Authors note: First off, thanks for all the reviews and/or follows and favorites! Every time I see those little notifications it just makes my day (and reminds me to get my ass to work writing this story) Anyway, sorry for the wait on this one my life got a little busy for a while there. I apologize for any grammar mistakes you might find, I rushed to get this one in so you wouldn't have to wait much longer.


Chapter Seven:

Smaug began to sit in on her meals.

The first few times he brought her food he simply dropped it off and left, leaving her to eat whatever he fetched in peace. She would climb her way to the walkways overhead or rest against her usual column and make the best of what he brought her. It was never anything remotely level with the food she feasted on before, but it was still an improvement from starving. Recently, however, Smaug had been sticking around for her meals, occasionally sharing a snide comment about the inferiority of humans, or the superiority of one particular dragon.

She accepted the company. Nalene didn't want to risk angering him over something so trivial, and it was almost nice to be around another living person, even if it was Smaug. Maybe he could go an eternity living in solitude unaffected but Nalene couldn't- already she'd caught herself talking to the profiles of long dead kings on the sides of the coins.

Smaug usually heard her of course, with his noisy and inescapable hearing, and never failed to taunt her with the knowledge the next time he saw her.

Today as she ate he was sitting across from her just watching. He never joined in on the eating, and she wasn't sure if he couldn't or if he simply preferred his food a little bloodier and little more alive. Eitherway, his staring was the epitome of impolite. If her governess was her she would pull at his ear and tell him to him to mind his manners.

A half-laugh escaped her and she quickly moved to cover it with a cough, pulling her hand up to cover the smile that the scenario brought to her face. As if anyone would have the audacity to tell Smaug he lacked common, decent manners, even if she thought it all the time.

Smaug heard her little outburst and regarded her with a deceptively benign expression- as though he wouldn't crush a puppy between his claws right then and there for looking at him wrong- and Nalene knew it threatened bad things.

She cleared her throat, avoiding his gaze until she schooled her expression.

As expected, when he spoke up his voice soft but lined with steel. "Something wrong?"

"No, no- I was just, uh..."

"Laughing at me," he finished flatly.

Alarm spiked through Nalene. Her thoughts echoed a horrified oh no- and her entire form tensed as she waited for his composure to explode into a burst of rage. How could she have forgotten how good his hearing was, how careless could she be? Smaug was no giggling matter. There was a dead silence that stretched between them. Merely the calm before the storm, Nalene was sure.

Then his measured glare broke and Nalene watched with incredulous eyes as he laughed. It was a deep, mocking laugh, and while she didn't understand why he was laughing she knew he it was directed at her. It didn't sound outright malicious though, and for that Nalene was confused. What followed was even worse. When he finished he met her gaze and rolled his eyes.

Completely astonished, Nalene gaped at him, her food forgotten as she stared bewildered at Smaug.

Then he did it again, his chest rumbling as though she'd told a joke. "Your fear is flattering," he said, lightly tapping his nose. "But I already told you I'm not going to kill you, not over something as innocuous as a giggle."

At his borderline- pleasant dismissal of what she was certain he would consider disrespectful Nalene thought back to the first few days. He'd snap into an offended rage at imagined slights, but now he was finding them humorous?

"You are in, um, good mood..." she ventured cautiously, eyeing him with pinched eyebrows.

"Am I?" He picked up a piece of her bread with two fingers, giving it a disinterested once-over before he dropped it and his eyes returned to hers, pinning her with their sudden intensity. Nalene suddenly got the feeling she was being studied very closely. "I suppose I am." He shrugged, not looking away from her. For some reason he was pretending none of this mattered, but Nalene could tell it was a pretense. Smaug still stared at her with that calculating, contemplative look, the type that meant trouble was brewing, and Nalene wouldn't be fooled by his indifferent act.

