Life is Precious
AN: Back after a month. I'm not even going to try to make excuses as to why I didn't upload yesterday because I had time to finish it, but I spent that time playing Baldur's Gate with my friend. Fantastic game, by the way. Definitely recommend 10/10.
Anyway, Apologies if this back and forth between Earyth and Smaug seems a bit dry or like nothing's happening. I just didn't want to take twenty chapters, all of similar stuff, when I could just condense it into four or five. In a couple chapters, we'll get back to some more exciting stuff, I promise.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Hobbit or Lord of the Rings.
Chapter Fourteen:
Things had been going decently, she supposed. She'd made some new clothes for herself. Skinning the animals had been gross work, but she wasn't unused to the sight of mutilated animals. There was a butcher in Edoras that she sometimes walked past. And when her brother had been younger, about eight or nine, their dad had brought home a brace of rabbits from a hunting trip. He and Fulcred had skinned them right outside the window, and she had watched and listened. That one memory was the only experience she had with skinning animals, but she hadn't done any of the work herself.
This time was decidedly different. It was all on her to skin the animals, and though she had to fight the urge to gag whenever she was skinning and cleaning the carcasses, her first attempts weren't too bad. Other than a few knicks and tears here and there, the skins and leathers had come out alright. It didn't help that the dagger she'd gotten from the orcs wasn't exactly made for precise cutting.
Tanning wasn't exactly a specialty of hers, but her grandfather had been a tanner. He died when she was twelve, but what he'd taught her had resurfaced lately. Fortunately, she might add. She didn't have all of the fancy compounds and equipment that he had, but she'd done what she could. After building a makeshift tanning rack, she'd gotten all of the remaining flesh off before applying the special mixture he'd told her of.
Making it was probably the grossest thing she's ever done, but it made her glad that she had been a curious kid. Brains, liver, animal fat, and an herb with similar properties to salt—which she didn't have—all went into a bowl and crushed into paste that she slathered onto the skins with her hands. She didn't have a brush, either, otherwise, she would've used one in a heartbeat.
Once they'd been ready—she waited about three weeks to be sure, but that was mostly because her old clothes were pretty much falling off of her at that point—and even then, she only used the wolf skins since they were smaller and clearly done, she'd started making new clothes. That was something she was used to doing, though she didn't have any needles or threads. She had to settle with using small leather strips and carefully poking holes with the very tip of the dagger.
Despite feeling like some mountain-dwelling barbarian, she had a new set of clothes, complete with trousers, tunic, some crude bracers for her arms, and some equally crude boots. For the soles, she'd made some glue from the leftover animal parts and stuck a bunch of layers of leather together. Again, she'd thank her dead grandfather for that tidbit of knowledge. She'd kept the fur one of the wolf skins and made a fur collar for the tunic out of it.
She was under no delusions in thinking these clothes would keep her warm during a snowstorm, but for doing work around the cave, they were serviceable. The air's chill was dulled substantially, and either her campfire or the dragon could provide additional warmth if needed.
Speaking of, he'd been watching her a lot lately. After a single failed attempt to try and patch things up by suggesting friendship, he'd remained quiet, even after telling him he could speak again if he wanted later that day. She had the sense he liked watching her work, or at the very least, he was interested. Perhaps, it was simply better to watch her than laze about and sleep all day.
Who knew? He never asked questions about what she was doing or why. If she thought of him as any man she knew and not a dragon, she might say he was impressed with how well she was getting on without much help. He hunted the animals for her and brought her trees to chop, but that was pretty much it.
Impressed or not, she had her grandfather to thank for all of what she'd achieved so far. Holten had been an odd sort of fellow to most in the way he thought. Instead of the traditional 'men do men's work and women do women's work' mindset of most people, he wanted both of his grandchildren to know how to survive if the worst should happen. He taught them both tricks of his chosen trade, tannery, as well as other basic things such as what herbs to look for to heal wounds or stave off infection and which to avoid. He'd been a bit of a wanderer in his youth from what she understood. Never in her life did she expect to actually use any of what he taught her, but here she was, trapped on a mountain with a dragon as her only company and herself as her only real ally.
Smaug certainly wasn't going to make her clothes or chop firewood or anything like that. Even if he had the desire to, he was both too large, and simply not designed, to even try. Dragons were meant to steal and destroy, not to create.
