Chapter Two: Prologue II
Bryngeir yawned, having finished a long lecture on a slight part of dragon history. He crossed his foreclaws over each other and rested his head on them. Draupneir had fallen asleep as soon as he had started speaking, so the gold dragon was contentedly snoring away. But both Thorin and Balin showed no signs of relenting their listening, so the emerald dragon simply continued in his lessons.
"There are several working classes." Bryngeir said dully. "There are hunters and fishers, who obviously get the most pay for their work. There are guides and mappers, those are welcomed almost anywhere so they do not need to worry about food shortages. Then there are the warriors, and the swimmers. They patrol the boarders on land and sea—earning their keep by depending on the dragons that take them in. There are also lower class workers, like the sky racers. We only earn our food by being the best. If you do not come out on top of the others, there is no food for the night and you must try again in the morrow."
"When you mean, earn your keep—you earn wages in food?" Thorin asked.
Bryngeir shook his head. "I wish it were that easy. We have to earn hunting privileges, because for obvious reasons we cannot hunt in non-dragon populated areas. The higher up your job is, the more privilege you get. Take me for example, if I were to come out first place in a race, I would earn two hours of hunting. If I came out second, I would receive an hour, and third: thirty minutes. Any position under third results in a day without food."
Balin scrunched his nose in distaste. "And this has to do with territory?"
"Yes," the emerald dragon affirmed. "Dragons are very territorial. If you're hunting and you find yourself on another's land—good luck to you."
He twisted his position a bit, lifting his wing and showing them his side. All along the green scales there were shallow long rake marks. Both looked appreciatively at the battle wounds; to a Dwarf, a good battle wound was a red badge of courage.
"Those aren't even half of my scars. But that just happened to be a recent attack. I won first place in a race and the dragon on the territory claimed I cheated. Deeming me unworthy to hunt on his land, he assaulted me. I had to fight back, Draupneir was only fifty, and he was a hungry little dragonet; I could go without food fine. He could not. So I fought the other out; as you can see, it did not end well for me."
"And there was no way you could prove that you'd earned your keep?" Thorin demanded, anger welling up in his chest.
Shame filled the dragon's eyes and he turned his head away from. "I'm not very…popular among the racers or the crowd. When I win, they make sure that I continue to work for my wages. I have never had an easy race, or an easy hunt."
"Why?" Balin asked.
Draupneir raised his head, looking at his cousin curiously. "Yes, why do none of the others like you, cousin?"
Bryngeir's pupils became slits and his nostrils flared, grey smoke coming from them. "A dragon needs his secrets, doesn't he?"
"Not if he is hurt by them." Draupneir growled irritably.
Thorin got the impression that the two dragons have held the conversation before.
"So tell me more, of the two races." He interrupted the death stare match.
Immediately Draupneir dropped his head back to his claws. Bryngeir returned his focus to the Dwarrow. His mood was amiable again, and his pupils large and wide. He gave them both a scholarly nod.
"The two races, the Fire Drakes of the North and the Great Dragons." He explained. "They were once bound together in unity. It wasn't until the Second Age that we were…segregated. The Fire Drakes are our much larger cousins. The average Drake is about thrice the size of myself. Their fire is probably the hottest thing in Middle Earth, for it is possible for them to make diamonds. Their wings are heavy and leathery, unlike the Great Dragons' thinner, more agile membrane wings. Our colors are very much different as well. Draupneir and myself are very good examples of our kin; we tend to be born with bright colors so to see each other when we fly above the clouds. The Drakes are born with colors of only red and brown. They tend to be dark so that they may lurk in the smoke and smog of their fires—a survival adaption if you will."
Draupneir gave a humming chuckle. "Another fascinating difference that we have from the Fire Drakes is that we grow hair."
Thorin and Balin raised their brows.
"Yes," Bryngeir agreed with a huffy laugh. "Great Dragons all grow patches of fur. The placement varies, though, from dragon to dragon."
"Hence why I have fur on my tail." The gold chuckled, raising his plumed tail and fanning it out vainly. "And cousin has fur on his feet!"
The emerald and gold dragon shifted himself uncomfortably. "Why yes, er—"
"Did you know that Bryngeir is the only one in our kind to have hair on his feet?" Draupneir continued, giving a mocking chirp.
"Truly?" Thorin asked, finding the topic a bit amusing.
The gold dragon nodded eagerly. "Most dragons grow a mane or chest fur—even fluff on their ears and horns, but Bryngeir is the only dragon to have fur on his hind feet!"
The other dragon pulled his ears back flat against his skull, his eyes flicking towards their small audience with embarrassment.
"There is nothing wrong with being unique, Master Bryngeir." Thorin said, trying to bite back his laugh; he saw that the older dragon was clearly uncomfortable.
