A/N: I knowwww, I'm one month late again, I'm sorryyyyy. Been terribly busy, and this term will be much, much worse. Oh joy.
Anyway, a question: would you guys prefer a monthly update of approx 2,000 words, or an update of 5,000 words every two months? :) Do PM me or leave a review of your pref!
Thank you once again for your support! To Zyenna, LovesDragons, . . (Ohhh how i wish I can), godess bubbles, PurpleFairy11, PaperbackHeart, wolfstreak, claire1663, FanfirHydra, Dragon of Yin and Yang and 131115, thank you for your reviews :)
DISCLAIMER: not mine.
Hope you enjoy this chapter. I had fun writing it :) To those waiting for the Bilbo-dragon shift, sorryyyyyy. Next chapter!
Reviews and constructive criticism are welcomed :D
Chapter 15
The words on the ring faded off, the ring finally falling still. Eventually, the hum of agitated bees filled the garden once again. But there was still a slight edge of tension in the air, a hint of a lingering darkness which not even the bright afternoon sun could disperse.
Bilbo's skin prickled. Taking in a few shaky breaths, he raked a hand through his sweat-matted curls. "Gandalf. What should we do?"
The wizard closed his eyes, his fingers clenching around his wooden staff tightly. "I had feared that something in the shadows is stirring, but such an evil force - no, I did not foresee this. The situation is even graver than expected."
"All the more reason to be rid of Smaug. We have to kill him before whatever evil force this is gets to him," Bilbo argued fiercely. The the old hatred boiling under his skin was devouring most of the remnants of cold fear curling around his heart.
Gandalf's eyes, so old and tired, weighed Bilbo critically. "Are you saying that for the sake of Middle-Earth, or is that your own thirst for revenge talking, young lad?"
He scowled ferociously. "Both."
Gandalf shook his head, but knew better than to lecture him. It was an old argument, used too often and fought over for years. Tedious and unnecessary, since both knew that the other would refuse to change their opinion or come to some form of compromise, especially after years of disagreement. Stubborn, prideful old fools, they were.
Bilbo shoved the ring to him. "Keep it. I don't want it near me."
The wizard's eyebrow went up. "A wise choice, but I'm afraid I shall have to decline. I cannot hold on to this, Bilbo. You have a stronger will than most, and can resist its temptation for a longer period of time."
"Are you serious?" he demanded hysterically. "I almost gave in to the temptation and killed Gollum - Gandalf, it made me want to brutally slaughter Azog and every single one of his orcs! Not that they don't deserve it, but this- this is different!" His voice rose to an impressive pitch. Gandalf shushed him quickly.
"Calm down, Bilbo. You resisted the temptation, and that is what matters. That in your darkest moment, you held strong - that is why you are far more suited to carry the ring than I."
"But—"
Gandalf held up a staying hand. "Consider this: which is more dangerous, a dark wizard or a dark dragon?"
The hobbit pressed his lips tightly together. "So what you're saying is that you're more important and I can risk becoming evil, while you can't," he said bitterly.
Gandalf threw him a sharp look. "Do not be a fool, Bilbo. You know well what I mean."
Bilbo stared at the buzzing bees and refused to answer.
The wizard relit his pipe, sighing once more. "Bilbo."
"…Very well," the hobbit muttered.
The wizard nodded, leaning forward. "Good. Remember, do not wear the ring. Never wear it, for it may corrupt your mind - even make you do its bidding - should you attempt to wield it."
"I know, I know, I'm not stupid."
"No you are not, but you are impulsive, and such recklessness is oft more dangerous than being obtuse," Gandalf told him as he produced a few handkerchiefs from one of his hidden pockets. Careful not to touch the ring, he wrapped it several times until it became a tiny bundle of layered cloth.
Bilbo crossed his arms. "I'll try not to use it," he hedged.
