature before decapitating another. The two men cut a straight path as they made their way to the dwarves, quickly standing with them as they faced off against the creatures. The dwarves all looked at them in shock and amazement, as if they couldn't believe that they were here.
"We thought you could use some help," Eragon said with a friendly smile to them.
"Who are you?!" the raven haired dwarf asked suspiciously as he hefted his curved blade at them as if preparing for an attack.
"Does it matter?" Murtagh snapped. "We're here to help."
The dwarf said nothing else, but shouted to his follow dwarves to be ready as they all stood awaiting for the creatures to launch their final attack.
"This way, you fools!" came a sudden shout, and everyone turned in surprise to see the old man poke his head up from behind a rock, beckoning all of the dwarves towards him. The dwarves looked confused, as if they hadn't expected this to happen. The old man then ducked back behind the rock, as if he were making his way down some stairs, and called for them to follow.
"Go on!" Murtagh shouted to them. "We'll cover you!"
"Move! Come on! All of you!" the lead dwarf commanded, and then one by one each of the dwarves piled behind the rocks, disappearing from sight. The creatures roared in outrage, and charged, and Eragon and Murtagh stepped backwards towards the rock, ready to follow at a moment's notice. Murtagh lashed out at a monster-wolf that came too close, his blade killing it instantly as he sliced open its throat. Finally all of the dwarves had disappeared, and Eragon could see that behind the rock was a steep hole.
The two men suddenly heard the sound of a horn, one that had even the creatures and their wolfish mounts look a little nervous. Staring at each other, Murtagh made a gesture of his head, which Eragon instantly understood, and quickly slid into the hole and to safety, Murtagh was not a second behind him. They found themselves in a tunnel with all the dwarves packed around them, weapons at the ready. Murtagh scowled at them all, his grip on Zar'roc tightening. Eragon thought it best to defuse the situation.
"We mean you no harm!" he said quickly, sheathing Brisingr and holding out his empty hands. But before they could do anything else, they all heard the thundering of hooves above them, the sounds of shrieks and roars of the dead and dying. Then suddenly, one of the creatures rolled and fell through the hole resting to a stop, dead at their feet, an arrow buried in its neck. The raven haired dwarf bent down and pulled out the arrow, inspecting it carefully.
"Elves." He spat the word as if it were something disgusting, and Eragon took a moment to be nervous for remembering that his appearance was very elf-like at the moment. As if remembering he was suddenly there, the lead dwarf turned to look at him and Murtagh, a distrustful sneer on his lips as he pointed his sword at Eragon's throat. "Who are you?"
"I am Eragon Bromsson," Eragon replied smoothly, trying to remain calm in an attempt to defuse the situation, even when his instincts told him to bat away the sword and defend himself. The dwarf then looked over at Murtagh, clearly expecting an answer.
"Murtagh." He replied simply, almost curtly.
"What would bring an elf and a human to our aid? Were you scouting for your pack up there?" the ebony haired dwarf – who Eragon assumed was their leader – demanded with a gesture to the noises of retreating hoof-beats above them.
"Thorin, I think that highly unlikely," interrupted the old man with an exasperated sigh. "I have been to the halls of Lord Elrond many a time, and I cannot recall ever seeing this fellow there before. He is not with them." Eragon, seeing that the lead dwarf was still distrustful, hoped to resort to another plan in order to make them see that he and Murtagh were not a threat.
"Hrethcarach Eragon rak Dûrgrimst Ingeitum. Wharn, Murtagh. Ne oc dûrgrimst," Eragon said in perfect dwarvish, simply introducing himself and Murtagh as clansmen and therefore not a threat. His wording might have been crude, but Eragon would have thought that Orik would have been proud of his diplomacy.
But he was met with silence.
"Is that dwarvish?" asked one of the party, who Eragon was surprised to see was a very strange looking dwarf, perhaps only three feet high, with very large, bare, hairy feet and no beard at all.
"Aye, it sounds like it," gruffly answered one bald but bushy bearded dwarf as he looked at Eragon in confusion. "But that's not a dialect I've ever heard before."