Was his good mood sincere then, and was he simply troubled by it? It could be possible, Nalene supposed. She couldn't imagine Smaug was regularly happy- maybe regularly… satisfied? Satisfied seemed like a good word for it. Satisfied with his plundering, his killing, and his overall conceit and avarice. Nalene forced herself to continue eating, mimicking his indifferent attitude. Inwardly, however, her mind was furiously hunting for an explanation. She did not want to be caught off guard the next time he exploded, or the next time this moment here somehow came back to bite her. Was he only pretending to be in a good mood? Had that laughter been forced, and was he secretly scheming something horrible behind that mask of blandness?

When she looked up again he was still studying her with a worrying focus. Was it good? Was it bad? People were hard enough to understand, but a dragon was all but impossible to understand.

"Talk to me."

The command came out of nowhere, and Nalene nearly choked on her meal in her surprise.

"Excuse me?"

He gave her another look, this one more irritated than piercing, and he lay back across the gold coins as if he was laying on the finest mattress, and not a bed of coins with the edges of his treasure digging into his back. He turned away from her and looked instead towards the ceiling, though Nalene didn't see why. There was nothing up there, the ceiling was so high up most of the times she could hardly see it, but it was a nice respite after dealing with his constant staring.

"Talk. Conversation. You humans are always chittering and yapping."

"Well I suppose so," she wrinkled her nose, not seeing what he was getting at. "Do you want me to talk to you?"

That was evidently the wrong thing to say as his head snapped towards her, his face tight and eyes glinting with accusation. "No," he snapped. "It was an order. You're hardly worth anything if you've been driven mad- and you wouldn't have any appeal then, even if it'd make you more interesting. Now talk."

His cruel stare was just challenging her to dare and argue, but even if she was confused and faintly offended- she was plenty interesting while sane, thank you very much- it would be easier to simply go along with his whims.

"Um…" Of course when ordered to talk she couldn't think of anything! She always did her best to avoid stressful situations like this. She never did do well with her tutors because of it. "...this dress was a gift from my father," she tried, giving a sad sniffle at the memories it pulled to mind. "An early birthday gift," she added, not wanting to give Smaug the impression she'd only received one present. That would have been tragic. "We'd go for walks, when it was sunny, not too cold. He surprised me with this dress on one of them." She pouted, looking at what the once beautiful dress had become. "It's ruined now… Some birthday that turned out to be. Kidnapped. Twice. But I did get my necklace that day." One hand reached for the infamous jewelry. How proud she'd once felt to wear it, and now it just hung from her neck, put to shame by the rest of Smaug's treasure. "Everyone was very impressed it had been a princess'."

Although Smaug was only teasing when he turned towards her, a brow perfectly perched in question, his next words were a slap to the face. "Had been? You're a princess, aren't you?"

It resonated inside her mind, the simple question that could ruin everything. You are a princess, aren't you? She mentally berated herself for forgetting herself. Of course Smaug would know this. He was the only one who'd recognized it that day in the field when he'd called her a descendant of some Adamercil or whatever it had been.

Nalene was still fumbling with how to answer when- praise the Valar- Smaug turned away from her. "I am the King Under the Mountain," he announced. "Fitting at least that I am in somewhat worthy company."

The dragon and the merchant's daughter. Nalene wasn't sure if she cared that he had a more legitimate claim to royalty than her. It certainly would have pleased him to learn he was superior in that way, if the arrogant dragon ever learned of it. And...somewhat worthy? Hidden anger hummed beneath her skin- she was more than worthy to be in his company! "I think our experiences with royalty have been very different," she managed- especially since her's were unfortunately nonexistent.

His profile exposed none of this thoughts, and the only hint she had towards the inner workings of his mind was the way his fingers drummed against his chest, and even that told her little. When he made no move to say anything, Nalene floundered, and quickly gave up on keeping the conversation alive, letting the two of them fall into an uneasy silence.