"And these Fire Drakes…do you not get along well with them?" Balin asked tilting his head to the side, changing the subject. Every time Brygeir had mentioned the word 'Drake' he spoke it with an exhausted tone and a pensive look.
Bryngeir shook his head. "Most of my kin do not. There are a seldom few, though who serve as envoys for our kind to hold talks among the two races. The Fire Drakes are never allowed into our territory but they allow our ambassadors to hold meetings. Mainly to reconstitute our borders. If any of us, Drake or Dragon were to be caught within each other's borders outside of peace meetings—"
Draupneir shivered. "It would be very, very bad."
"What would happen?" Balin inquired, his eyes wide.
"It would be time to declare a new king." Bryngeir quivered, his voice menacing. "A thing like that, would force both kinds into war. If a Fire Drake were to enter Great Dragon borders, a Great Dragon would have to step forward as a champion and fight him. Whichever dragon wins, is to be the new king. Same were to happen if the roles were reversed."
"Why?"
Bryngeir hefted his shoulders back, slightly uncomfortable. "No one knows. It was a rule set down after the First War. I might be possible they thought the king would unite the dragons again. But we all really knows what happens. The king returns to his own kind and only rules his own. No unity, just a dragon with a title and power."
"Is there a king right now?" Thorin questioned.
Draupneir hummed. "The General Smaug of the Fire Drakes. He was the last dragon to cross borders out of the respective times. He ruined absolutely everything. He sets desolation wherever he goes, burning and killing."
Bryngeir nodded mournfully. "It is dragons such as him that absolutely spoil our images."
"Is he not the dragon that Draupneir said you could best?" Balin pointed out.
The emerald dragon shot his cousin a sharp look. "He doesn't understand what he says."
The gold dragon huffed indignantly. "I do too! Any dragon who has ever met you would know it too! You are incredibly fast, you have great stamina and agility and—"
"Enough!" Bryngeir growled, straining himself not to snarl. "Smaug is both the strongest and the most brutal of dragons of the two races. I would never stand a chance."
"Excuse me, laddie." Balin interrupted. "But you seem to have your fair share of battle scars."
"And, everyone knows that a good warrior bears battle scars!" Thorin added, looking at the dragon with something akin to admiration.
Bryngeir sighed. "It isn't that simple. These scars are…well they're reminders of my stupidity and my ignorance. I am not a fighter, nor a warrior; my cousin would do well to remember that. If Smaug were to ever cross our borders, the champion of the Great Dragons would most definitely not be me."
"Your cousin is right here." Draupneir snarked. "And fine. If you're too coward to fight Smaug, then I will."
Bryngeir walloped his cousin upside the head with his tail, mindful of his spikes of course. "Don't be foolish. You wouldn't last five minutes in a battle pitted against the Fire Drake king."
"Oh really?" Draupneir drawled out, dangerously calm.
The other dragon didn't have a chance to react as the gold one pounced him. A bugle of alarm rose from his throat as the smaller scurried over the bigger's body, nipping playfully at his wings. He swiveled his head to the Dwarrow, his long neck arching.
"Help me defeat this evil dragon king!" Draupneir exclaimed brightly.
"What would you have us do, oh brave dragon?" Balin teased.
"Attack his ears!"
Thorin coughed in surprise. "His…ears?"
"No!" Bryngeir howled.
"He's ticklish in his ears."
"You miserable excuse for my cousin, get off!" Bryngeir moved his legs, trying to stand up underneath Draupneir's weight.
Balin and Thorin gave each other questioning looks before shrugging. Why not? With half-hearted battle cries, they lunged themselves at the emerald dragon's ears. Bryngeir struggled to scuffle back, shaking his head back and forth. A deep humming noise vibrated from his chest.
"No, no, no—you two Dwarrow stay good and well away from my ears!"
Draupneir's tail slammed onto his cousin's mouth with a good solid thwack. Bryngeir gave a muffled shout of surprise, squirming underneath the other dragon. Thorin and Balin each to this as their chance and they jumped up onto his ears; Thorin on the left and Balin on the right. It surprised the raven haired dwarf how warm the pieces of listening skin was. The outside was coated in light leathery scales, while the inside slowly pulsed a warm pink. Experimentally, Thorin ran his hand along the inside of the ear shell. Bryngeir all but squealed in protest—a very undignified sound for a dragon.
"Balin!" Thorin smirked, his tone a bit loaded with conspiracy. "The shells of his ears are ticklish."
"Yes! Attack my cousin without mercy." Draupneir crooned, wrestling with said dragon.
"Nope, you all are to stop, mffp!" He was shushed again as his smaller cousin coiled his tail around his green snout and a few of his gold chest-plate scales.