The wizard scrutinised him and nodded. "Not very convincing, but that will do. Now, Bilbo, be very careful. The ring may amplify your anger, your hatred, any negative emotions it can latch on to - so watch your temper. Do not be tricked by it, don't listen to it. You of all people should know the consequences of a twisted mind."
Bilbo grimaced but nodded shortly. "Anything else?"
The wizard's piercing blue eyes drilled into him. "Tell no one about this."
He held the wizard's gaze for a few seconds. Slowly, he inclined his head. Should Thorin find out about the potential of the ring - Bilbo would like to think that the dwarf would never abuse its powers, but to believe so would be naive. It was too risky, and he would rather not find out just what the dwarf might do. "Of course."
The wizard pressed the bundle of cloth into Bilbo's hand. "I'll have to leave sooner that expected," Gandalf said, eyebrows pinched together. Gently, he clasped Bilbo's shoulder. "All will be well, young one. I have faith in you; it is about time you gained some faith in yourself as well."
His fingers curling around the well-wrapped ring, Bilbo looked away and did not answer.
He was not sure that he agreed with Gandalf's statement.
Ori
When it was finally their break time, Ori trudged exhausted to his spot under the shaded oak tree. Brightening slightly, he tugged the old, heavy book onto his lap, gently caressing the leather cover. It had no outward design - no title, no illustrations, nothing. Seemingly inconspicuous, yet within its pages it held a world of knowledge and wisdom. Foolish as it seemed, he felt a sense of connection to the plainly-bounded book. Overlooked due to his simple appearance, but (hopefully) filled with wisdom and colour inside.
Taking care not to tear any of the yellowed, wrinkled pages, he flipped to the spot at which he had last stopped. The eleven librarian back at Rivendell had assured him that it would not sustain any damage or tear by ordinary means, but it looked so fragile that Ori did not quite believe him. Within a few seconds, he was immersed in the wealth of knowledge offered by the text. Such information! He had never found any book as rich in content as this in the old archives of the dwarves - but then again, most of the treasured books were held in Erebor and never retrieved. Maybe - if the quest was accomplished and he survived - just maybe, he could find the old archives, could catalogue the-
"You're reading? During break time! Really, Ori?" A teasing voice cut through his musings. He wrenched himself back to the present and peered over his book to see two cheeky faces looking at him. Kili and Fili, of course. He sighed mentally.
He flushed. "It's an interesting book, I was hoping to…"
"What's it about? Ooh," Kili interrupted him, making a grabbing motion towards the book.
Ori slammed it shut and yanked it back, chest heaving slightly as he hugged it. "Nothi- Nothing of your interest, I'm sure," he assured him.
The two gave him identical smirks. "Something you don't want us to see?" Fili said. "A secret description of the dwarf-girl of your dreams?"
"No-"
"A guilty pleasure?" Kili chimed, as they took a step closer to him.
"Wha-"
"Or maybe, something sensual, perhaps?" Fili wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. The smirks on their faces grew wider as they closed on him. Ori gaped at them, eyes darting from sibling to sibling frantically.
"No, no, uh—"
They pounced.
In the ensuing scuffle between the two well-trained princes and the one scholarly dwarf, it is to no one's surprise that the princes would emerge as victors. Triumphantly, Kili held up the book as Fili wrestled to pin Ori under him. Grinning widely, he flipped opened the book at the middle.
His maniacal grin dropped. Instead of a certain sort of images he had expected, illustrations of dragons greeted him. He blinked. A sinking feeling in his heart, he turned to the first page of the book.
In intricate calligraphy read the words: The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin.
"Ori," Kili's voice, quiet and serious, cut through the noises of the friendly wrestling next to him. "Ori, why are you reading a book about dragons?"
They stilled.
"I... I was curious." Ori took advantage of Fili's surprise to push the heavier dwarf off him. He stood up, folded his arms to hide his trembling hands and jutted out his chin defiantly.
"Dragons," Kili repeated. Their conversation garnered the attention of the older dwarves.
"It's a book about their history! What's wrong with that?" he protested.