"I simply wanted to express that we are friends," Eragon said helplessly.
"An elf is no friend to a dwarf!" the leader dwarf snarled harshly, eyes blazing with an old hatred that Eragon wasn't entirely sure was directed at him…
"Thorin," the old man said softly as he leaned in to murmur to him. "They did save your lives…" there was a long silence as the lead dwarf seemed to be considering the old man's words, before finally sighing, sheathing his sword as he looked at Eragon and Murtagh with much less hostility.
"Very well. You both have my thanks. I am Thorin Oakenshield," he said formerly with a nod of his head.
"What were those creatures? And why were they attacking you?" Murtagh cut in before Eragon could come up with a dignified reply.
"You have never encountered an Orc pack before?" Thorin questioned with a confused frown, as if the idea of Orcs being unheard of was ridiculous.
"No. We…" Eragon went to say, but stopped himself, glancing over at Murtagh, his stare alone asking how much he should reveal. Murtagh nodded, the movement so small it was barely visible. "We come from faraway lands. We're travelling and though we have seen creatures similar to that, we have not encountered their like specifically."
"Strange lands, you say?" the old man in grey robes asked, eyebrows raised in clear curiosity. "How strange?"
"You would not know of it," Eragon replied vaguely.
"Why were they attacking you?" Murtagh asked again.
"Orcs are always marauding murderers," Thorin spat disdainfully. "Why this pack hunts us specifically, I have no idea."
"It is lucky then that we came across you when we did."
"Indeed." Thorin murmured, looking at them thoughtfully. "What brings you to these parts?"
Eragon didn't reply for a moment, weighing in his mind what he should say and what he should ask. Then, he felt a tentative probing at the edges of his mind, and recognised the feel of it as Murtagh. Cautiously, Eragon let him in so that they could converse privately, though they kept silent physically, their conversation was quick so that the silence wouldn't be too long.
"Do not tell them everything." Murtagh murmured, his thoughts coloured with his suspicion.
"I wasn't planning to," Eragon answered almost a little defensively. "We need to at least ask about dragons, the worst that can happen is they think dragons are extinct – like everyone did before Saphira hatched. The best that could happen, they can tell us if they've seen dragons."
"It's one thing to ask about seeing dragons, another to admit that we are riders of dragons."
"Agreed," Eragon would have nodded but didn't; a thought then came to him as he quickly explained: "Best to keep our identities a secret as much as possible. Don't even show them magic. We don't know what will be their reaction."
"Fine."
With that, Murtagh withdrew from Eragon's mind and their conversation was done. Eragon focused his attention back to Thorin, and spoke, knowing that if he stayed silent a second more, the dwarves would be extremely suspicious all over again.
"We came seeking dragons," Eragon answered carefully, his eyes narrowing on the dwarves for any sign of a reaction. "Have you spotted one in recent months?"
"A dragon?" Thorin blinked in surprise, before a bitter and humourless chuckle escaped him. "Huh, the only dragon in Middle-Earth is Smaug the Terrible, the bane of our people and taker of our kingdom." He hissed, and Eragon could sense great pain and anger coming from the dwarf, though he dared not invade his mind. "The hell-spawn resides in our fallen Kingdom, the Lonely Mountain in the east,"
"The east?!" Eragon blurted, his mouth falling open in horror. All this time he'd been here and he'd been looking for dragons in the WRONG direction?!
"Why are you so interested in this dragon?" asked the old man curiously.
"Our reasons are our own," Murtagh murmured bluntly.
"So on your quest to slay dragons you decide to help strangers out of the kindness of your hearts?" Thorin asked as if he highly doubted such a thing.
"Would you have preferred if we'd left you in that clearing?" Eragon asked with a pointed look.
There was a long silence as Thorin seemed to process that thought, his pride evidently wanting to think that he hadn't needed help, but his common sense and honour knew otherwise. The dwarf sighed, clearly knowing he was beaten on that front.
"Have you two fine gentlemen any shelter for tonight?" interjected the old man with a pleasant smile.
"We will find shelter later, come nightfall," Murtagh said politely but still guarded.