Nalene fell into memories of her birthday. That day she had looked the best she ever had- her glimmering jewels, her smooth satin dress gliding down her legs, her hair shining, and her face adorned with a smile only a girl who had everything she wanted could afford to wear. People had cooed, ooh'd, and aww'd as she'd floated past them that night. Once she was gone they of course whispered snide, jealous things, but that hardly mattered. She had been above them all. She still was, in a way. After all, they were all dead and she was the one still alive.

That party had been the biggest event Dale had seen in years, maybe even decades, the epitome of Dale's glory, and with her the centerpiece of it all. And then the city had burned, and now nobody could see past the ash and rubble to know what Dale was really worth. The memory of Dale was her's alone and sometimes it made her furious, and she would sit there in her ruin of a dress- ruin of a life more like- hating Smaug for it.

The majority of the time, she would admit, she didn't hate him. She knew she should, but it was hard, especially when he wore a second body that didn't resemble the monstrosity she'd seen circling the skies over a smoking Dale. Because mean spirited or not, he was all she had- even though if she ever said that Smaug would correct her by saying he had her, and that nobody could ever have him, not in any manner.

At one point his fingers stilled, and he turned his head to face her again. "Are you going to continue or not? Because otherwise I have things to do beside tend to your sanity."

Tend to her sanity? It wouldn't need tending if not for him. Anger coiled in her stomach, and in a fit of daring she pursed her lips and said nothing.

The seconds ticked by and his expression darkened, and she could clearly hear him mutter, "useless," beneath his breath.

Not wanting to push him too far she broke her silence, even if her tone carried over a sliver of bitterness. "Conversation is not this structured," she defended, "it usually has a natural progression. You can't just force it, Smaug."

"No?"

Nalene missed the way his voice cooled dangerously, a sign that normally would have warned her to tread carefully. Instead she plowed on, oblivious to the waters she was treading in. "No. It's a measure of teamwork. If you want to talk both sides need to put in an effort. That's how it's done."

Smaug was suddenly on his feet. Nalene followed the motion with concern, trailing her way up his unfamiliar human body till she found his face. It took quite a while to get there, all the while Nalene wondering if he purposely created the body to be so tall, but when she did reach his face, she was shaken by what she found. His face was twisted into something that was purely draconic in nature, some degree of wrath that wasn't properly translating into his human guise.

It would have terrified her if hadn't just earlier reassured her that he would not kill her. That being said, it only moderately alarmed her.

"Do not presume to lecture me," he snarled. "I am King Under the Mountain- I will do as I please. I am in control here- do not forget who I am, even if I wear this pathetic body. Which is done for your benefit, you ungrateful, troublesome girl!"

She must not have been suitably scared, or perhaps he was overtaken by his anger because he suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her against him. At the force of the movement her head bounced against his chest, and she was only just managing to steady herself without grabbing him for balance.

"You!" He accused, looming over her like a hammer on the precipice of crushing her. Her chest fluttered in fear, and she could only squeak in response. Then his hands dug into her forearms painfully, causing her to whimper. Immediately, something similar to disgust flashed over his features and he pushed her away. She just barely kept her balance as she stumbled back. When she recovered she caught the sight of him- chest heaving as he glowered down at her, hands curling and uncurling from fists.

Nalene shrunk back from him, no longer reassured by his earlier promise not to kill her. This was the Smaug she was familiar with. Volatile and dangerous.

He let out a harsh breath, and Nalene could all but see the smoke. After a few more seconds of measured breaths he appeared to calm down, the anger in his veins diluting to a more stable level.

"This is not going as expected," he hissed, but after the flurry of his rage it sounded like an admission, an uncharacteristic show of doubt. "I did not bring you hear thinking you would be so much trouble. You have disrupted everything- I did not consider the dangers-" He stopped himself, shaking his head.

Nalene watched meekly as he struggled with himself. He seemed to figure out what he wanted because he stormed off, only turning around to bellow, "Do not dare wake me up!" before going in search of what she presumed was a nap.

For a while she stared in the direction he had left in trying to make sense of what had happened, and more importantly, what it meant for her.