Hi there, I'm new here, so don't bite. I have a fondness for dragons and writing. I've written stories for myself before, but this is my first time publishing. The Hobbit movies got me inspired, especially Smaug. I'm super critical of my own writing, so I'm not the best judge, but I hope you like it :)

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It is strange to put these thoughts on paper and write them as they come to me.

Until now, I have only written down inventories, keeping record of my King's riches. Since these riches are near infinite, I have spent these past years collecting and recollecting everything I have seen. He has asked me to perform this laborious task for as long as I live and I, his humble tenant, must oblige.

But the other day, I felt quite ill.

I never get bored under the mountain, you see. There is too much my eye dwells on, there is too much to do. There is no time for idle thoughts. But I do get sad from time to time.

And yesterday, I felt so sad I had to lie down in my nook. I near sobbed my heart out.

Luckily, my King did not hear me. He is still in deep sleep.

I suppose I cried because it was my birthday. I knew, privately, that I was turning twenty, but I don't believe anyone else, my King included, did.

And why should they? No one knows I'm here. No one knows I exist.

Sixteen years of living under the mountain. I do not remember the colour of the sky anymore. I haven't seen it in so long. I haven't breathed in any other air since I was four. And I've never been as sad as I was yesterday.

My absence from the world of the living never bothered me before.

It must be something about turning such a round age.

No matter. I know I will die here. But I've decided that I will remedy my sadness by writing it down. I will invent a friend. I will keep a journal.

First I should tell you something about myself. I ought to make introductions. My name is Cinta. My King named me as soon as I was delivered to the mountain. I had no name before that time. He told me Cinta means "small" and that I should be grateful to own it.

"Of my riches, you are the smallest, Cinta," he said.

I am grateful to him. He did not kill me. He offered me shelter.

When that old woman left me at the doors of Erebor, I was only four. I cried and screamed so hard that I thought my voice would give out. She pushed me inside and the doors swung shut behind me before I even knew where I was. I beat at the stone with my tiny fists, clawed at it with my fingers in despair, but to no avail.

I could not leave. I was trapped inside the mountain.

I thought the dragon would eat me. I was sure. That's what all dragons do.

But he didn't.

I was too small to hide from him. I couldn't keep from crying and wailing as children are wont to do.

I only went silent when I first saw him.

Even now, when I recall, I cannot understand how it was that I never heard him.

I was kneeling on the cold stone floor and I had my head buried in my lap and everything was quiet all around me.

He snuck up on me like a shadow. I never heard his serpent body slither towards me. I never heard or felt his gale-like breath around me. I did not hear his grunts as he pushed through the halls of his palace. I did not hear anything.

I cried for so long that I almost fell asleep with dried tears on my eyelashes.

And I would have slept and fallen into a dream and maybe, like him, I would have gone on sleeping for centuries.

But it was not to be.

"What is this? A thief? It does not look like one!"

The booming voice was deep and thunderous, but it wasn't loud.

I remember even now I was not startled, even though I was terribly afraid.

I lifted my head slowly and was met with an astonishing sight. A pair of glowing yellow eyes. I had never seen anything like it. They were as large as two suns and they were staring straight at me. They gave off such a mesmerizing light that I felt I was under a spell. I did not dare look at the rest of him, but I felt his gigantic body all around me.

"A cub under the mountain! Barely a suckling! A dwarf's child, is it? No, I don't smell the tainted flesh of dwarves. Is it a Man's then? But look how small it is!"

I huddled on the floor, trying to make myself even smaller, but my eyes were glued to his.

"Why, I can't even swallow it. What's the use of it? I can't burn it to ashes, either," he spoke again, contemplating my tiny frame.

His body suddenly moved away from me, and I could see his gigantic mouth, his angry snout, the nostrils thrumming with smoke, his sharp teeth gnashing against each other. There was no end to his body. I only saw an ocean of red scales.

I started whimpering, my four year-old self guessing more than knowing that these may be my last moments. I had no notion of death. I did not know if it hurt. I did not know if it didn't. I only knew I wanted to keep looking at those two suns, because if I did that, I could pretend nothing else existed.

"Can you speak, small one?"

I choked on a cry.

"Answer me!" he bellowed and his voice filled the cavernous halls and made me shrink. I put my head in my lap again.

"What accursed Man left you here?" he inquired, his hot breath making the locks of hair around my face fly up and down.

I snuck a peek at him and felt tears smarting in my eyes again.

"P-please don't eat me," I mumbled, feeling my throat close up from terror.

The dragon before me let out a sigh.

"There is nothing of you to eat. You are too small."

I lifted my head and wiped the tears, but more came running down my cheeks.

"I want to go home! I want to go home! Please, let me go home!"

The dragon snorted, blowing a hot current that almost knocked me over.

"Stupid youngling. You are surely some Man's foolish daughter. I am not keeping you here. I like my solitude."

"Please go away!" I wailed, hugging my knees to my chest.

The dragon growled upset. "Me?! It is you who must leave!"

"But – but the doors won't open! I can't move them!" I cried desperately.