"Well, perhaps we can find somewhere to rest together. After all, it is the least we can do after you fought to save our lives," the old man said with more of a look to silence Thorin's protestations.
"We –" Eragon was about to refuse, but knew that it might again look suspicious, and if it was only for one night, then they could cope with that. "Thank you."
"I cannot see where the pathway leads!" called one dwarf from further down the tunnel. "Do we follow it or no?"
"Follow it, of course!" replied another breathlessly, and all the dwarves began to file through the tunnel down the path.
"I think that would be wise." The old man murmured as he followed the dwarves with a polite smile to Murtagh and Eragon as he passed them. The strange looking little dwarf paused before following the rest, looking at Eragon and Murtagh and fidgeting slightly as if he had something to say. Finally, he seemed to pluck up the courage, as he stepped closer to the two men.
"Look, I know Thorin can be rather… intense at times," he said in a polite and well spoken voice. "So let me just say… thank you. We would have been as good as dead out there if you hadn't come along when you did."
"Thank you, master dwarf," Eragon said with a smile.
"Oh, I'm not a dwarf." The little creature quickly corrected.
"Oh?" Murtagh raised his eyebrows in surprise.
"No, no. I'm a hobbit. Bilbo Baggins, at your service." The little 'hobbit' smiled as he held out a polite hand for them to shake.
"An honour to meet you Mr Baggins," Eragon answered as he shook his hand. Bilbo grinned, before quickly scuttling off after the dwarves down the path, Eragon and Murtagh following behind him.
Saphira lay on her old perch, on her platform above the sea of gold, her back to everything. When they had returned to the treasure chamber, she had taken one disgusted look at all the accumulated wealth and flown up to her previous nest. She had not stayed in it for weeks, not since becoming Smaug's mate, but now it was as if she didn't want to be anywhere near the lifeless glittering gold, or the master of it. And for Smaug, that had worked out just fine, he'd hardly been in the mood to deal with her anyway.
Now it was the next morning, and despite the fact that Smaug wanted to ignore her existence and to punish her with silence the same way she seemed to be treating him, he couldn't. Something inside him was constantly reminded of her, pulling him towards her, to look at her, creating words on the tip of his tongue to say to her, both good and ill. He'd awoken with a great ache in his face and down the side of his neck. It felt as if he was bruised down to his very bones, he had to credit Saphira, for she'd hurt him well, something he'd refused to show during the fight, but could now not deny how his face felt like he'd had of mountain of boulders smash onto him. The gash on his brow was particularly sore, and he wondered if it was deeper then he'd thought, and could only guess that it would scar. Running his tongue along his gums to find three teeth missing was a new experience for him as well, though like reptiles the teeth would grow back so he had nothing to fear there. His neck was also sore where she'd savaged the side of his throat, and he could already feel the scales scabbing over.
Lingering on his wounds made him think of the day before, of the anger that had so consumed him, his vision had turned red, he'd almost been blinded by his fury. He'd been angrier then he could ever remember being, he'd wanted to kill her, the hurt that burned his black heart had both cut him and humiliated him. He'd felt betrayed, and that betrayal made something inside him snap. His plan had been to drag her back to the mountain, to get a confession out of her, and then to tear her apart with his bear claws for what she'd done. But when he'd been in the moment, his rage had been so all consuming… but he couldn't do it. He'd seen her eyes, once adoring now glaring with hurt and anger; he'd heard her voice, once soft and beautiful for him now snarling with hatred. She'd denied his accusations, planted doubt in his mind, and something inside him had stirred, told him that he could do anything with her… but he couldn't kill her. He'd realised that the last thing he wanted to see was her not by his side, whether that be through leaving him or through death. She only had one place, and that was with him. He suddenly couldn't accept anything else.