"But it's about dragons. Our enemy." Fili shook his head.
"Should we not have a better understanding about our enemy before a battle? Their motivations, their past?"
Dori stepped forward from among the circle of dwarves surrounding the youngsters and rolled his eyes. "Ori, we've talked about this. What is there to know? What motivations? Dragons are bad, they're born bad, they do bad things for the thrill of it. There's nothing there to sympathise with, Ori!"
"According to this book, that's not true! They said that dragons were once noble beasts of the sky!"
The dwarves were shocked into silence.
"Durin's beard, that's the worse shit I've ever heard."
"Where did you even get that book from?" demanded Dwalin.
Ori flushed. "The elves."
The dwarves exploded into shouts and yells.
"The elves!" Gloin shouted in outrage.
"You trust the elves on this?"
"Healing books are better reading materials, Ori—"
"O Mahal, Dori, what have you been allowing Ori to read?"
"Well, I think he can read whatever he wants, unlike you uneducated dwarves, Dwalin!"
"How dare you—!"
"Lay a finger on Dori or Ori and I will gut you like a fish, Dwalin," Nori threatened.
"Where is my ear horn! What is going on!"
"I say, that's a load of bull!"
"The elves are as trustworthy as Bifur is proficient at translating Black Speech!"
"—and this is why you should have read books about the healing properties of using mandrakes as ointments, now those are actually helpful—"
Ori shrunk inwards and flinched as the dwarves moved closer towards him, their voices increasing in volume. Beorn, Balin and Thorin, who had been in discussion a few feet away, looked up as the dwarves' raised voices reached them.
"Your kin is squabbling again," Beorn growled, "unsurprisingly." Thorin and Balin exchanged exasperated glances.
"I told them to behave."
Fuming, Thorin marched towards the rowdy crowd of dwarves, with Beorn following behind.
"Silence!" Thorin roared as he shoved his way to the front of the crowd of red-faced dwarves. Immediately, the cacophony subsided. He glowered at them. "What is going on? Why are you yelling at poor Ori? Dwalin, explain this behaviour."
Dwalin, who has been close to blows with Dori, scowled. "Young Ori's been reading a book about the history of dragons. It defends the beasts, paint them as 'noble beasts of the sky.'" Dwalin made quotation marks in the air and grimaced. "The foul, lies-ridden book is written by elves."
"Then I'm sure he knows it to be filled with lies, and would take it as a tale of fiction and nothing more," Thorin growled.
"What?" Ori squeaked.
The dwarven prince stared at him. "It seems that you have something to say, Master Ori?"
"Y-your highness, forgive my impertinence, but why would it be lies?"
"This is the elves' doing. I wouldn't put it past them to write an entire book filled with lies defending the dragons as a mere mockery to the dwarven race." Thorin clenched his fist, his voice escalating. "Making a joke out of our suffering was not enough, it seems; now they seek to corrupt our young with their lies!"
Ori shuddered.
Someone snorted. In the silence that ensued, the almost-forgotten Beorn rumbled, "With all due respect, that makes even less sense, Master Oakenshield. This book holds the truth. It is also beneath the elves to waste something precious as a book with lies just to spite you, Oakenshield; despite what you think, it is not you that their world revolves around."
Thorin turned on the shapeshifter with a thunderous expression. "So you're saying it's not the elven's doing, that dragons are indeed noble beasts that are just and fair? That there's a good reason for the dragons attacking our cities, slaughtering our young and pillaging our gold? So you're saying," he took an intimidating step towards the bear-man, "that there's a reason for the deaths of the thousands of dwarves, the thousand of dwarves who did nothing to the dragons? So you're saying—" another step— "that our homelessness is our own fault? That the dragons are blameless? Is that what you are saying, Master Beorn?"
He raised his voice at the last few words, eyes lit with fury and one hand falling onto the hilt of his sword. It would have been extremely intimidating if not for the absurd height difference.
