"What's troubling you, Bilbo? You've been staring at me for almost an hour."

"I'm trying to figure out how I will introduce you to my family," replied the hobbit.

Smaug tilted his head, then marked his place and set his book aside to give the hobbit his full attention. "I was under the impression that you didn't care what they thought of us," he said, "Is that no longer the case?"

"You know it's not," Bilbo replied, making the dragon smirk a little, "but I'd like to at least remain on speaking terms with them, to make Frodo's eventual adoption easier. At the same time, I wonder if there's any point to it, given that you can't go out in public without a hood and cloak."

Smaug was working on making himself appear more like an actual human when he was in human form, rather than some sort of half-dragon beast. But it was slow going; even just folding himself down into his smaller shape took a lot of energy, and assuming a perfectly human shape required control keener than a razor's edge, control he didn't have yet. He was getting better, though. Less than a year out from his first transformation, and already his horns and claws were much reduced in size, almost invisible in his hair, though his coat of dragon scales still remained. His ears were still pointed too sharply to completely pass for an elf, not that too many hobbits would know that, and his eyes were still slit-pupiled and glowing golden with his fire.

"Then there's the matter of your identity," Bilbo went on, "Who do I say you are? No one in the Shire has heard of the Great Fire-drake Smaug, but beyond the borders that is certainly not the case, and hobbits can gossip like nothing else."

"And I cannot be 'Sherlock' again, either, because as you said, we don't know if there are enemies here who might recognize the name." Smaug drummed his fingers on the arm of his couch – hobbit-sized, but still one of the most comfortable pieces of non-elven furniture he'd ever sat on. "I could be an elf, perhaps? We met on your travels?"

"But how, though? And what persuaded you to travel with me, much less love me?" Bilbo nibbled on the stem of his pipe. "Perhaps you were in Thranduil's halls, who felt the king overstepped his bounds concerning Thorin and the company?"

"I helped you get the keys to the dungeons where your dwarf friends were held, but later I was discovered and forced to leave. When our paths crossed again on your return journey, I decided to come with you, for I was curious about these little people called 'hobbits.'"

"That would be enough detail to satisfy, and it has a grain of truth in it. Tauriel did help me get the keys to the dungeon and was 'banished,' though for different reasons. But that still does not solve the riddle of your name. What are we to call you?" A thought occurred to him, one that made the hobbit grin a little around his pipe. "Perhaps we should make you one of the Wood Elves, and allow Thranduil to name you!"

Smaug scowled so darkly that Bilbo couldn't help but burst out laughing. "While I do respect my brother for all he's done and will do, I am not being renamed by him," he growled, a distinct draconian rumbling hiss underlaying his voice, "I would sooner take one of my kin's names."

"Then why not do that?" Bilbo said, still chuckling, "Are there any dragons you wouldn't mind being named after?"

His eyes narrowed in thought. "One of my mother's nestmates, Gostir, was the most tolerable of all dragons of the Withered Heath. He was a bit eccentric, but I liked him, as much as I liked anyone in those days."

"What happened to him?"

"He was slain during the fall of Angmar, nearly a thousand years ago now."

"…oh."

"We weren't that close, Bilbo," Smaug assured him, "He would bring food sometimes, after my father was killed during the War of the Last Alliance. My mother trusted him – as much as dragons trust anyone – and let him watch me and my nestmates while she hunted for herself."

"Ah, I see. You have siblings?"

"Had. They're all dead now."

"…oh. What happened to them?"

"I killed them."

"…oh."

Smaug noticed his expression. "It is the way of dragons, Bilbo," he said bluntly, "We were bred by the Dark One to fight, even against each other. It used to be that we were intentionally incited to fight each other, to cull the weak. Before his banishment, Morgoth said that only the strongest were permitted to survive, and so we challenged one another for supremacy. I am the strongest of my nest, as my mother and father were of theirs, and on back. The reason Gostir survived my mother, and also the reason he was considered eccentric, was because he was a coward and challenged no one, only fighting when he was attacked first."

They sat in silence for many long minutes after that, Bilbo thinking and Smaug watching him. "I've been out into the world and seen some of the terrors it holds," the hobbit admitted at last, "but I often forget that even now we're practically at peace compared to earlier ages. That orcs and goblins, even such as they are, are far from the worst thing bred by the Darkness." Bilbo met the dragon's gaze. "Did they have names?"

He shook his head. "Only the survivor gets a name."

"Your uncle got one."

"For the longest time, he was only known as Uihuorë – the coward. Literally, 'no courage.' He mated another dragon like him, weak, with no name, and sired a small nest. But that was right before another elven raid into the Withered Heath, for those were common in the days immediately after Sauron's defeat and the end of the Second Age. His mate was killed defending their nest, and when he found her body, he flew into a rage, and hunted down the raiding part and butchered them to a one. My mother was the first one to stumble across him after it was done, and named him Gostir for the terrible sight he made."

"And his nest?"

"The party did not reach it before he found them, so they survived, though later they, too, fought amongst themselves as we do. The survivor, Ugrost, died with Gostir in the fall of Angmar."

"Were you there then? How did you survive?"

"Near as I can tell, I was hatched in the middle of the Second Age. The weaker dragons were driven out of Forodwaith, where most of us lived, and over the mountains into Angmar. We were spared the chaos of the Witch-King's defeat."

"Do you have any family that's still alive?"

"…an older brother whose name I never learned, but the last time I heard from him was more than five hundred years ago. He could have been killed."

Bilbo sighed at that. "Well, at least your situation is less complicated than mine, relatively speaking."

"Only relatively. If my brother is alive, I can't imagine he'd approve of me taking 'food' as a mate."

"'Food?'" Bilbo repeated, raising an eyebrow, "Is that how he'd see me?"

"Perhaps in light of our recent history, he'd be more inclined to view you as a thief, which is most certainly not better." The dragon tapped a finger on the arm of his chair again, thinking. "It's probably best if no one goes looking for him at all."

"Agreed." Bilbo chewed absently on his pipe stem.

There was a hammering on the door, and both of them stopped moving, staring. "Bilbo Baggins, I know you're in there!"

The hobbit let out a string of swear words that would have been better suited to Captain John Watson than a well-off gentlehobbit.

"I take it that is Lobelia Sackville-Baggins," Smaug observed as Bilbo scrambled out of his chair and hid behind it.

"No, it's Gandalf. Hide, Smaug!"

"She's already seen us both. She looked in the window before knocking."

Another string of profanities. Bilbo dragged himself to the door and cracked it open. "Yes, Lobelia?"

The other hobbit planted her hands on her hips. "I see you've had the gall to return from the dead!"

"I was never dead, Lobelia," he sighed, "I've been helping some friends. Still am, now and again."

"'Friends,'" she huffed, "I suppose you mean that pack of dwarves you were seen leaving with? And who is this?"

Smaug had come up behind Bilbo, stooping to fit his tall elvish frame in the hobbit hole. "I am Gostir," he said easily, as if they hadn't started making up a life for him twenty minutes ago, "I encountered Bilbo on his travels, and came to the Shire to learn more about his people. He has been kind enough to host me for the time being."

He bowed slightly to the hobbit, who replied, "It's been an honor having you here, Gostir."

The dragon turned back to the hobbit lady. "And who might you be?"

Lobelia huffed and flounced off without another word.

Bilbo nearly slammed the door behind her and sighed in relief. "Thank goodness that's over. And with any luck it'll be all over Hobbiton by dinner time, so that solves that problem."

"How ever did you end up with such unpleasant relatives?"

"Good question."