"Then the Man who brought you must take you away."

I sniffed. "She won't come back. She said I'm no good. She said I'm b-bad."

I heard him make a deep sound in his throat, but I didn't know what it meant.

"How bad can a little vermin be?" he asked and I saw his nostrils flaring.

"She said I'm bad," I repeated, remembering her words. "She said I have no mommy and daddy."

He growled again. "Nonsense. Everyone has a mother and father."

I shook my head. "She said not me. She said I can't come back with her. But I want to go home! I want to go home!"

The dragon suddenly rose to his full height. He rose higher and higher, until his eyes were looking down at me from the ceiling. His red scales glinted like fire.

"Well, then. It would seem this is your home now."

The first two years, I thought someone would come and fetch me. I even thought the old woman would come back, though I bore her no fondness. But no one came.

Smaug, King Under the Mountain, told me that no one dared enter his lair. Only reckless thieves would be stupid enough to try it, but those did not usually leave a child on his doorstep.

After that, I stopped hoping. I stopped thinking about it. I received a name. I grew less afraid of the dragon that had not eaten me. I was small and I was content to be small.

I found that the dwarves had left behind them great provisions of food and drink. At first, Smaug brought food to me, barrels of mead and meat, and that is how I knew he was not going to kill me. He was going to raise me. Then, he gave me permission to walk about the Halls. There was a labyrinth of corridors and great columns of stairs, all carved in the same austere fashion, with symbols and letters that were a mystery to me. There were deep and dark passages that led into the heart of the mountain and, if you were to believe Smaug, once you ventured on that journey, you never came back. I was never to stray too far from the Great Hall of Thráin, the lowest Hall in Erebor. That is where he sleeps now.

I cannot tell you if there is a more wondrous place on Middle Earth than the Great Hall of Thráin. I have laid my eyes on it every single day for the past sixteen years, yet every time, I am left a little breathless. All the jewels, gems and coin the world has in its possession are to be found here. They are all piled up high in heaps and heaps of gleaming gold, rubies, sapphires, emeralds and diamonds. Here you will find stardust and white stones that seem to have been wrenched from the bosom of the night sky; here you will find black stones made of glass that can never break, but which can cut through steel. Here you will find metals you cannot touch or look upon, for they would turn you blind or drive you mad. Most of their names have been forgotten, but they whisper from every arch, every pillar and every beam. It's as if they have taken the shape of this very Hall. Sometimes I feel I can breathe in all this gold, all this richness, and it leaves me dizzy. It is a vast ocean of wealth that defies the imagination.

But that is not all. As a child growing up, I found many other wonders that better suited my curiosity. There were many ancient books and tomes that were hidden underneath the mounds of gold. That is how I learned to read and write. There were also chests filled with fine cloth from which I fashioned some clothes. I also found wooden boxes filled with all sorts of instruments the dwarves used in their affairs. Most of them were made to sharpen or mould precious stones, but some I took as toys and played with, in the absence of dolls and other children. The small desk I am writing on and other pieces of furniture I collected along the way.

If what I describe sounds rather fanciful, I must apologize. I am not endowed with such powers as to do justice to these magnificent Halls. Nor am I capable of convincing you that it was not a prison. I may have cried the other day, but I don't normally cry. Because my home has never been an awful one.

I had more than any child could have growing up.

And my King was, in many ways, my father.

I was raised by a dragon, but if I told anyone else, they wouldn't believe me. Sometimes, I don't believe it myself.

But I cannot doubt it, because every morning I wake up to the sound of his peaceful snoring and when I walk into the Great Hall, I see his great sleeping form, welcoming me back.

He has been asleep for seven years now.

I last saw those glowing yellow eyes when I was just thirteen. But I have kept my word to him and I have continued keeping his books, writing down the names of his riches.

I would not, in any case, dare to disobey him. I do not fear him anymore, not as I used to when I was only four, but I am still deeply aware that my life is his to use and his to dispose of.

I suppose this is my only act of rebellion; this journal.

I think I am entitled to a friend. I haven't spoken to a living soul in seven years and even I, Cinta, the smallest of the small, get lonely sometimes.

Of course, you're probably wondering; do I wish he would wake up?

I could not possibly answer. When I lie awake at night, I sometimes miss his presence and his deep, soothing voice. It is a monster's voice, but he has been my only parent, after all. For nine years of my life, he took care of me, spoke to me and told me many tales, taught me many lessons.

But then I think how time passes and how I'm getting older. It's already been seven years. He may sleep for a whole century, for all I know. I might die in that time and perhaps he would still slumber. So I think I'd rather he did not wake at all. Let him sleep while I roam free and alone under the mountain. I think of these Halls as my own. And I take comfort in this knowledge. I am not a nobody, after all. I have everything I could ever want.

It is only at times I get sad, but I have you for that from now on. And we shall make a lovely pair.

If I am to keep record of all my King's riches, then I must keep a record of myself too, the smallest of the small. I shall tell you how a dragon raised me.

Good? Bad? Please let me know :)