A/N: Hello! Littlesparrowkeet here. This is my first time posting a story, so please be gentle! Summary: basically Bilbo is a Dragon with a vendetta against Smaug.

DISCLAIMER: The characters and the Hobbit universe belongs to J.R.R Tolkien (and the movie company) and does not belong to me. (And it never will)

24/1/16: Fixed some errors with the help of my beta, windlances :)

Chapter 1

Long ago, in an age so distant that only the oldest elves could recall it, there lived a forgotten race. The Children of the Sky, they were named, just as the dwarves were the Children of the Stone and the elves the Children of the Stars. They were peaceful, prosperous, and so secretive that they were considered little more than a myth. But the dragons were no myth. They kept to themselves, dealing with elves and skin-changers and other races now long extinct. An occasional human or dwarf may have glimpsed them, but the existence of this great race was largely unknown.

In ancient times, it was recorded that dragons were skilled in the arts. Language, music and artworks were their forte. It remains a well-known truth that dragons all have hoards of their own, but during the Great Age it was neither gold nor princesses which they so jealously guarded, but musical instruments, books, and their great reserves of knowledge.

The dragons knew that the other races would fear them, for they were more powerful and immense than any other; so they hid themselves from the world to safeguard their lives. As with all other races, both good dragons and bad dragons existed. A small number of them, a mere handful of youngsters, loved gold and yearned for power and recognition — for they believed that dragons were superior, and they desired the respect of the other races. The elders warned them against this desire, for it was a fierce and jealous one. They remained wary of the dissenters but foolishly hoped that the youngsters would eventually forego their dark wishes and settle down.

This hope was false.

When Morgoth rose during the First Age, with a group of foul dragons led by Ancalagon The Black, the race of dragons fell. For dragons, whether good or bad, were known for their complacency; they were not prepared for the young dragons to have turned to Sauron, the promise of gold and power tainting their minds and twisting them into Servants of Morgoth. Nor were the dragons prepared for Morgoth's tremendous power to enslave their minds and bend their wills.

The dragons made their first dark appearance during the First Age, and became known to all races not as the peaceful Children of the Sky, but as Morgoth's most powerful Servants.

— excerpt from "The Forgotten Tales of the Dragonkin."

Bilbo was standing at his door after breakfast, smoking his pipe, when he smelt something distinctly un-hobbitish. He paused and sniffed the air curiously. It was rare to have a new scent in the Shire, since hardly any Big Folk or visitors came by. A tall figure (tall for a hobbit) paused at his gate, and Bilbo groaned. No wonder the scent smelt unique! It had been years since Gandalf last visited, so he was slightly unrecognisable at first. Bilbo looked away and willed Gandalf to move on. Of course, the Grey Wizard never did what Bilbo wanted him to. Gandalf meant trouble, and adventure, which Bilbo would like to avoid, thank-you-very-much.

But Gandalf stayed at his gate, and coughed with increasing volume until Bilbo could no longer ignore him without being blatantly obvious. A few centuries back he would not have cared about being rude, but living with hobbits had taught him some manners, not to mention he had a reputation to uphold now. And he may have owed Gandalf a favour or two.

Bilbo feigned surprised and looked up. "Why, I didn't see you there! That cough sounds horrid, did you pause to ask for a cough drop?"

Gandalf quirked an eyebrow. "Both you and I know that you noticed me long ago, Bilbo Baggins," he commented before letting himself in.

Bilbo sighed. "Can't blame me for trying," he mumbled miserably, setting aside his pipe. He knew what was coming next: Gandalf would offer an adventure, or have some unexpectedly urgent news that required Bilbo's help, and his entire day would be ruined. His entire month would be ruined, if he was unlucky enough. It was expected, and any minute now he would—

"I have an adventure for you."

There. How predictable.

"No," Bilbo declared flatly, "I haven't recovered from the previous adventure you sent me on. I believe I've been traumatised enough, thank you."

Gandalf looked bemused. "But the last adventure you had was fifty years ago!"

"Yes, and the image of burly men in short skirts batting their eyelashes while attempting to flirt has not yet been erased from my mind. So no."

Gandalf tried to disguise his laughter into a cough. Bilbo glared at him.

"If you're looking to share an adventure with a hobbit, there are a few young lads and lasses down the road much more suitable than this old man."

"Bilbo my lad, you are only thirty-five years old."

"My body is physically fifty! And I'm five hundred and thirty-one!"

"In dragon-years, which is about thirty-five in hobbit years."

"Regardless, I'm not interested in an adventure. Good morning, and goodbye." Bilbo stood and made his way to his door.

"Cyadhon." Gandalf's tone was serious, and Bilbo paused, partly due to Gandalf's tone and partly because no one had addressed him by that name in over fifty years. "This may be quite serious. It may involve...another of your kin."

He inhaled sharply. "Tomorrow. Come tomorrow for tea."

Gandalf tipped his hat in acknowledgement. "Cook for thirteen more, Bilbo. Others may come knocking."

Bilbo's reply was another groan and the slam of his door.

He had spent the whole day cooking, for he did not know exactly who would come, and Bilbo always preferred having an abundance of food over too little. The table was set with Belladonna's best china plates specially reserved for guests.

The doorbell rang just as he placed down the last plate of pie, and his sharp nose caught a whiff of dwarf as he hurried to the door. He stilled. Dwarf? Gandalf invited dwarves over? What is wrong with that old sod?

Bilbo took a deep breath, faintly contemplating simply running out the back door while he still had the chance to, before dismissing the idea. It was just a dwarf, nothing he could not handle. With that he yanked open the door.

The dwarf had a blue beard tucked into a golden belt, and very bright eyes beneath his dark-green hood. Two axes were strapped to his back.