The Dwarves, unsure why they were helping Draupneir tickle his cousin, picked up the pace. The scratched the sensitive scales this way and that, while the bronzy dragon tickled the big, smooth chest plates on Bryngeir. The emerald dragon was reduced to a laughing hysteria; his body shaking with mirth.
"Alright, alright!" Bryngeir hooted. "I relent! I surrender, you win Draupneir!"
Draupneir paused and stretched his neck to look at his cousin curiously. "I win? Does that mean I get to be king?"
Bryngeir grinned. "Not quite."
With a sudden twist, he twirled himself around, pinning Draupneir under him and flinging both Thorin and Balin onto the ground. He reached out and trapped both Dwarrow underneath his foreclaws. A smug grin was plastered on his face as his hazel eyes glimmered with oily laughing tears. He shot a warm puff of hot air towards the three of them.
"Except, one must never let his guard down."
"You tricky, tricky dragon you. We hate you forever!" Draupneir yelled, wiggling under his cousin's much larger body.
"Unhand us you miserable dragon!" Thorin laughed, he twisted underneath the dragon's claw, not quite able to quell the feeling of danger.
Balin just pretended to play dead.
"So, with all three of my opponents, down I suppose I've won." Bryngeir continued with a smile. "In that case, as my first act of king—I release the lot of you."
He lifted himself off of the two Dwarrow, and his cousin. With a lazy stretch, he skittered over closer to the mountain cropping so that he could scratch his back against the rock. Draupneir rolled his eyes and snorted. Thorin and Balin gave question looks the bronze dragon.
"He's been wanting to do that all day." He explained.
Thorin cocked his brow. "Scratch his back against the rock?"
Draupneir laughed. "Yessir. This side of the mountain has a good portion of limestone in it. Scratching our scales against the rocks, buffs them out if you will; like filing down a nail."
"Really?" Balin asked, intrigued.
"Umhm."
"Strange."
"But interesting."
"We dragons are queer."
"Call it a victory scratch." Bryngeir snorted, stepping up towards the three of them. His side was coated in ashy grey dust. His spiked tail flicked back and forth in an easy pace, clearly he was pleased with himself.
"So what now?" Thorin asked, stretching back against the ground. He felt tired. It had been a long, strenuous day.
Bryngeir glanced up at the sky, his neck stretching up. "It is close to midday. You and Balin still have to make the return journey to the gates of Erebor, yes?"
Balin nodded. "Aye, and given the time and place we are at; we'll be late."
Draupneir looked at his cousin pointedly.
Bryngeir blinked before sighing dejectedly. "Go back to the cave Draupneir, I'll meet you there."
The bronze dragon grinned. "Be safe cousin. It was a pleasure Balin, Thorin. I hope with cross paths again."
"Same to you, Draupneir." Balin smiled.
Thorin nodded.
Draupneir turned around slowly before stretching out his wings. With an excited wiggle, the dragon jumped up into the air. He waited about five seconds before surging his wings with a powerful down stroke. The gust of wind forced the Dwarves to skitter back and it flustered Bryngeir's floppy ears around, but it made Draupneir soar up into the sky. In no time at all, the dragon gave a goodbye call to his cousin before disappearing into the west above the tree lines.
"I can bring you as close to the front gate of the mountain as I can." Bryngeir explained.
Thorin nodded eagerly, but Balin held up a halting hand. His expression clouded with caution immediately.
"As much as we've come to enjoy your company today, Master Bryngeir, we can simply not allow that."
"Why not?" Thorin demanded.
"Yes, why?" Bryngeir asked, confused.
Balin sighed. "You may be our friend, but the others will simply not understand."
"I said I would get close but not close enough to be seen." The dragon repeated. "And if this is a matter of trust because I'm a dragon, you have my word that I won't do anything. Besides, I already know you live in Erebor. That much is obvious. So let me get the two of you home without speculations where you've been. How long have the two of you been away, anyways?"
"All week." Thorin replied.
Balin nodded.
"It would make sense that the two of you would need to return on time then." Bryngeir said. "Wouldn't want your families fretting."
Balin laughed nervously.
Thorin cleared his throat. "You are completely correct."
"Good, now there is no arguments. The subjected is settled."
"Wait," Balin exclaimed, "what?"
Bryngeir laughed, before lunging at the two Dwarrow, grabbing them in both of his claws. Not even hesitating, his hind legs pushed him off of the ground, surging them into the air. Balin and Thorin grabbed for a tighter hold on the dragon's claws, screaming their heads off. The emerald dragon gave a booming laugh before giving a fancy twirl into the air. Balin sucked the air in but didn't let it out.
"Breath Balin!" Thorin commanded, forgetting his own fear at seeing his friend's face turning purple.
