Life is Precious

I had a few chapters already written and ready to go, and since this fic is just starting, I'll go ahead and post the next one today. Chapter two will be posted next Sunday, but after that it'll be every two weeks.

In this chapter, we see Smaug's reaction to this whole deal.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything relating to the Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.

Chapter One:

How utterly contemptible!

First, he all but begs for his own destruction, and now he's forced to plead with a lesser being for salvation! All because he was somehow more helpless than a newly hatched dragonling! If his condition weren't so grave, he would've simply eaten the wizard, crushed the thief, and burned down this wretched forest! Then, he would enact his revenge on the human who dared stand against him, he who shot him with the black arrow currently lodged in his chest. And finally, he would take his mountain and his gold from the filthy dwarves!

Again!

But no...now he was forced to give up his freedom. At least he would live, and perhaps...perhaps one day he would be freed from the wizard's spell. When that day came, he would finally enact his revenge, but...he could be patient if necessary. Would he have to wait ten years? A hundred? It mattered not to him. Not really. For the life of a dragon was long, indeed, and he was still in his prime.

Being bound to one of the smaller races was...humiliating, to say the very least. The fact he would die should they gave him incentive to keep them alive. For now. They would make a fine snack the day he was freed, to be sure. For daring to order him around like some common beast, he would make their death a slow and painful one. Perhaps he would even swallow them whole and use his inner fire to slow roast them as they flailed helplessly against their certain demise.

Hmm...yes, he could already taste his revenge. Smoky with just a hint of spice...or was that his own blood he was tasting? At this point it was equally likely to be either.

He truly was in a sorry state, wasn't he? Unable to move because of the pain. Each breath harder than the last. Worst of all...he felt unnaturally cold. The wizard's estimates for his death seemed generous now. He doubted he had more than a few hours left.

"Brace yourself...this won't exactly be a painless procedure." The wizard's unintelligible muttering that followed meant nothing to him. He recognized many languages, but he did not know the language of magic.

He curled his lip with a pained hiss as a strange pressure began to build up in his chest. At first, it didn't hurt all that much. But then, as tends to happen with an excessive buildup of pressure, it released in a sudden instant, the black arrow lurching partway out of his chest. The blinding pain that accompanied the motion almost made him lose consciousness, a strained gurgle the only sound he was able to make. Another sudden spike of white-hot agony, and his body lurched away of its own accord, trying desperately to escape the source of its torment.

"Keep still! Lest you want me to finish what the men of Laketown started!" The wizard's words gave him no comfort, especially after being hit by yet another explosion of pain. This time, his mouth opened in a silent scream, unable to roar or even breathe from the complete synaptic overload. Still, through some cruel misfortune, he did not lose consciousness. "Almost there, just a little more..."

With a final spasm, in which his kicking legs tore down yet more of the forest, and a loud squelch, the foreign object that had been stuck within him for weeks was gone, falling to the forest floor with a soft clang. Through the lingering pain caused by the infection and the tenderness of the reopened wound, sheer relief flooded through him. A tenseness he was not aware he had was suddenly absent, and he could feel his muscles relax.

"Be thankful, wizard, that the price of killing you outweighs any potential reward." The pain was miniscule when compared to what it was prior to the black arrow's removal, but he was still weak. Forcing himself to move would only succeed in harming himself further. Plus, without the wizard to heal his open wound, it was still a possibility he might die.

Another feeling flowed through him, this time a soothing warmth. The pain in his chest dulled further. He sighed in relief. Just before his eyes drifted closed, the pain and his already weakened state causing him to tire quickly, an inexplicable desire to fly southwest came over him, as if something or someone was drawing him in that direction. A brief moment of confusion and uncertainty hit him, for he knew what it was and was unused to such...bindings.

"Rest now, Smaug. When you awaken, you will be fully healed. Then, you will be off to find your new partner. I should not have to tell you to keep out of sight. Middle-Earth thinks you dead. It would be for the best, for both our sakes, if that remained true." He waited for the wizard to continue, but he never did. Cracking open an eye, he watched his rescuer walking back down the path of devastation.

His eye slipped shut, and within moments, he was asleep. Even then, however, he was not rid of the burning desire to fly southwest. He could feel himself being pulled in that specific direction, and he instinctually knew the exact distance his...bonded was. Based on that, and his impeccable sense of direction and knowledge of geography, only one possibility sprung forth.

Rohan.