The fight had been challenging to him on many levels, Saphira had shown great prowess in battle, for it took a lot to hurt Smaug, but she had stung him quite a few times. But Smaug had also found that he strangely enjoyed the fiery passion they had both shown. He didn't like the context of the fight, nor the hated words that were hissed between them. But he loved the fact that they were both such a match for each other. Their tempers clashed like roaring fires trying to smother each other, and whilst Smaug preferred her submissive affection as his mate, he had also loved to see her passion explode in front of his eyes, like a dazzling display. Such raw and powerful emotions had eclipsed them both into a euphoria that he had never felt in his life. He'd never felt so strongly about anything, and the feelings she made him feel were so all-consuming that he thought his mind had been blown by the possibilities of the power in such emotions. Saphira had managed to make him feel so many strong things at once, and he found now that he was addicted to it; he found that every moment when she didn't bring out either this strong affection or this explosive angry passion, was a dull moment, and he wanted her to inspire it all over again.
But such high flights came with a steep fall. Smaug was feeling the consequences of the power his emotions brought out, and his face ached for it. But looking back at Saphira, he knew she was suffering just as badly. Her ankle was only a minor wound, but her forearm was savaged, and she kept tending to it, licking the sore wound in an attempt to stop the bleed and urge on the healing process. Smaug felt something he had never felt before, it was as if a human had shoved a pike into his chest, wrenching at his organs until he felt his stomach drop and his black heart wither under the onslaught. He'd felt it when Saphira had shown him what he'd done to her, and now he recognised it for what it was. Shame.
He'd never been ashamed of any action in his life, and he still did not feel ashamed for anything he'd done the day before. They had been in the middle of a fight, she had been trying to smash his skull open, so he did not regret his retaliation. But he regretted tearing open her perfect flesh which he had reverently loved when mating with her, and he felt shame for causing her such pain. He prided himself on being a mate of worth, and as such, a mate was meant to make sure that no harm befell their partner. He tried to excuse that it had been special circumstances, that she had ignited in him such an anger with her apparent betrayal, that she had fed his fire, had attacked him, and so he felt justified in defending himself. But still the scent of her blood choked his senses as he lay in his gold, even when he tried to banish it from his mind, it swirled through his brain, wedging the pike in his chest deeper.
He'd not left her alone since they'd bother returned to the treasure room, and had spent the night near the entrance to the hall in case she tried to make an escape, his bulk and presence would stop her. But he believed that his threat was ample motivation enough for her to remain here. Again, he did not regret making his threat, and was more than prepared to carry it out, he would love nothing better than to destroy every last lakeman. But he did regret having to keep her caged like a bird, when just a week previous he had enjoyed racing with her through the skies, of free-falling with their limbs entangled.
But he couldn't let her go, he refused to allow the notion of her leaving. Not only did his pride demand that such a thing would be a huge insult, or that as she was part of his treasure his own nature could not allow for anything to take his treasures away. As he imagined a life returning to bachelorhood, of her leaving and his returning to the simplicity of his days, he found it completely alien and monstrous to comprehend. The thing inside of him that had prevented him from killing her now roared with anguish at the thought of watching her leave. At simply imagining it he felt lost, as if he wouldn't know what to do with himself without finding some new side of her to sink into. He felt angry with her for making him feel this weak, for making him feel like a fool as his pride burned with the humiliation. But he knew with conviction that he could never let her leave, as if by her staying the last of his sanity was being held in place, as if he suddenly depended on everything she had given him in the past weeks since they had become mates. If all of that was gone, he would lose his mind.
The scent of her blood pierced his mind again, like the strike of a headache, and he growled. He knew that she needed to be punished for defying him so openly, but if that wound became infected then it could turn into a very grave situation. He couldn't approach her to physically help her deal with it like he had done with grooming her, she would most likely claw his eyes out. One thing he was very aware of, was that Saphira's temper was enough to match him. And besides, he was still angry enough with her that he would more likely strike her then help her.