At least she didn't have to make any sort of shelter. Carpentry was something she had no experience, not even old, second-hand lessons, to draw on. Sure, she knew how to make a basic lean-to, in theory, at least, but there really was no need for one. The cave served well enough on its own, but Smaug himself was a better shelter than anything she could scrape together. His wings blocked out all the wind and kept the warmth he radiated in. And his face, she'd found, was a surprisingly comfortable bed.
The top of his snout was mostly flat, and the curve of his brow was the perfect shape to lay her head on. And, of course, his snout was long enough that her legs didn't dangle off the end of his snout. Come to find out, and a great shock it was when she did, but the sound of his rumbly, growly breathing was quite relaxing to listen to. What surprised her more than that, though, was the fact he allowed it. An argument could be put forth that he simply didn't want her to stab him again—that thought still made her feel slightly guilty at how far she went—but there was never any annoyed huff or glare or complaint of any kind when she climbed onto his face to rest. He'd just go to sleep without a word.
His behavior lately had been...odd.
Actually, she'd noticed the shift the day after the incident. He'd been really quiet, moving to do whatever she ordered him to do without complaint and never meeting her gaze. She hesitated to call him a dog with its tail between its legs, but that's sort of what he'd reminded her of.
Now, however, there had clearly been another shift. Whatever had prevented him from meeting her gaze—again, she hesitated to say fear, but she called them as she saw them—had seemingly disappeared. Or lessened to such an extent that it no longer had the same grip on him.
After his singular attempt at talking to her a little over a week after the incident, when she'd promptly shut him down, he changed. No longer was he afraid to meet her gaze. When she told him to do something, he did it, though without the frantic energy as that first week. He wasn't afraid of her, but he was still doing what she asked without argument. He'd just give her a, "I'll be back shortly," before taking off to fetch what she needed.
It was an odd development, and one she hadn't really expected to happen. She had fully expected their new existence together to be full of constant struggle as they both attempted to one-up the other. But, no. Smaug was...cooperative. Shockingly so.
And it was that cooperation that had her sitting here next to her campfire as she awaited her latest meal of venison to cook—meat was turning out to be her primary source of nutrition—while trying to figure out...why? What was Smaug's angle? What did he have to gain from cooperating with her now? Was he simply biding his time until he found another opportunity to challenge her authority? Or 'punish her' as he put it?
The simple answer was that he simply respected her now, but she felt that was too naïve to seriously consider. There's no way a dragon—
"I do hope you like your venison well done." His voice brought her out of her thoughts, and it took a moment before his actual words registered. When they did, she looked to her food with a curse. The surface was starting to blacken, especially on the side facing the fire. Grabbing the stick she used as a skewer to cook her food on, she hurriedly pulled it away with a grimace. She'd forgotten to rotate it, so now one side was burnt, and the other side was cold and undercooked. With a sigh, she placed it back on the fire with the less-cooked side down. "Sssomething on your mind?" The way he said that, with the self-satisfied little hiss that he used when he seemed to think he knew something she didn't, made her sigh.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Hmm...you don't say...and here I was thinking you'd suddenly gone deaf." She lightly glared at him for pointing out how deep in her own head she was. Then, he frowned, and his tone grew a bit more annoyed. "Or were you simply ignoring me?"
She blinked. Had he been trying to get her attention for longer? "Were you trying to say something before?"
He huffed. "'Trying' suggests I was unable to. The more appropriate question is 'Was I trying to speak with you', in which case the answer is yes." He shifted a bit, now laying on his right side instead of his belly, and kicked his legs out to appear the very picture of relaxed. His tail came around until it came to rest on the other side of the fire, the tip disappearing into the darkness of the night. His neck lowered, curling entirely around the fire until his head rested upon the ground to her left, his eye trained on her. "Have you anything to say?"
She scoffed and glanced at him before returning her gaze to the fire. "I've nothing to say to you."
"I think otherwise..." he responded, making her glare at him. "But I will not press." He opened his mouth to say something, hesitated, closed it, glanced at her, and then finally spoke. "May I say something, Earyth?"
In the time they'd been together up here, she'd noticed that he only addressed her using her name whenever he was being serious. Most of the time, he just spoke to her without using it since there was no one else he would be talking to. She studied him for a moment, noticing his eye held no malice in it. Instead, he seemed to be silently pleading with her, though she knew he wouldn't put it that way. 'Dragons don't plead', he'd say.
The thought made her scoff to herself, but she nodded. "Go ahead."
