Bilbo squeaked and spun, feeling the hairs on the backs of his heels scorch as he backed up against the mantle and gawked at the molten golden eyes bearing down on him from the blanket cocoon. The hobbit stumbled back from the fireplace, his heels catching on the edge of his area rug and sending him crashing backwards onto is floor with an undignified yelp. "Dragon!" He managed. "But how?! I saw-"

"You saw little less than truth, thief." Rumbled the man, snuggling deeper into his blankets with delight. "My ancestors were privy to the ancient magyks long before mankind walked up on two legs. Should it not be so that I -the Great, and Terrible, and Magnificent-" Bilbo knew the man was mocking him now with the titles he had thought up in the caverns of Erebor. "inherited their knowledge and prowess?"

"I-I-" Bilbo swallowed and skittered back, his eyes flying to and from Sting upon the mantle. "Yes, oh Smaug the-" "Shut up."

Bilbo froze when the man snapped at him. "I care not for the idolations of a lying little thief."

"Oh?" Bilbo said crankily, "I remember quite the opposite on my second trip into the mountain, oh Smaug the Suddenly-Human." He regretted opening his mouth immediately, as the stranger on his heart sat up, stiffening, and crawled out of the blanket pile with his catlike eyes narrowed predatorily. "I mean-"

"You have a very sharp tongue, little thief." Smaug -or what claimed to be Smaug, as Bilbo had yet to find any undeniable proof to this strange man's claim- rose to stand on his bare feet, his wiry frame towering over Bilbo, and he stared down at the hobbit with a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Perhaps I should burn it out of you myself..." As Bilbo watched, the man's throat began to glow like a hot coal, gaining intensity, and his open mouth revealed a blast of fire readying at the back of his throat. The stranger took a fist full of Bilbo's shirt and pulled him a little closer.

"No! No!" Bilbo cried, shielding his face with his arms. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to-" Heat blasted by Bilbo's small round face and, squinting, the hobbit watched the dragon-turned-man slowly let the fire burn just past his teeth until the built-up force had dissipated.

"You are a very strange creature," He smirked, the smug satisfaction in getting Bilbo to submit undeniable as a few stray wisps of smoke faded between them. "little thief. However, this hole is to my satisfaction."

"...thank you," Bilbo wheezed, anxiety taking his breath away. The dragon-man dropped him back to the floor, straightening almost regally, and glanced around the room again.

"Therefore, I shall stay."

"WHAT?!" Bilbo hurried to his feet as the dragon-man shivered and sauntered out of the main room as though he'd lived there all his life. His feet made hardly a sound as he passed through the foyer, inspecting everything that glittered and surveying every shadow and winding hobbit-made passage. "Wait! What do you mean you'll stay?! This is my house! You cannot simply waltz in, threaten me, and expect to stay!"

"Oh? Can't I?" Smaug grinned, his white teeth catching the light. "I dare say those dwarves of yours were quite keen on the idea."

"..." Bilbo froze, unable to find a comeback right away. "That was different."

"Do enlighten me, little thief," Smaug rumbled, tracing the gold inlay of one beam with affection. "How the invasion of my mountain and the pilfering of my horde, or the method with which I was evicted from my splendorous home is in any way 'different'. How do your trespasses in the name of that exiled king, Oakenshield, vary from this endeavour?" By the end, Bilbo was more than a little speechless and, clutching the pillar, Smaug had his narrowed inhumanly-gold eyes set on him again. "Do tell, little thief."

Bilbo looked down at his hairy toes, feeling a bit of shame spread through him, and he couldn't think of a thing to say in defense of the journey to Erebor or his ventures into the treasure room.

"Nothing?" The dragon turned away from Bilbo and continued down the hall. His arrogant swagger was gone and replaced with a slow, almost disappointed stroll, and Bilbo wondered what Smaug was thinking. "I thought so."

Hours later, Bag End was as silent as a grave. No kettle whistled, no music was heard, and no guests were entertained in the main room. Bilbo had holed himself up in his study, cowering with his familiar books, while the dragon-man snooped about for all things shiny and valuable in his hole.

Bilbo was at a loss -for what to do, what to say- and huddled up on his chair near the fire, staring deep into it as he puffed his pipe anxiously. He was totally unprepared to deal with a dragon, even one in human form, and in his panic he had left Sting above the fire where the dragon was making its new horde. He was without weapons, without explanations, and the more Bilbo thought about it the faster he puffed his little pipe.

"Alright, Bilbo," Suddenly, the hobbit uncurled himself and set his pipe down, getting out of the chair. "let's go over what we know about... dragons, and we'll try to figure this out. I'm sure you have a book somewhere in this little of yours that can help..." He toddled over to his bookshelf, feeling a burst of Tookish energy, and he began to pull them off the wall frantically. He went through his maps, and his genealogies, and all the sort of books the respectable Shirefolk would be expected to have. His shelves emptied themselves of the first row and, fetching his stool, Bilbo started pulling out the volumes hidden behind his more acceptable tomes.

Out he pulled old dwarf lore, even older Elvish tales, a genealogy -the briefest version- of Thorin and his kin, the books Gandalf had brought him from his last visit to Dale. Even a few volumes that the king in Mirkwood and Elrond's folk had gifted Bilbo before his journey had faded from the minds of Bilbo's neighbors were selected and placed around him for use.

And so, the hobbit burn his midnight oil on the books, pouring over them for any sign or scrap of how he could cope with this unexpected guest- or better yet, remove it. But the books remained, as always, unchanged and unaffected by the problems of their bearers and told him nothing.

By the time Bilbo closed the books and had rehidden them behind things such as 'Great Smials of the Century' and 'A Bag End Genealogy of Bagginses', it was nearly sunrise and his hobbit stomach was crying rather insistently for breakfast. He surrendered to it rather reluctantly, shucking his warmer layers when he emerged silently into the hall and found his hobbit hole hot and pleasant. He found that his usual summer garb, a creamy-white linen shirt with the collar open and some slacks, was quite enough for the balmy interior of his hole.

Stepping more lightly than he had in the mountain cave, Bilbo made his way toward the kitchen and, holding his breath, snuck a glance into the main room with trepidation.