The other Dwarf exhaled, finally finding the reason.
"Bryngeir, slow down!" Thorin showed. "We live underground, we are not used to this open air!"
The dragon's wing beats slowed. "You just need to get used to it."
"I think…it would be…wise," Balin choked out. "If…you drop…us off…here."
"But I'm still about two miles out—"
Thorin gave a pat on the dragon's claw. "You better do as he says."
Bryngeir frowned but nodded. Tilting his wings, he began his descent downwards. It was slower than their ascent, almost as if the dragon was trying to make it a tad more comfortable for the two Dwarrow. After about five minutes, his hind claws touched down. With a lethargic gentleness, Bryngeir eased both Thorin and Balin onto the ground. Balin collapsed on contact, Thorin only swayed before rebalancing.
"And this…is where…we say…goodbye, Master Bryngeir." Balin wheezed.
The dragon took a step back, looking affronted. "I only meant to help—"
"And help you did!" Thorin piped up quickly, stepping between the two. "It isn't such a long walk now, thanks to you and we most certainly will reach the gates in time."
Bryngeir snorted.
"Farewell, Master Dragon…may you stay…in good health." Balin dismissed, before turning around and beginning to pick his way through the wood.
Thorin looked at him before shaking his head. Then he looked at Bryngeir; the dragon actually looked hurt by Balin's forwardness. The raven-haired Dwarf raised his hand in farewell.
"It was an honor to have met you, Bryngeir of the Gilded Wings. And thank you, for saving us from those Orcs earlier, I doubt Balin and I could've handled them by ourselves."
Bryngeir gave a tired chuckle. "Well that much was clear, Thorin son of Thrain, Son of Thror."
The raven-haired Dwarf looked at the dragon in alarm. He had purposefully not told the dragon of his heritage in fear that he might over react. Or worse, try to kidnap him because he was royalty.
"You look like him, your father." Bryngeir said, looking away; his voice was forlorn and cold. "I've seen you Dwarves work all your life, being accepted and respected by everyone you know; even the Elves."
Thorin gaped.
"I guess you could say," Bryngeir continued in a murmur. "I'm a tad jealous."
"I am sorry, Bryngeir." Thorin apologized, but for what, he didn't know.
The dragon gave a weak smile, finally looking at the Dwarf again. "Not all races can be social ones. And not all of us can be beloved princes and kings; you got it lucky in this world, Thorin. Don't waste your life away on trivial things because one day it will all be gone. Make the most of your life." He gave him a wink. "Rule the world. It's yours to command."
With that the dragon turned around dejectedly and lifted his wings up.
"Bryngeir, wait!" Thorin shouted out.
The dragon turned his head, his long neck arching gracefully. His ears were raised, showing the Dwarf that he was listening.
"You're not alone, you have your cousin." He said. "And, if you ever need me, I am at your service as well."
The dragon's eyes widened.
"Thorin son of Thrain, at your service." The raven haired Dwarf bowed, before giving the dragon a goofy grin. "It's not every day one can meet a dragon and live to tell the tale."
Bryngeir settled himself back onto all fours, before bowing his head. "And Bryngeir of the Gilded Wings, at yours, Thorin. Besides, it's not every day a dragon can meet a Dwarf and not be attacked."
Thorin looked at him with wonder. "You have met other Dwarves?"
"Oh yes," The dragon purred. "Although, none of my meetings have ever gone…pleasantly."
"Really? Such as?"
"Well there was this one time that—"
"Thorin!" Balin shouted, from a little ways off.
The raven haired Dwarf looked hesitantly between his two companions.
"Go on then, Thorin." Bryngeir said, looking in Balin's general direction. "Go back to your Dwarves."
"And you?" Thorin asked lowly.
"I will go back to my cousin." The dragon sighed. "Tomorrow I have another race. I need to rest."
"Will you win?" The Dwarf demanded.
Bryngeir turned his head. "I'd better. I can't go another month without food."
Thorin's eyes widened.
"I've only been winning enough to feed Draupneir. I tell him I've already eaten when I bring the kill back to him."
"How are you not starving?"
"I am." Bryngeir grunted. "But I control myself well, dragons can go periods of time without eating. Mine is coming up soon. I don't want to become a monster, but I won't win another territory fight."
"Maybe I can help." Thorin suggest.
The dragon shook his head. "Your grandfather, as good a king as he is, has grown suspicious of our kind. I know it—he knows dragons are drawn to treasure hoards. While, Draupneir and I do not care for such things, I know he will become utterly distrustful if you hunt enough food for a dragon. No, Thorin. This is where we say goodbye."
"I will see you again, dragon." Thorin declared. "Meet me two weeks from now where you found us. I will help you in any way I can."