"Dwalin, at your service," he said with a bow, after hanging his cloak onto the nearest peg.

"Bilbo, at yours," he replied, before ushering him to the kitchen with the promise of a feast. Despite not liking dwarves, Bilbo was still a host, and had to be polite. Dwalin's eyes widened at the sight of the table full of food and he dug in in without another word. He ate with a relish that made Bilbo smile slightly, although his whole body was still tense. A dwarf. In his smial. Eating his food. Oh, he was going to have a few words with Gandalf about this.

It was not long before the doorbell rang again, this time by a dwarf with a white beard and a scarlet cloak who introduced himself as Balin. Two dwarves who were obviously siblings — Fili and Kili — were next. Bilbo stopped them from cleaning their feet on Belladonna's glory box — Oh, the horror! How dare they! He could rip out their throats for defiling his hoard! — and directed them to a corner to deposit their weapons. He wanted answers, he was getting impatient, and where is that meddling wizard? Bilbo growled softly and flexed his fingers, testing the sharp edges of his nails, when the doorbell rang for the fourth time, and incessantly. These dwarves' manners were non-existent.

"Wait, wait, I'm coming—" he huffed and wrenched the door open.

A pile of dwarves fell on top of him.

Bilbo took in deep breaths and reminded himself that Gandalf would give him that terribly disappointed look if he killed a dwarf or two. He shoved them off him and narrowed his eyes at the wizard at the doorstep. He still had the nerve to smirk!

Bilbo jerked his head towards the kitchen and the dwarves needed no further prompting. He yanked Gandalf to a corner, nails digging into the wizard's arm. "Why are there dwarves — dwarves! — in my smial? You know very well that I - don't - play - well - with - dwarves," he hissed.

Gandalf smiled benignly at him. "They are essential, and you will not come to harm, worry not."

"You didn't tell them?" Bilbo's eyes flared with gold.

"They needn't know."

"One more thing. They cleaned their shoes on Bella's glory box."

"Oh," was Gandalf's quiet reply. He knew the ferocity of dragons guarding their hoard. There came the distinct sound of a chair breaking, and Bilbo turned to see Bungo's old chair in splinters. The dwarf with the generously round figure stood up and cursed the chair for being weak.

Bilbo pinched the bridge of his nose and reminded himself that not only would Gandalf be upset if he killed the dwarf, Bungo and Bella would have been thoroughly disappointed with him as well.

Gandalf winced apologetically. "It can be fixed, probably," he offered. Bilbo levelled him with a glare that would have sent lesser men running in the opposite direction.

"You better make sure it's fixed," he snarled, trembling slightly and resisting the urge to lunge at the wizard.

The doorbell rang again and Bilbo sighed. The rest of the dwarves hushed, thus informing Bilbo that the last member was probably the leader or someone of equal importance. Goodness, why couldn't the dwarves meet up before coming together and save him the trouble of opening the door multiple times?

Once again, Bilbo took a deep breath to calm himself down before turning the doorknob.

The dwarf that stood there cut a strikingly imposing figure. He was taller than most of his kin, and Bilbo barely reached his shoulders. A thick brown coat was draped around him and a sword hung at his waist. His piercing blue eyes stared harshly at Bilbo, sending a shiver down his spine; Bilbo had to admit that he looked handsome for a dwarf, in a rugged sort of way. The perpetual frown ruined it a little — yet truly outstanding was the way this dwarf carried himself, wearing confidence like a second skin. His eyes were world-weary, tired, and filled with guilt, but blazed with a grimly fiery determination to succeed in whatever he wished to. They reminded Bilbo of his parents' eyes as they fought teeth and claw to protect him and his sister, and he felt a sudden rush of empathy for this dwarf, which he clamped down upon tightly.

The dwarf looked down his hawk-like nose and inclined his head slightly. "Thorin Oakenshield, at your service."

Bilbo had heard of him, heard of this king-without-a-kingdom, the homeless Prince of Erebor. So that's what this is about, he realised, they want to reclaim The Lonely Mountain. He refused to cower or show any sign of weakness — not even to royalty. He was a dragon and dragons feared no one (with the possible exception of Morgoth and Sauron and greater evils, but that was beside the point). "Bilbo, at yours," he nodded back, voice equally cold.

Thorin Oakenshield took a step closer, forcing Bilbo to step back or risk hitting his chest. He swept a glance around the smial before commenting that he had encountered difficulty in finding it. Bilbo very nearly rolled his eyes at that — clearly this dwarf king had no sense of direction. No one — no one — got lost in the Shire. Maybe that's why he needs a hobbit to find his way home, Bilbo sniggered internally.

Thorin was back to assessing Bilbo, and had made a weird enquiry about his weapon of choice.

Teeth, fire and claws, but daggers will suffice, Bilbo had wanted to snarl, but he repressed the urge to bite off the obnoxious dwarf's head and came up with a relatively stupid reply about conkers.

Thorin Oakenshield's comment about Bilbo seemingly being a grocer was met with Bilbo baring his teeth at him. Handsome or not, this king was getting on his nerves.

"And your lack of manners is unbecoming for a king," he purred dangerously. The hopelessly rude dwarf king was stunned momentarily. The other dwarves gasped, seemingly waiting for their king to snap. Bilbo merely arched an eyebrow.

With the smallest glimmer of respect hidden in his eyes, Thorin Oakenshield bowed his head slightly. "Pardon me, Master Bilbo. I heard there's food?"

Bilbo smiled again, less sharply this time, and led him to the kitchen.

He would give them a chance. One chance, to prove to him why he should aide them in their quest.

End of Chapter 1.

Sooo how's it? I may have changed their characters a bit, heh. And randomly took Bilbo's dragon name from a dragon-name generator.

Reviews will be great :)

-littlesparrowkeet