Beorn raised an eyebrow, not in the least perturbed. "I'm saying that you should not be so blinded by your hatred towards them. The dragons' history is surprisingly rich, and unfortunately less known. They are at fault for destroying your city, Master Oakenshield, and for that you have my utmost sympathy," Beorn inclined his head towards the dwarf, "but I would urge you to be less blind towards the plights of others. As Young Ori would know," he turned towards the trembling dwarf still stubbornly clinging onto his book, "the dragon race may be more a victim than you are aware."
The bear-man stared at the sky in yearning and regret. "Such noble beasts they were, reduced to such a pitiful state." Shaking his head, he tucked his hands onto his belt and wandered towards the woods. A few strides was all it took before he disappeared among the trees.
Thorin gritted his teeth, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword.
Dwalin growled. "I will challen—"
"No, Dwalin," Balin placed a wrinkled hand onto his shoulder soothingly. "For all of your fighting prowess, you stand no chance. Do not shame us further, especially not in the eyes of our host."
"But-"
"He has kindly offered us shelter in our times of need, brother. It is unwise to earn his ire now."
Dwalin slowly exhaled through his nostrils. He nodded reluctantly. "Aye, Balin."
The aged dwarf turned towards his prince. "His words hold some wisdom, Your Majesty."
The prince's face darkened. "How can you—"
"He has no reason to offer us false information. I would advise you not to dismiss it so quickly, Thorin. Master Beorn could have ignored both ourselves and our concerns, but instead took the time to explain himself."
"Nonsense, you read far too much into it, Balin. Master Beorn was merely flaunting his wealth of knowledge before us."
Balin shot him a sharp look. "No, Thorin, I do not believe such were his intentions. It would be prudent to keep an open mind. Aye, it seemed to me that he mentioned dragons as noble beasts for a reason. The question is, why?"
Bilbo stared at the scene before him. "Whoa," he said, "What is going on?"
Ori was crying in a corner, with Dori comforting him and Nori sharpening his knives threateningly. The pranksters carried expressions of disbelief, anger and embarrassment all mashed together that looked quite ridiculous as they apologised to Ori for causing all this fuss. Most of the dwarves had looks of outrage, although some such as Oin and Bofur looked more pensive instead. Slightly separated from the rest of the dwarves was the prince, whose face was turning an alarming shade of purple, arguing with the calm advisor of his.
"What," he repeated, "is going on?" The dwarves, upon noticing Gandalf and his presence, looked mortified. "We were gone for one hour," he fumed. "One hour."
"Fear not, Master Hobbit," Thorin said gruffly. "It does not concern you."
Gandalf coughed lightly and leaned on his staff. "I'm afraid it does, for we just saw Beorn storm off. What happened, Master Thorin?"
The enquiry was met by a sullen silence. Finally, it was Ori who recounted all that happened so far, with the other dwarves occasionally throwing in a comment or a snide remark until Nori began sharpening his blades with renewed vigour, glaring. They shut up quickly after that.
Bilbo blinked. "Oh."
"Actually, the book tells the truth, Master Thorin," Gandalf sighed. "The elves pride themselves in keeping accurate recounts of historical events, and for all your animosity against them, they would not dare tamper with the truth in history. It would do you good to remember so, Master Thorin; you would not wish to offend the entire Elven Race by accusing them of keeping false records."
Thorin grimaced and ignored Gandalf, turning to Bilbo instead. "What about you, Master Hobbit? What do you think?"
Bilbo hesitated. Yes, I believe the book, for it writes the history of my people, and it is all true, the suffering is all true, he wanted to say. I know, because it is my race that suffered. But he bit his tongue before those treacherous words could slip free. Choosing his reply carefully, he said slowly, "I believe that even stories have an essence of truth in them worth investigating."
With bated breath, he waited for Thorin's response. The dwarf bore a contemplative expression. "Hmm," he hummed, and paused. "We will discuss this later." Abruptly, he turned towards the rest of the dwarves and yelled, "Get back to your training!"