So his bonded was a human. Typical. At least it wasn't a filthy dwarf. Had that been the case, he definitely would've preferred death. Elves, at least, were as graceful and intelligent as any two-legged creature could be. Men were considerably less so. They were short-lived, superstitious, and their greed and arrogance rivaled even his at times. The spell would fix the first part, so he'd be stuck with them regardless. And his bonded, if they were indeed 'pure of heart', probably wouldn't be the greedy or arrogant sort, so that was the one bit of common ground they could've possibly had gone already.

Why did he agree to this again?

How demeaning it would be to be controlled by the weakest-willed of all the races! To be sat upon like some exotic beast of burden! His life was not worth the shame of being reduced to the role of some tamed warbeast! No more would his name invoke fear in those who heard it, for now they would laugh and jeer at seeing the source of said fear brought low!

His anger at the degradation he would doubtless experience caused him to awaken suddenly with a snarl. Breathing heavily, he stood, his strength returned, and debated whether or not he should simply set fire to the forest regardless. In the end, he forced himself to stifle his growing rage, knowing such a large blaze would attract much attention, especially since it was dark. Questions would then be asked, questions that may lead to his discovery.

While the prospect didn't particularly concern him, he would follow the wizard's advice for now. His brush with death had forced him to realize his own mortality. He was not quite as invincible as he once thought, a fact he would remember forevermore. If all it took was one missing scale and an absurdly lucky human with an oversized arrow to fell him, he would have to be more cautious, more cunning.

More importantly, as he craned his neck down to look upon his golden armor's single imperfection, his gaze critical, he would need to fix this...vulnerability. The scar from the black arrow nearly took up the whole area of the missing scale, so it wasn't a particularly large vulnerability. Once upon a time, he believed it too small to warrant any concern. Apparently, his conclusion had been untrue.

Perhaps he could 'convince' his bonded to have a solution created. If so, it may be the one good thing about this predicament of his. Even if it was a simple iron or steel plate—certainly not as strong as his own scales—it would still be better than nothing. Still...he'd have to remain mindful of it from now on.

He curled his lip at the thought, for it was yet another reminder of his weakness. Felled by one Man and bound to another, all because of the smallest of physical flaws.

But he would figure out a way to adapt. He always did. This problem would just take a bit more thought than some others he'd faced in the past.

With his mood properly soured, he raised his head to narrow his gaze at the Lonely Mountain. His mountain. Even from here he could see the lit braziers. The mere thought of the filthy dwarves laying their grubby fingers all over his gold was enough to stoke his rage once more. How much of his hoard had they given away already? How many of his favorite trinkets were now scattered to the four corners of Middle-Earth?

Oh, how he wanted to fly back to Dale and burn it down again! It would happen exactly the same as that day so long ago. The Men would die, the Dwarves would flee, and none would stand in his way of reclaiming that which was rightfully his!

But it mattered not how great his desire grew, for his own body would not obey his command. He wanted to take flight and reenact his greatest triumph, yet he was simply unable to no matter how hard he tried. Taking a single step north was the hardest thing he had ever attempted. Somehow, the spell placed upon him prevented it. His instincts were screaming at him to fly south despite his conscious desire to go north.

With a furious growl, he finally relented, taking flight due south.

One day...

One day he would return to his mountain and reclaim his home and title from the current usurpers.

Until then, he would bide his time. He would find the human in Rohan he was now bound to. He would play the part of servant until such time he was released from this spell. When that day finally came, the entire world would know his wrath. Gondor, Rohan, Mordor, Rivendell...they would all burn...

His grand designs for complete and total annihilation of all things green would come to fruition, eventually. For now, his flight path needed to be plotted. Going west over Mirkwood and following the Anduin south would be the easiest route, yet that took him directly over the forests of Lorien. If he was attempting to remain hidden, flying that close to the Elf-witch's realm was not the wisest course.

Taking the route directly over Mirkwood would be the shortest route, but Dol Guldur lay along that path. Fell forces still inhabited that place. Should they see him passing nearby and report his survival to Sauron... A dragon he may be, but he was no fool. He would not tempt fate by toying with the Dark Lord.

The only other option would be to follow Mirkwood's eastern edges south, and then turn southwest over the Brown Lands. Once over the Anduin, he would be in Rohan proper. It was the longest route for sure, but it was also the safest. That, then, would be his course.

With it already being night—though most likely not the same night as when he fell asleep—and just before midnight at that, now was the perfect time to fly. The black skies would make spotting him hard enough, but he flew at high altitudes to make doubly sure he would pass undetected. No matter how careful he tried to be, his survival would be discovered eventually, he knew. It was inevitable. Middle-Earth was a vast realm, but it was not so big for a dragon to live undetected for very long. Still, he could delay the news from spreading for a short while. Once he collects his new burden, such subtlety would no longer be necessary.

