Disclaimer (in a Crush-the-turtle-from-Finding-Nemo stylee!): Man, dragons need to be, like, free. Can anyone, like, claim 'ownership' of them? (Normal Voice): Well, apparently Tolkein and PJ and a bunch of other dudes can. Meh. But Smaug is mine in his heart. He may not have admitted it, or even realised it, but he sure as Morgoth is mine. All miiine! (throws head back and laughs manically) Mwa ha ha haaa! Ahem. (At the lawyers' request.) Smaug is not mine.

10 Months on- Business As Usual

Smaug's voice resounded through the halls of the dwarven realm of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. To anyone who just happened to be passing the dragon's lair, his words may have caused some confusion.

"I spy with my little eye something beginning with....... 'D'!"

For, as you well know, dragons are meant to be rather impatient, angry, vicious creatures, who do not usually partake in a game of 'I Spy'. Merely bad PR, as any dragon could tell you.

"Dragon?" answered the Thrush.

"You rang?" came the thunderous voice of Smaug.

"No. Is 'dragon' the answer?" said the Thrush

"Nope."

"Is it... dungeon?"

"Does this place look like a dungeon to you? I cleaned up this morning!" said Smaug, rather affronted.

"Sorry. No offence." Sighed the Thrush. Smaug could be so emotional sometimes.

"Well," said Smaug, slightly less hurt, "that's alright. But honestly, sometimes you can be so rude. I really made an effort today, and you just fly in here and call it a dungeon!"

"Oh, don't cry!" said the Thrush desperately. The last thing anyone needed was an over-emotional dragon, who was even more likely to partake in a spot of pillaging and burning in the surrounding lands.

"I'm not crying!" said Smaug heatedly. "It's just my sinuses swell at the change of the seasons. It's an allergic reaction."

"Of course it is..." agreed the Thrush. "So... er... I give up. What was it?"

Smaug smiled slightly. "Heh. I beat you again."

"Yes you did. What was the answer?" insisted the bird.

"Dwarves." Said the dragon proudly.

"Dwarves??" said the Thrush incredulously.

"Are you calling me a liar?" said Smaug, his lower lip quivering, and his allergic reaction to the seasons becoming very pronounced as the tears streamed down his smoking snout.

"No! It's just... there are no dwarves here, Smaug." Said the Thrush, hoping against hope that maybe the dwarves had finally returned to slay the dragon.

"Oh I know." Said Smaug. "I was merely making a point."

The Thrush rolled its beady eyes. Confounded dragon! So what if the dwarves hadn't returned after nearly a year of being expelled from the mountain. They were probably mustering forces, and waiting until the dragon would be caught off guard. Yes. That was it.

Although, thought the Thrush sadly, Smaug was rarely on guard. He cast an eye over the dragon, who was currently lying on his back juggling pieces of gold between his wings, while cleaning his fangs with a spear.

"I'm bored again." Said Smaug suddenly. "Lets do something fun."

"We're playing I Spy, aren't we?"

"Yeah, but 9 months solid of I Spy kinda drains the fun out of it. Especially when it's in the same room."

"Alright." Said the Thrush. "What do you want to do?"

"Let's have a race!" said Smaug excitedly. "The first one to the top of the mountain and back...."

Already the Thrush was speeding from the hall like the wind towards the gate and to the top of the mountain.

"... Loses!" called the dragon after him.

After 20 seconds the Thrush flapped back into the hall.

"Heh. Made you fly!" crowed the dragon.

The Thrush made no reply but dignifiedly stuck his tongue out at Smaug.

"I feel a song approaching..." threatened the dragon.

Abruptly the tongue was withdrawn.

"That's better. Hey," said Smaug, raising his head sluggishly and looking around, "where's Carc?"

"He's visiting friends in the Iron Hills."

"Oh. Wow. The moody old crone has friends? Wonders never cease." Observed the dragon.

Suddenly a heroic figure appeared in the doorway of the hall, bravely brandishing a bright sword and a shield, in spite of his knees were knocking together in fright.

"Oh mighty Smaug! I have come to vanquish thee!" the figure cried.

"Whassat?" said Smaug, hiccoughing a burst of flame in surprise.

"Well, it's about time!" said the Thrush. "Honestly, 10 months on and now you want to slay the dragon."

"Zip it, you." Said Smaug. "Here, why do you want to slay me? I've done nothing but sit in this stinky mountain for 10 months, without bothering anyone!"

".. But... I... You're a dragon! You must be slayed!

"Well, that's a little prejudiced." Said Smaug, the hurt tone creeping back into his voice.

"The past tense of 'slay' is 'slew', I believe, sonny." Said the Thrush.

"You must be slew?" said Smaug. "That doesn't sound right."

"Oh. Don't know then." Replied the Thrush. "Is it 'slain'?"

"You must be slain. Slain. Yeah. Sounds better." Said Smaug. "Hey, kid, it's 'you must be slain."

But the hero had not so heroically ran away, no doubt scared witless by a grammatically correct Thrush and an Over-Emotional Dragon.

"Ohhhh." Sighed Smaug. "Pity. He seemed nice, too."

"Maybe it's for the best. He probably would have just ended up slaying you."

"You never know. He could've thought of something fun for us to do. Hey, he might have even been able to beat me at I Spy. It would make a nice change, not winning for once."

"Yes, but you probably would have killed him in your wrath at losing."

"Don't be silly. Pah! As if my wrath could be incurred by I Spy!"

"I bet it could. How would you know? You've never lost. You're wrath could be incurred at any moment, by anything."

"I bet you half the treasure you couldn't incur my wrath." said Smaug.

"I bet you two thirds of the treasure I could!"

Carc stuck his ancient head around the front gate, and listened to the dragon and thrush's banter. By Manwë, they had a thing about betting.

"I could incur your wrath so quickly it'd make you cry!"

"Go on then." Challenged Smaug.

"Uh... well... I let you win at I Spy!"

"No you didn't. Lying is not going to incur my wrath, Flappy. Try again."

Carc silently withdrew his head, and flew off towards the ruins of Dale, wondering if he could get a perch at this time of night. He couldn't stand another night of I bloody Spy, and his wrath might be incurred a lot sooner than the dragon's if he stayed. Bloody thrushes.

A/N: Rubbish ending I know. But in the immortal words of Gary Larson: 'It was late and I was tired'. More to come, with better endings, I promise.