Bryngeir cocked his head before lifting his wings again. "Well, see you then, I suppose."
0oo0
"Thorin, 'ey, laddie, wake up already."
Thorin groaned, his eyes shooting open.
His father stood over his bed menacingly, his arms crossed. "Get up Thorin, ye've got a 'hole day o' duties ta attend ta."
"Agh, Adâd." The younger Dwarf griped, pulling the fur blanket back over his eyes. "Let me sleep longer."
"None o' tha', Thorin!" Thrain growled, pulling the blanket off his son.
"Adâd!" Thorin roared, falling off the bed to get his father's eyes off of him. "Privacy!"
Thrain's eyes widened. "Ye've grown son."
"Adâd!"
"Right, I'm jus' gonna leave now…" Thrain coughed, awkwardly stepping back towards the door.
Thorin sighed.
"'Ow was yer rest day, yesterday?" Thrain asked suddenly.
"It was pleasant. It's nice to have a day to relax after a hunt." Thorin growled, his skin tingling against the cold of the stone floor.
"Good, good." Thorin's father nodded. "Och, yer grandfather's 'pectin' ye after yer done with breakfast."
"Alright."
"Anythin' else you need?"
"Adâd."
"Right, sorry. See ye in the throne room."
The door closed and Thorin let out a relieved exhale. Then looked down at himself and flushed. Why did his father have to take the damned blanket off? He would've gotten up eventually. Rubbing his face with his hands, he stood up and walked across his room to find his clothes. After he had washed up and properly clothed, he left his room to head down for breakfast. He was most definitely not eager to meet with his grandfather. Thror had changed from the past years he had known him. The king had become shrewd, and reclusive—always running off to his hoard. And it worried Thorin.
Thorin clambered down the steps to the throne room after breakfast, his boots heavy on the slick stone. Several other Dwarves bustled about him on their daily business, not aware of how anxious he felt. With an inhale, he turned into the throne room, and stomped across the bridge that was suspended over the vast wealth of Erebor.
"Ah, Thorin." A deep voice rumbled.
"Adadûn." Thorin greeted calmly, looking at Thror with a regal composure.
The old Dwarf, stood from his golden throne and walked down to his grandson. He place both hands on Thorin's shoulders. He smiled gently.
"How was your hunt?"
"It was fine, Adadûn. No success, but it was nice all the same." Thorin stated simply.
Thror frowned. "You are never pleased, Thorin, when you do anything less than what you're capable of."
"Perhaps, I reached a limit, during my week hunting." Thorin smirked.
"Dwarves don't have limits, we're made of stone." Thror growled.
Thorin raised his chin. "What's this about, Adadûn?"
"We found tracks near the mountain; tracks that belong to no holy creature in Middle Earth. Do you know anything of this?" Thror demanded, his voice menacingly.
"No, I saw no tracks on my return to Erebor." Thorin lied. "Are you sure they were not made yesterday?"
Thror rubbed his temples. "No, but they're relatively fresh. Scouts said they were made within the last couple of days."
Thorin faked a worried sigh. "What did these tracks look like? Are they Orc tracks, is that why you are worried?"
"No." The king petered before starting strong again. "These were large, large prints. Claw marks by the reports. Something big made them."
"I would say trolls, but they don't have claws."
"That's true. I need you, next time you go out Thorin—to be careful, and to keep an eye out. There are no words to describe what could be lurking in the darkness."
"I will." Thorin nodded, "I promise."
"Good." Thrain sighed, relieved. "In the meantime, I'll be sending out hunting parties."
The raven haired Dwarf almost panicked. "Hunting parties?"
"Aye." The king affirmed. "If there is a creature that poses as a threat to Erebor, it must be destroyed."
Oh Mahal, they will find Bryngeir, Thorin thought, his blood freezing.
"You understand, don't you Thorin?"
"Yes, the safety of the people comes as top priority, they must be protected at all costs."
Thror stuttered. "Er, aye…the people. You will make a fine king one day, Thorin."
Thorin gave a slight bow. "Thank you, Adadûn. Now, I must excuse myself. Balin expects me for our lessons today."
"Very good. I will see you later in the day, Thorin." Thror grunted.
"Goodbye, Adadûn."
Thorin left quickly, determination lengthening his stride. He had to get to Balin quickly. He ignored the greetings of passerby guards and Dwarrow alike, he had a mission to complete. If he didn't warn Bryngeir, it would be possible that his grandfather would find him. And he had saw the glint in Thror's eyes. Thror wasn't entirely worried about their subjects. He was worried about his gold. His precious treasure, and that really, really irked the young prince.
"My prince!"
Thorin felt like he walked into a stone walk. Instead he realized that he had collided into Balin. The Dwarf's arms were full of parchments and his sword.