They hurried to do as he told.
Balin watched Bilbo with narrowed eyes, noting his uneasiness and nervousness. What are you hiding, Master Bilbo?
Later, he pulled Ori aside and requested to borrow the book.
Dinner was a quiet, albeit slightly awkward, affair. Eventually Beorn brought out ale and before the end of dinner, any remaining tension was gone. The Company was relaxed and trading stories.
Thorin looked to Gandalf. "So, Master Gandalf, what is this myth about dragons—" he grimaced at the word— "which you spoke about just now?"
Gandalf raised one eyebrow. "Surely you must know of it, Master Thorin."
The prince glowered, an edge of sarcasm to his voice. "I do not. Would you care to enlighten us?"
"I'm sure Master Ori, with his book, can do better."
Thorin beckoned Ori to read, and he did so with a trembling voice. When he was done reciting the brief overview of dragons, Thorin sat back with a pensive expression.
"As a prince, I would have expected you to have heard of it before at least, although believing it is an entirely different matter," the wizard commented.
Thorin paused. "Stories of dragons were rare even before the fall of Erebor. After Smaug- to speak of dragons so fondly, even briefly in tales and lies, is quite literally unheard of. No, it was not spoken of among my people."
"Master Wizard, you have lived for a long time and experienced more than you let on. Tell us honestly: were you there when the dragons fell? Is there truth to this myth?" Balin asked.
Gandalf flushed slightly and relit his pipe. "I was preoccupied with other things - greater evils which haunted the world then - so I did nothing to help the dragons." He shot Bilbo an apologetic look, but Bilbo merely rolled his eyes. "But I believe that there is truth to this."
The dwarves shifted uncomfortably.
"So what you're saying is that there's good and bad dragons out there."
"Of course, Master Fili. There's two sides to everything," Gandalf lectured gently. "Like there are good dwarrows and there's the evil sort - not necessarily thieves and cheats, but those with a dark heart and ill intentions."
Fili nodded slowly. "That's a lot to take in, especially when all dragons did was decimate our race. We have never seen them do anything benevolent or beneficial, much less for us," he pointed out.
"That's true," Gandalf admitted. "Well-"
"So why should we care about that? Any dragons that approach us mean us harm; it is our right to kill them before they destroy us once more," Thorin cut him off, frowning. Bilbo stiffened minutely.
Gandalf sighed. "Yes, should dragons seek to destroy you, by all means, defend yourselves. But that does not mean that you should kill off all dragons on sight, does it? It is my hope that one day, the dragon race will rise again, and that this time they will offer diplomatic ties to other species. What I'm saying, you stubborn-headed dwarves, is to not be so quick to condemn. Keep an open mind! Is that too much to ask?" He shook his head in disappointment.
"I make no promises," Thorin said stonily, and spoke no more. Gandalf harrumphed and glowered at the prince. Awkward silence pervaded the air.
"Since we're on the topic of dragons, I can share a story I've heard of too," Bilbo said on impulse, mostly to break the awful tension. The moment the words left his mouth, he winced and cursed inwardly. What was he thinking?
It was rare that Bilbo offered a story, so all of them were surprised. "You know a story about dragons, Master Burglar?" Thorin's eyes, piercing. "You insist on corrupting the young with false tales?"
Bilbo shakily licked his lips. The ale filled him with liquid courage that muffled his senses and inhibitions. At the back of his mind, he registered a niggling thought that he would sorely regret this later on, but hang it, this seems like a great idea right now and he's going to do it because he can. Gandalf shot him a look of caution and thinly veiled panic, which he ignored.
"It seems relevant to today's topic of dragons. It was an old tale told to me by my grandda... A rumour, really. All this talk about dragons reminded me of it," he rambled on before taking a sip of ale.
"Bilbo, I think you've had one too many to drink," Bofur quietly told him as he tried to prise the cup away from his hand.