He then left the chamber, going down into the depths of the mountain along the caverns, avoiding the insect holes where he and Saphira had hunted for food when she had first arrived. Instead, he looked for the damp places, the parts where the river running had either filtered through or pipes had burst from the onslaught of his attack on the mountain and causing water to run along the walls. It took him a little longer than expected to find what he was looking for, but he soon found the weed that grew along the damp walls. An experimental sniff of it, and he was certain that this was what he was looking for. Taking the weed in his teeth, he ripped its roots out from the walls and the floor, carrying it in his mouth he made his way back to the treasure chamber. He grew cautious as he entered, preparing his anticipating rage for if Saphira had tried to escape. He knew that nothing would save her from his anger if she had. But she was in the exact same place as she had been when he had left her, as if she completely ignored his presence now. He wasn't entirely pleased by that, but brushed it off for now.
He climbed the stairs to her platform cautiously, making his presence known so that she would not perceive it as an attack. But she didn't, she only glanced at him with cold eyes as he drew near, before picking herself up and hobbling towards the wall at the back of the platform, as far away from Smaug as she could possibly get, before laying down with an aggravated sigh. Smaug tried to hold back his temper at such childish behaviour, and instead flung the weed in her direction, where it plopped to the ground at her feet. She looked at it with disinterest before glaring back up at him.
"It will help," was all he grunted out.
"Am I supposed to eat this?" she asked curtly.
"No," he snorted. "You must chew it to a paste and apply it to your wound. It will double the speed of the healing process."
"Am I to graciously accept this as a gift of kindness?" she muttered sarcastically.
"Do what you will," he said dismissively, trying to ignore the barbed sting of her poor manners. "Just stop whimpering over your wounds in self-pity,"
Saphira growled at him, but did not say anything else.
"You will need to eat soon," Smaug mused aloud as if to fill the silence. "I will fetch you food,"
"I will not fall for the same tricks twice," her voice murmured as he had gone to turn away from her, causing him to turn back to face her.
"Do not be foolish, Saphira," he warned in a smooth and cool voice. "Your life here can be pleasant and fulfilled, or it can be one filled with misery in a cage of your design. Either of which is up to you and your wish to remain in my good graces, for it is I who will decide your fate,"
"Then what a tyrant you are," she muttered sourly.
"I am King Under the Mountain." He retorted curtly. There was a long silence that held between them, and Smaug refused to take his eyes off of her to show weakness. Eventually, Saphira reached for the weed on the ground beside her, dragging it closer to her and fiddling with it with her claws.
"Can I expect occurrences like yesterday to be a regular happening?" she asked after a moment, hurt evident in her voice
"We were both at fault for that," Smaug answered after a moment of careful consideration. The new feeling inside him wanted him to say anything to win back her favour, he wanted so badly to touch her again as he used to… "Two fire storms are bound to make a mess when they collide,"
"Then misery it will be." She said suddenly as she looked at him with sad disappointment in her eyes that caught Smaug off guard. "I chose my mate as someone who would care for me, both in body and heart… I did not choose a monster."
"It…" he faltered, words on the tip of his tongue though his pride burned at the thought. "It was never my intention to cause you harm,"
"Do you regret nothing? Was our time together so trivial that it meant nothing?" She asked, her eyes shining in the dim light of the chamber, imploring him.
"It was actually more than I ever expected it to be," he answered truthfully.
"Truly?"
"Yes." As he watched her, he was so tired of the games that they both played against each other, he just wanted things to return to the simplicity that they had before. His words that sounded unsettlingly close to apologies may have been lies, but he didn't care, he was willing to say anything to win her back. "That happiness could be ours again, if we both surrender to it, I will not destroy what is most precious,"
"If only I could believe you…" she whispered in his mind, her voice oddly broken.
She then seemed to dismiss him as she turned her gaze away and picked up the weed in her teeth, snapping it between her fangs as she chewed the plant as he'd instructed. Smaug growled softly to himself as he turned away from her to return to his precious gold. Gold had never caused this amount of problems for him, it didn't defy him, it didn't answer back, it didn't have its own agenda. It was lifeless and obedient and cold, and made for the perfect bed as he sank into its waves, the coins rolling over him like grains of sand against his gigantic mass.
No, Saphira was not as easy to handle and keep as his gold, but he found that he couldn't live without her just the same. Nothing would take her from him, he wouldn't allow it. He would rather have them both burn in fire before he let that happen.
A/N: And... please review!