"Going somewhere?" Thorin questioned quietly.
Balin nodded. "Aye, back to my room to put my things away. Then I've got a few young ones to train and—"
"Good, you're not busy. Come on." Thorin snapped, grabbing the other's arm.
"Thorin! What? Where are we going?" The older Dwarf protested.
"It regards our new friends."
Balin's eyes widened, before he allowed the younger Dwarf to drag him back to the royal's wing. Thorin made sure no one was looking before shoving his friend into his room. He slammed the door behind him.
"Thror's found Bryngeir's tracks…Well I assume their Bryngeir's, he was the one who was closer to the mountain."
"I thought the dragon said he would stay far enough from the mountain to not be detected." Balin groaned. Setting his things down on a chair.
"I don't know what it was that prompted my Adadûn to send scouts but he did, and he found dragon tracks. I don't think Bryngeir can really be held accountable right now." Thorin growled, running a hand through his thick mane.
"So what do we do, Thorin?" the older Dwarf whispered, his voice unsure.
"We go and warn the dragons."
"You can't be serious."
Thorin was already grabbing his sword, and his travel pack—which he had neglected to unpack since their hunting trip.
"I haven't been this serious in a while."
Balin gulped. "Do you think we could get in trouble?"
"If we're not caught, we will be fine." Thorin snapped, shouldering his things.
Balin sighed. "What would you have me do?"
"Come with me. This is going to be an 'educational' outing. That way we have until nightfall. I have no idea how in Middle Earth we're going to find either Bryngeir or Draupneir but we have to try."
The other Dwarf nodded. "Alright. Let's get going then. I don't want to be caught outside of Erebor longer than needed. People'll get suspicious."
"When are they not?" The raven haired Dwarf snorted, before opening his door. "Let's go."
They wasted no time leaving the mountain. They stopped to let Thrain know of what they were doing and a few others before rushing out. Both Dwarrow literally ran through the eastern forest, looking for any fresh signs of the dragons. At least two hours passed by before Balin called Thorin to a halt.
"It's such a large forest. We can't possibly hope to find them."
Thorin panted. "It doesn't matter, we have to try. If Thror finds them, they'll be killed."
"You can't kill a dragon, Thorin. Their skin is too hard." Balin pointed out.
"We have to try." Thorin growled. "We owe them, they saved us when we could've been killed by Orcs."
"Then what do you suggest we do?"
"I don't know. Just keep looking."
They looked for any other fresh signs of the dragons before breaking for lunch. Even hunting had never been that hard or arduous, and this was a type of hunting. The dragons were careful, Thorin had to give the two credit for that. And if it hadn't been for his recklessness, Bryngeir would've never had to rescue them and his tracks would've never have been found.
"It'll be alright laddie." Balin soothed. "I don't know what it was that bonded you to those dragons so quickly but I promise you it'll be alright."
Thorin sighed. "I just don't—"
"Dwarrow!" A voice bellowed.
Both Balin and Thorin looked up to see a bronze form circling over the trees.
"Speak of the devil." Balin drawled.
The dragon landed as lightly as possible, as if he knew making tracks was a dangerous thing.
"Thorin, Balin...thank everything good… I found you." Draupneir panted, his chest heaving.
"Draupneir, I'm glad you're here as well. How did you find us?" Thorin asked.
"I smelled you out." The bronze dragon huffed.
"You were looking for us laddie?" Balin asked.
"Yes…it's about Bryngeir!" Draupneir exclaimed.
"That is why we were searching for you as well!" Thorin added, wondering what were the chances?
The dragon looked alarmed. "How'd you find out?"
"My grandfather told me—"
"Wait, how did your grandfather know?" Draupneir demanded, sounding almost disgusted.
"He had some scouts outside and they found tracks?"
"There were blood tracks?" The dragon exclaimed, his voice edging with slight panic.
"Blood, Mahal, no! If there had been…wait." The prince's voice spoke with caution. "Blood? Draupneir, what happened?"
Draupneir seemed to break out into a sob. "It's Bryngeir, he's hurt. He's really, really hurt. I don't know anyone else, and I didn't know who to come to."
"What happened laddie?" Balin demanded.
"He had a race yesterday," the bronze dragon gulped. "He won, fair and square he did. And do you know what? The other racers, they ganged up on him. He fought good and hard but they cheated. They were wearing black iron claws on their natural ones. It pierced Bryngeir's scales. He's sick and hurt—I don't know what to do."
Thorin and Balin looked to each other.
"I only have a few bandages in my pack." The raven haired one whispered.
"We would have to get more." Balin pointed out.
Thorin turned to face Draupneir. "Meet us back here in an hour. We're going to get medical supplies."