"Nonsense," Bilbo scoffed. "This is nothing." Hobbit wine was much, much more potent and ten times worse. He knew this from past experiences. One had included him waking in a horribly out-dated and frilly frock dress that was a painfully garish shade of orange, in an unknown barn and with no inkling as to how he'd came to be there beside some vague memories of dancing farmers and flying cows. He shuddered and pushed the traumatic memory from his mind.
"We will hear this story, then," Thorin consented even though the dwarves wore dubious, sceptical expressions.
Bilbo cleared his throat. "Once upon a time," his voice was barely above a whisper, "there was a young dragon, brave and bold. He had the sharpest mind the elders had seen, and they believed that he was destined for greatness. He had a thirst for knowledge and adventure, and one day, he and his group of friends decided to venture from the safety of their village and out into the world. The elders were against it, for they knew that Middle-Earth was not a safe place for roaming dragons, but they were young and foolish and stubborn, and heed the elders they would not. They left, with a promise to return after a year's span. But a year went past, and they did not come back. The elders grew worried, and were oh the brink of sending for help when one of them returned. It was their young prodigy, the leader of the group. He came back alone, and he had changed. He was more wicked than intelligent, more cruel and harsh. He said that the men had taken the lives of his friends away from him in an unsuspected attack - and that he was the only survivor."
"I bet he actually killed all his friends," muttered Dwalin, and Oin shushed him loudly.
"The elders thought he simply needed more time to grieve for his lost ones, and so pardoned him for his behaviour. They did not know that the rot was already spreading through the mind of this brilliant dragon. One day, he slaughtered an innocent village of men and claimed to be avenging those taken from him. His bright red scales were darkened to the colour of blood."
"What's the significance of that?" asked Kili.
"Dark scales are a sign that the dragon has fallen to the side of evil," Gandalf quietly told the dwarves. There was a pause before Bilbo decided to continue.
"The elders, finally realising that something was wrong, panicked. Borrowing the magic from the elves — for dragons did not have magic of their own besides their Gift for Fire — they forced themselves into his mind, cruelly reading his memories to see what had transpired the year he was away. They found out that the young dragons had met with someone dark - likely a minion of Sauron or the like - who had planted some ideas into their minds and twisted their morals. For all his brilliance, their prodigy had a weak will, and he fell prey to the promises of power and riches. It was men who killed his friends, yes, but it was them who attacked the city first. The elders allowed fear to override logic and they banished him from the village. They left him to die at the hands of the humans. It was said that the wyrms themselves stepped in and helped him. It was said that he turned mad, that he allowed the darkness to twist his mind."
Bilbo took a sip, his mouth suddenly very dry. "A year later, this dragon amassed a group of corrupted wyrms and swooped down upon the dragon village that abandoned him, and decimated them. He," Bilbo gulped, eyes hooded, "killed his relatives." The screams. The shouts. The blood on the ground, red like rubies, like the glowing eyes of- "Two dragonlings watched as the corrupted dragon, their cousin, wrecked their home." He took deep breaths.
They were at the mouth of the cave, the smell of blood heavy in the air, the cackling of his laughter a painful stab to their hearts. Then the wyrms fell upon them and it was too late, their brood mates were brutally mauled and where are mamma and papa. Ryad was there, a wyvern had its sharp claws into her side and he bit and screamed and kicked but it won't let her go, and mamma appeared.
But it was too late, the damage has been done, and her left side was bloody and clawed and oh gods it looks so bad can she survive — Run, mamma had cried when Cousin (he's not here for a game, what happened to his warm smile he's not Cousin anymore) appeared, take Ryad and run! So he did, the screams of mamma being torn apart following him as he fled. He ran and ran and ran, half-dragging a bleeding and sobbing Ryad, begging her to go on, telling her that they could not stop, they had to keep moving—
"They barely managed to escape, and sought shelter from the elves." Bilbo paused, a choked sob in his throat. "The corrupted dragon still runs free. The end."