He was silent for several moments before speaking. "Your hatred of me. Is it because of what I am or who I am?" That question came out of nowhere, it seemed like, and because of that, she was taken completely off guard. It took a moment to recompose herself, and then she just glared at him, though her mind was whirling as she tried to figure out what to say. Saying she didn't hate him was a complete lie, one that he would sniff out easily. As for the other two answers...she honestly didn't know. What he was seemed to play a big part in who he was, and vice versa. When several minutes had gone by without an answer, he hummed. "I do not expect an answer right now. Think on it as long as need. I am very interested in your thoughts."
He shut his eyes after that, and she turned back to the fire, thinking that was that. A quick check of her food showed that it was done, so she ate it without ceremony. She tossed what was left of the deer steak into the fire when she had her fill. "Wing," she commanded, and though his eyes remained shut, he raised his wing without hesitation.
The fire was enough to illuminate the bank of the stream, at least the part that was inside the cave. She washed her hands off in the near-freezing water before drying them on her pants quickly. After that, she stuck her hands under her armpits to warm them up as she made her way back to her former spot. As soon as she sat down, Smaug lowered his wing without needing a command. And this time, his eyes were open. "With my question posed to you, I ask again: Have you anything to say?"
She sighed heavily. "What's to say? More importantly, why do you care?"
"Can a dragon not desire conversation, too?" That answer made her glance at him. He had that smug look about him again. "And based on your earlier expressions, I would guess there are many things you wish to say to me. Vile things, no doubt. Insults and curses."
That made her scoff again, and she glared at him. This time, it carried heat with it now that her anger was rising. "And can you blame me?"
It was a rhetorical question, of course, so she was quite surprised when he actually answered. And doubly so when she realized what it was. "No." It was said so simply, so matter-of-factly that she actually did a double take at him, her anger immediately dissolving. "Your hatred of me is justified, though I still wish to know why." At that, her expression darkened. Upon seeing that, he corrected himself. "Make no mistake, I know the source of it. But my question remains: Is it because of what I am or who I am?"
With the second utterance of that question, her answer came to her. "I don't hate you just for being a dragon, Smaug, but I would have to be blind to not see most of your personality stems from what you are. You're arrogant, callous, self-obsessed, prideful, sadistic, and so many other things just because you think being a dragon somehow makes you better than everyone else."
That actually got a small growl out of him. "Look at me!" he hissed, raising his head slightly to glare down at her. "How am I not superior to other beings!?"
She met his glare with her own for several seconds. And then, without hesitation, she gave him his answer. "Because you lack compassion." He narrowed his eyes, though not necessarily in anger. Rather, he seemed thoughtful. "And empathy," she continued. "And any kind of morality."
"You've made your point," he snapped, cutting her off from continuing her list.
"That's your answer, then." That made him look at her again. "I hate who you are. Because who you are is a cruel and heartless tyrant."
He studied her intently for a long while before huffing. "Very well. I will not change who I am to make the world happy, but...I will...try to..." He growled at himself. "...Keep that in mind for your sake." He would try to change for her? The thought made her scoff. She'd like to see the day! "To start, and to prove I am being genuine for the first time in my life, I am...sorry for what I did to your family."
She studied him closely, looking for any sign that he had some ulterior motive for saying this. However, his gaze remained firmly on hers, and she could see no deception or malic in his eyes. Still... "I don't trust you. And you have a long way to go before I start. But for now...I accept your apology." He dipped his head in both acknowledgement and appreciation before laying it back down on the ground next to her. "But I'm still keeping an eye on you."
"I would expect nothing less," he smirked. Or maybe he smiled. It was hard to say seeing only one side of his face.
With that, he shut his eyes once again, and this time, she got the sense that they were going to stay closed until morning. He'd said his piece and gotten the answer he wanted. She hadn't ever expected him to apologize, and as she said to his face, she didn't trust him one bit. In fact, she trusted him even less now that he had since she doubted dragons ever felt guilty for past deeds. She certainly hadn't seen any guilt in his eyes when he apologized. To him, it'd just been words without real meaning behind them.
Time would tell if his 'promise' held any weight, she supposed. She highly doubted Smaug would ever truly change his ways, but maybe he would make small compromises. For her, he'd said. For her and no one else.
Maybe she wasn't being naïve, after all. Maybe this was respect.
She'd keep an eye on him, see how 'genuine' he actually was.
AN: I don't exactly blame Earyth for taking anything Smaug says with a truckload of salt. I myself am a dragon nut, and I absolutely love Smaug's character, but even I wouldn't trust him. At all.
So, is it really true that you can teach an old dog, or in this case old dragon, new tricks? Or does a snake never shed its scales?
Until Next Time
AdmiralCole22