The dragon nodded, his facial expression numbed.
Thorin stood up, shoving their lunch things back into his traveling pack. With a nod, he and Balin took off running, this time in a more straight direction. They knew where they had to return and this time they would have a rendezvous spot. It took them about the total of thirty minutes to return to Erebor and when they did, they were met with a very worried Thrain.
"What happened?" He demanded. "I thought the two of you were going to be gone all day?"
Thorin had absolutely no idea on how to answer his father but luckily Balin handled it for him.
"Pardon me, your majesty, but due to your son's lack of attentiveness, I've decided to spend the next couple of days showing him the collection of stars known as Mahal's Hammer. It's quite a piece of sky work. So we came back to get my stargazing materials."
Thrain smiled appreciatively. "I 'member when yer father Fundin, showed me the Mahal's Hammer cluster, it was quite the beauty. 'opefully Thorin'll find this interestin'."
"We'll see." Thorin grunted, playing the part.
"Well, 'ave fun—the both of ye. An' stay out o' trouble, too. Thorin's got ta come an' 'elp me with a meetin' with the Dwarrow of the Iron 'Ills later this week."
"Diplomacy." Thorin moaned unenthusiastically.
"It's good practice." Thrain barked back.
"Of course it is, majesty." Balin butted in, pushing Thorin along. "But I wish to start tonight and we must set up properly…"
"O' course. Go on then. I'll see the both o' ye when ye return." Thrain dismissed.
Balin gave a respectful nod before tugging Thorin along, mentally scolding the prince for dragging their time out. They entered Balin's room in the mountain and gathered all the healing supplies they could.
"Should we risk going to Oin's for more?" Thorin asked, slipping more gauze and potions into his pack.
Balins shouldered his own bag. "We can't. Besides, I've got plenty of stuffs in my room. It might not be enough to heal a full grown dragon, but, it'll have to suffice."
Thorin nodded before grabbing some healing plaster and sacked that too. About twenty minutes past before they were done raiding the room. Grabbing a bit of extra food on their way out, they both ran out of Erebor again.
"This is becoming a habbit, my prince." Balin laughed with a huff.
"Hush." Thorin snapped, focusing on running. He was really getting tired of having to run everywhere just to help the dragons. They needed some better way of travel.
Draupneir looked up as they came. Neither one of the Dwarrow knew if he had heard them because he didn't have visible ears like Bryngeir did, but they figure he at least smelled them. The dragon sighed in relief, stopping his pacing. His foot prints had been covered up by the tail skids in the ground that had brought up a bunch of dirt. Thorin was mildly impressed.
"We brought the supplies."
"Good." Draupneir nodded, before surging forward and grabbing them before taking off into the air.
Even though they weren't prepared for it, their screams weren't as loud as they had been the first time. Maybe because they had already been shoved into the experience of flying in this manner before. Or maybe it was because Thror would be keeping a special eye on things. Who knows? But both Thorin and Balin literally bit their tongues so that way they wouldn't give themselves away.
After a few minutes of painful silence, Thorin finally happened to find the ability to speak without squeaking.
"What happened?"
"I don't know." Draupneir shouted over the wind. "He came home from his race and he was all scratched up and bloody."
"But dragons don't bleed." Balin interrupted.
Thorin could actually feel the dragon roll his eyes.
"So if a dragon tells you that another dragon is bleeding, you're not going to believe it?"
Thorin couldn't help his chuckle. "You are absolutely right, Draupneir."
Balin huffed.
"I asked him what had happened, and he said he got into a fight with the other racers. Said they were blaming him for something he couldn't control. Something he couldn't fix. Then they attacked him. Bryngeir said he was able to knock two unconscious before the others jumped him good."
"How many were there?" Balin asked, imagining at least no more than five.
"I think in this race there were fifteen." Draupneir informed thoughtfully.
Thorin sucked in his breath. "Was he the oldest?"
"No. this was a preliminary race. He would've been one of the youngest at 159 years of age."
"Bryngeir is 159?" Balin wondered.
Draupneir nodded.
The dragon pulled up suddenly, alighting on top of a mountain outcropping of the rock. He set the Dwarrow down as gently as he could. With a flick of his tail, he beckoned them to follow him. They hurried after the bronze dragon, their feet pounding the mountainside. Thorin felt sick to his stomach, unsure why the idea of a hurt dragon would bother him so much.
They walked for what seemed to be a good thirty minutes. Draupneir seemed to sense their impatience. He twisted his neck a bit so he could look at them.
"The mountain pass is too narrow for me to fly in. My wings are too large."
This seemed like an acceptable explanation.