Where should he go from there, though?

Many were the places a dragon could live relatively unbothered. With Rohan being his destination, perhaps he could settle for the crags of Emyn Muil. But no, it lay too close to Mordor for his liking. A better alternative would be the Glittering Caves beneath the fortress of Helm's Deep. The prospect of stealing such an important and imposing locale brought forth a pleased rumble, though he doubted his bonded would allow it. He held no particular fondness for mere crystals, anyway. And Helm's Deep was a poor substitute for the grandeur that was his mountain.

Somewhere else in the White Mountains, then? Or perhaps he should simply return to the Withered Heath. There were no dragons left who came close to his strength and majesty, but the thought of crawling back to that desolate place with a mortal did not appeal to him. The lesser dragons may pose no threat to him, but should they kill his bonded, he would die regardless.

There were other possibilities to ponder. And ponder he would.

It was nearly three hours later when the scenery started to change. The Brown Lands were a desolate place, though it was a different sort of desolation than the kind he was able to create with his fire. He was able to see all of it, the darkness not inhibiting his superb sight at all. That just meant that he could see the blasted landscape fully. It truly was a forsaken place, and one that made even him uneasy, for he knew not what power had been responsible for this, only that it was a great power, indeed.

Once he was over the Great River itself, the scenery quickly changed to green once again. Now, he was in Rohan itself, and if the pull's direction and intensity was any indication, his destination was most likely Edoras itself.

"Curse this streak of foul luck," the great dragon grumbled to himself. "As if burglars, Dwarves, and wizards weren't enough..." No doubt his bonded would be some pompous noble with an overinflated sense of righteousness and enough hot air for the both of them. And as a dragon, he knew a thing or two about being full of hot air.

It was still an hour before dawn when the capital city of Rohan came into view, and upon setting eyes on it, the relentless pull seemed to dull. Present it remained, yet it was as if simply seeing the city where his bonded currently was eased some unknown anxiety within himself. He circled the city high above a few times before flying to the nearby mountains.

He did the hard part in getting here. His bonded could come to him in their own time. As long as he remained nearby, the pull seemed inconsequential. The brief, fleeting thought of simply landing in the middle of the city and abducting the Man he was looking for was dismissed after a moment's debate. If he wanted any chance at having this accursed spell removed one day, burning down yet another city of Men was probably not the way to go about it. Plus, Men had already bested him once. Perhaps it was best not to risk himself so needlessly until his armor was once again impenetrable.

A few miles into the mountains, there was a small, relatively isolated valley that he decided to land in. Several trees broke beneath his bulk as animals cried and fled in fear. A quick scenting detected no recent intrusions into this valley by anything other than deer, birds, and wild horses. The faintest trace of Man-flesh told him this area was not often frequented, but it was known and occasionally visited.

He'd have to keep his senses keen, but it would do for now. There was a lake within this valley that looked about his size. While not the biggest fan of being wet, his chest was still stained with old blood. If he was going to be seen by a mortal, he wanted his scales to shine. His vanity and pride would allow nothing less than his full splendor to be on display.

With a distasteful sniff, he stepped into the small lake, the water barely reaching his knees at its deepest. It carried a slight chill, too, which made the experience all the more unpleasant. Gently lowering his chest to the ground, he used his wingclaws to wet and clean the crusted blood from his scales. All the while, his lip remained curled in malcontent.

Once done, he stepped out of the lake, shook himself off, and stoked his inner fire in an attempt to dry himself off quicker. Water was, by far, the worst thing in the entire world. The fact dragons didn't need water while every other race did was just more proof of draconic superiority.

With that done, all that was left was to wait. But if he was going to stay here for any length of time, he was not going to lay on broken trees. The mountain slopes were tall enough to hide any blaze, so he set one side of the valley alight, his dragonfire turning even the sturdiest of trees to ash in mere seconds.

It was only afterwards that he realized the dirt and ash would dirty his scales once again, but he decided after a moment that he didn't care. The poor accommodations only served to incense him once more as he was reminded of the vast hills of gold and silver he had once rested upon.

Such injustice would not go unpunished. For every indignation he was forced to endure, his revenge would become that much sweeter. A dragon's memory was long, indeed. He would remember every indignation, every humiliation, and every slight he would have to experience in the years, decades, or even centuries of his servitude. He would never forget.

And he would never forgive.

AN: The next chapter's a bit longer, and I think these chapters might end up longer than my usual 3k-4k mark.

Let me know thoughts so far in a review.

Until Next Time

AdmiralCole22