The hobbit closed his eyes, trembling fists clenching and unclenching. The screams were loud in his mind, screams of terror and disbelief and run, run, he had to run, grab Ryad and run —
"Wait, what happened to the dragonlings?" Nori asked, jerking him out of his past. His eyes flew open, heart palpitating. Calm down, he told himself as he stared blankly at Nori.
The dwarf squinted at him. "You alright?" He asked, noting Bilbo's clammy palms and the sweat beading down his forehead. Beorn was watching him with a frown, Balin was staring at him sharply and Gandalf was shaking his head.
"Ah…yes, perhaps I did have one too many drinks." Bilbo laughed shakily, raking his sharp nails through his scalp, the motion calming. "Sorry, what did you ask?"
Nori repeated his question, to which Bilbo shrugged. "Wandering here and there, I presume. No one knows." He spread his palms out.
"I am curious, Master Bilbo," Balin drawled, eyes piercing. "Why would such a story be passed down through your family?"
Bilbo stared steadily back at Balin, not flinching. "It was a warning. A warning that even noble beasts can be corrupted by power, and one must always guard one's heart carefully against evil."
The storytelling ended on a sombre note.
In his bedroll, Ori surreptitiously slipped out his book to continue his reading. Most of the dwarves were thankfully asleep and it was mostly silent. The snores of Gloin and the soft mumbling of his prince and the advisor were a constant background murmur. Flipping to the page where he last left off, he gently traced the title of the chapter, "Description and Skills," scripted in beautiful calligraphy.
The elves taught them a special trait, blessed with magic: one to take the form of another being. Some may call them shapeshifters, but true shapeshifters they are not, but merely make use of a complex spell cast by the elves to hide themselves in plain side. Unfortunately, not all traits of theirs can be hidden. The dragon-shifters still hoard treasures. They retain their sharp claws and their affinity with Fire, enabling them to both create and manipulate it. Most dragons have strange eyes, which manifests in their different forms as unique irises rimmed with gold. They are able to shift between their forms, but it is to note than when they experience strong emotions, especially anger, their hold on the spell may falter. This can lead to their dragon traits making more of an appearance, if not causing them to revert entirely back to their original dragon form.
Shapeshifter. Ori's mind was blank. "We could have met a dragon and not know about it?" he whispered to himself, terror clenching his heart. They were so much more dangerous than he expected - he had to tell his prince!
The image of a laughing Ryadher came to mind and he froze. Ryadher- that she-elf, she had eyes rimmed with gold. That means... That means... Can it be…?
"Oh Mahal," whispered Ori, "Does Bilbo know?"
Ryadher's dry tone whispered through his mind. As a wee child, I loved Bilbo's eyes, so with a little bit of magic I changed my eye colour to imitate his.
His blood ran cold. No, nonononono, he was wrong. He had to be wrong. But…
Bilbo who loves books to the extent of hoarding them. Bilbo who defends the dragons and elves. Bilbo and his knowledge about sacred and obscure information about dragons. Bilbo and his eyes rimmed with gold, which Ryadher had imitated.
Bilbo, who may be a dragon in a hobbit form.
But Gandalf trusts him, an insistent part of Ori's mind reminded him. And he's with us to destroy Smaug, who is a dragon. Bilbo is his friend, who stood up for him even though they did not know each other well. He could not be evil, could he?
What if he secretly has his own vendetta to gain Erebor as his own? What if Gandalf was fooled? What if... What if…
Ori slammed the book shut.
I can think about it tomorrow, he decided. As of now, I should not tell anyone. Not yet. Maybe... Maybe next week or something when I'm sure. Just not yet.
(If the dwarves find out, they will kill Bilbo.)
His treacherous mind whispered, "But if he finds out that you know, he may kill you."
Ori ignored the voice and went to sleep.
End.
Hope you like it! Any OOC? Comments? :D Have a great day~
-littlesparrowkeet