Finally, after a while, they approached a cave. With a sigh, Draupneir nodded his head and ducked in. Thorin and Balin followed. The cave was like any in the mountain; dark, but not dank, filled with smooth, sleek stone. It was secluded, in the forsaken part of a mountain rage that was a good ways off from Erebor; so it was safe for the two dragon kind. But what they didn't expect in the cave, was a dull green and gold dragon, curled up in the back.
Several of the golden plate scales that lined Bryngeir's back had been wrenched, revealing dark pink skin. The spikes at the back of his hips had been snapped, leaving jagged, bony remains. His body was covered in rake marks and bloods. His left ear was torn, half of it missing. His feet fur had little flecks of blood snagged in hairs.
"Bryngeir!" Thorin shouted, rushing instantly to the dragon's side.
The resting dragon didn't open his eyes but he did speak. "Draupneir…thought…thought I told you…not to get…get help…"
"You're sick, cousin. Your wounds could get infected, especially with some of your scales up like that. They are the only ones I knew who would be willing to help." Draupneir defended.
The emerald dragon gave a weak hum.
Balin rushed to Thorin's aid immediately. "We have to work quick, laddie. I may not know enough healing like our healers in Erebor do, but I do know that some of these may already be infected."
So they set to work, cleaning and disinfecting the wounds. They set plaster and bandages everywhere they could. Balin even went so far as to stitch up several of the gashes under the sticking up scales on the dragon's back. By the time they were done, Bryngeir was shaking like a leaf in the autumn. He had already lost a lot of blood.
"Better…?" He muttered.
Balin patted the unwounded leg of the dragon. "For now. We'll stay the night and see how you fare."
Thorin stroked the dragon's foreleg scales in a soothing manner, trying to slow the dragon's quivering.
Draupneir was already asleep at the front of the cave, guarding it. Balin packed up the medical things and after using it, handed Thorin the water skin. The raven haired dwarf used the water to rinse his hands and beard of the any blood or puss that had gotten on him before handing it back to Balin. The older nodded before leaning against the rock wall.
"I don't know how, but you should try to rest. Even if…it's uncomfortable."
Thorin nodded but stayed in his position.
Time passed and the moon began to rise in a clouding sky. The soft breathes of Balin and Draupneir echoed through the cave and yet still Thorin kept watch. And still Bryngeir shivered.
"T-t-t-thorin?" The dragon stuttered.
"I'm right here." Thorin whispered.
"Why, why can't…they accept what…what I am?" He mumbled, his voice sounding on the verge of tears.
"A dragon?" the dwarf gave a small chuckle.
"Child…of, of, of…of a Fire Drake…and a Great Dragon.,," the other cried.
Thorin's brow's shot up.
"My…mother…was a Drake…my father, a Great…Dragon." Bryngeir continued through teeth chatters. "They…hate me…because…because of it. Yest-yesterday…won first place…a whole minute…before the others…blamed it on my…mother. Everyone…knows, that because they're…lithe…they're faster…called it cheating…"
All the Dwarf could do was lay a hand on the dragon's haunch, offering comfort. He was too shocked to say anything.
"Am I really…really that…evil?" He cried.
"No," Thorin rumbled, trying his best to comfort the injured dragon. "You're not. You could not change or help the fact who your mother was. The others have no right to hurt you because of the fact."
Bryngeir gave a tired laugh. "I don't…don't…know why…I trust you…Thorin…but thank you…I don't get…to trust others…often."
Thorin closed his eyes and rested against the dragon's leg. "You're welcome."
A pained, furious roar woke him up. His eyes shot open fast as the world blinked before him. What he saw mortified him. Dwarves swarmed the cave, Draupneir was nowhere to be seen. But Bryngeir, the foolish dragon was trying to stand, sending torrents of fire the Dwarrow's way. Thorin shuffled back, surprised when he met the strong grip of Thrain.
"Adâd?" Thorin yelled, trying to rip himself from his father's grasp.
The look of rage in Thrain's face could not be described.
"Traitor! Traitor!" Bryngeir roared, thrashing his neck and tail about, trying to fling the Dwarrow whom had begun lashing chains over him.
"Bryngeir!" Thorin bellowed, trying to help his friend.
"Thorin."
And the raven haired Dwarf looked up into the eyes of a very, very, very disappointed, and very, very, very angry Thror.
"Adadûn?"
Suddenly, something hit the base of the prince's head and his world shattered into darkness and stars.
Bryngeir's roars of desolation echoed through the night.
"Traitor!"
A/N: Sorry, this was a long awaited chapter. Thank you to all of you reviewing: Spirit of Light and Darkness, greenwings33, L.N. Hatter , Amazing-Thalia-Grace, Roses, Moonpie, ACreativeHobbit, Antex-The Legendary Zoroark, and randomplotbunny.
Next Chapter: Prologue III