Bilbo sat in his chair silently, considering trying to sit out in the cold to smoke his pipe, because he doubted the dragon would let him go for another walk now that dark had fallen. His frown had been there since their argument in the trees and, despite a good three meals, Bilbo's temper had yet to settle itself back into submission. He was ornery and contrary, and he didn't speak; he didn't care if he was having a tantrum –he would damn well have one too- and he didn't care if his "houseguest" didn't like it.
"You cannot avoid me forever, little thief." Smaug taunted, staring at him from the floor with bright, demanding eyes. A patch of scales like shingles glittered on the small of his back, just above the waist of his pants, and Bilbo avoided the dragon's eyes with it. He had been whining and griping and being a general nuisance since dinner, when he realized Bilbo wasn't speaking to him –or at all, for that matter.
"Come on, thief," Smaug pestered, rolling onto his stomach and blowing his own smoke rings as if he were mocking Bilbo's inability to smoke his pipe. "entertain me. I'm hungry. Make something more to eat, thief." He blew a bit of hot air over Bilbo, grinning when the smoke made the hobbit cough, but all he got was a sharp look and a sulky shift in the hobbit's position. He refused to look at the dragon, staring out at the falling snow, and a growl met Bilbo's ears.
"Say something." Bilbo glanced at the dragon lounging on his hearth and blankets like some foreign prince, an arm over one golden eye dramatically."Thiefling," The hobbit raised an eyebrow at the whine.
"Why are you even here?" Bilbo asked quietly, seeing the visible perk in Smaug as he finally spoke. The dragon moved his arm, staring at Bilbo on his back on the floor, no less intense and overwhelming than he had been lying on his stomach.
"Simple, really," Smaug rested his chin in one hand, staring at Bilbo intently. "Erebor was lost to me. My riches are slipping through dwarfish fingers. As we speak, they're coveting it and losing themselves bit by shining bit." Smoke trailed from Smaug's nose as he settled down deeper in the blanket nest, staring at Bilbo but not seeing him. "They're mucking about my halls. Sorting it, and storing it, and shuffling everything about and away like some secret riches." Bilbo's eyebrows rose as Smaug continued. "They've reclaimed their home from me and, displaced, I found myself in this gruesome man shape, with its soft underbelly and its flightless arms. But I had my mind, my great wit, and the Barrel-rider from under hills and the end of a bag was yet to be named. You, thiefling, seemed an excellent outlet for my newfound purgatory and it seemed quite suitable to seek out the usurper who came with that filth, Oakenshield. So I came, over hill and Dale, until I had tracked down that funny-smelling little lying thief from my treasure trove."
"Really?" Bilbo felt a blush run across his cheeks. "Is that what I called myself?" He remembered the conversation faintly; his lies and riddles had muddled together in the terrifying presence of the red dragon, leaving him with only vague notions.
"'I come from under the hill, and under the hills and over the hills my path led.'" Smaug's eyes shifted as Bilbo watched. He waved a hand in the air and rolled, motioning to the ceiling vaguely. "'And through the air, I am he that walks unseen. I am the clue-finder, the web-cutter, the stinging fly. I was chosen for the lucky number.'"
"I am he that buries his friends alive and drowns them and draws hem alive again from the water." Bilbo chuckled, covering his face with one hand in embarrassment, and he heard a returned rumble. "'I came from the end of a bag, but no bag went over me.' Oh dear..."
"'I am the friend of bears and the guest of eagles. I am Ringwinner and Luckwearer; and I am Barrel-rider.'" Smaug sat up, pushing with his arms, and Bilbo paused, smile fading. "I remember all of it. You were- are the most infuriating little creature when you wish it, thiefling."
"Thank you?" Bilbo said cautiously, clenching his hands in the arms of his chair. "I mean," Smaug gave him a dry, unimpressed look that shut him up; the dragon-man's disappointment settled over him, leaving Bilbo wondering what he'd done wrong and what the dragon would do next. Smaug's eyes dug into him, calculating and quick, and Bilbo wanted needed to know what he was thinking.
"Did I say something?" Bilbo asked, unable to swallow the question down like his tea. "If I did, I'm-" "No," Smaug's eyes burned. "you are not. You are afraid I will grill you as the fish we dined upon earlier; I can smell your fear, thief. It is putrid and cloying in the back of my throat." Smaug grimaced disdainfully at him, making goose bumps erupt all over his skin, and Bilbo needed a lot of courage to stay seated so close to him. If Smaug reached out a little, he could wrap one long-fingered hand around the hobbit's ankle and he would be done for completely.
Bilbo hoped his letter was on its way; he couldn't wait forever for someone to come.
"Well..." He said carefully, seeing the narrow of those gold eyes and trying not to let his tongue stick to the roof of his mouth. "you frighten me, so that is to be expected." He couldn't not be honest; Smaug was incensed by his timidity and it only made Bilbo more nervous, which in turn fueled Smaug's fire and made the cycle complete.
The dragon man snorted a puff of dark smoke, looking agitated as he dropped his attention to the fire and refused to look at Bilbo. He curled up on his blanket mound like a cat, bathing in the fire's heat, and Bilbo could almost imagine the way a cat's ears would pin back as he took in the displeasure emanating from the dragon's body language.
Bilbo tried to think of something to say, his mind whirring busily, but eventually he gave up and retreated into the hall with a small goodnight and a bit of a headache. He considered staying to make a cup of tea to settle himself, but he knew it wouldn't work and he doubted Smaug's temper would get any better with him lingering there, so he abandoned the idea as it came.
Unfortunately, sleep didn't come as easily as the idea had, and Bilbo tossed and turned until morning came to Hobbiton.