She was sleeping the first night he saw her; her black body curled on a mountain's ledge, snoring softly. The only reason he knew she was there was because he'd smelled her – she smelled of the sky and burning wood, a not unpleasant smell.

His residence was a large cave between two jutting edges of the mountain, entirely unseen. He crawled from his cave, hooking his talons in the rock as he pulled himself along. Nostrils flared, eyes glaring, smoke billowing from his nose. He was prepared to attack, for dragons were very territorial. Until he saw her, which her being a female was obvious from her smell. His reason for sparing her was simple, females were rare. And she was beautiful.

It was a strange beauty, he thought. She was almost as big as him, though she was slender, feminine. Her black scaled face had cheekbones and she appeared to have the curves of a woman, which in and of itself was strange. He took in all of this as he clung to the side of a mountain, staring down at her sleeping form. He inched his way closer, the intent to make her his, and he knew the moment she was alerted to his presence. She did not breathe so deep, an ear flicked, her tail twitched, he heard the distinct sound of sharp talons scratching at the rocks.

She was fast. She rolled when he dropped on her, evading him. A warning growl in the back of her throat as she glowered at him. Her eyes were the same gold as his, but they held knowledge in their depths.

"Hello," he slithered, sounding very much a man. He saw the surprise in her eyes, though she said nothing in return; not all dragons could speak the tongue of man. A shame, but he would make do.

She growled loudly when he moved closer, warning him to keep his distance. He saw the smoke coming from her mouth and he nearly chuckled; she could breathe fire as he could. She looked down startled when he spewed flame at her feet, circling the ground in front of her before creating a heated circle in front of himself. He lowered his belly on the hot rocks and curled his tail around him to sleep, watching until she reluctantly did the same.

She kept an eye open as she rested, watching as he slept. Though in truth he was not sleeping, he was only laying several feet away from her waiting. He would make her his.

…

She had not wished for a friend when she met him. He was young, barely of age, and he was handsome. He was not the young boy she'd first met in when she had been in Thorin's Company.

"You are beautiful milady," he remarked, raising her hand to his lips.

She smiled slightly at his charming attempt. He was handsome, but he was not so handsome as the elven prince from Mirkwood – a thought she cursed herself for thinking. "You have aged well, Estel," she said surprising him.

"Have we met before?" he asked, suspicion growing at her knowing him by that name.

She tilted her head and appraised him. "I suppose you may not remember me, we had only met but once; I was traveling with a company, we rested here for but a night."

His eyes narrowed as he studied her face closely. "A company of dwarves?" he asked, thinking her yellow eyes were hauntingly familiar. His answer came in a sly smile on her lovely face. "You have not aged a day, milady," he said with a small smile.

"No I suppose I have not," she mused smiling herself.

"How have the days seen you?" he asked stepping closer to her, her warmth was truly alluring.

She smiled stepping away. "They have seen me better," she admitted softly, looking away from him.

He stared hard at her, seeing the years of sadness on her youthful face. "What misery have you been given?"

She was so starved for company – for Legolas' company – that she looked at Aragorn and answered him. "I made a friend only to lose him in battle," she told him. "And I made another friend, only to leave him."

It was in the last one that Aragorn heard the most regret. "You love the one you left," he remarked.

"No," she said with a small laugh, shaking her head. "I knew him for no more than a month. Love does not grow in so little a time."

"Perhaps it could," he said, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. He had seen the ferocity in her when he first met her, remembering her more the longer he stayed at her side. She would be a welcomed friend in his travels across Middle Earth, and any danger he found. And yet he could see the sorrow in her eyes, the want of a companion; and he was in need of a companion who knew their way in battle. But he would not leave Rivendell for another week, and at the end of that week was when he would ask her for her company. And she would say yes.

The italics will be her time with Smaug, and the other with Aragorn. I may not always do both travels in one chapter, I may only do her time with Smaug or only her time with Aragorn. The problem with her time with Smaug is that they're dragons, and not all dragons can speak like humans; Erytheia can't when she's in dragon form. So Smaug won't talk to her like he would a person, he'd communicate like a dragon (like an animal). So the importance of "speech" between the two comes from grunts or growls or purrs. Which you can imagine sounding in the voice of Benedict Cumberbatch, which is kind of hot if you think about it.