I'm sorry this took so long. Exams are rubbish and I hate studying, but I really should do so much more before June. FML. Enjoy!

Words: 4,886
Chapter 08
It was Lanolar who first found the courage to ask, "Smaug is awake?"

Thranduil's valet was as pale as Thranduil himself; the skin of their faces almost see-through, the blood had flowed from their cheeks so fast. Hands shook and throats convulsed, and though Thranduil found that he couldn't breathe, Lanolar had no such problems. In fact, he found that he could breathe far faster than he needed to. Air rushed into his lungs in furious gulps, hurting his chest and making his eyes water and someone would have caught him when his legs gave out except that the others weren't any better off. Thranduil was still caught in Novourion's grasp, unable to collapse because the other Elf refused to let him go.

"Smaug is awake?" Lanolar asked again, panting the words out rather than saying them. His fingers curled into the dirt beneath him as he kneeled amongst his shaken fellows. The others talked amongst themselves, furious whispers that Novourion was lying mixed with terrified murmurs of 'what if he isn't?' until someone finally asked what Thranduil was too shell-shocked to ask.

"What do you mean the Consort is with the Wyrm?"

Novourion frowned angrily, shaking his King once more in frustration because no one seemed to be listening to him. But their panic had calmed his own, and this time he managed to explain himself properly. "The townspeople sent Harry to face Smaug alone, because one of them let the Consort and Prince Legolas take shelter in his house during the storm the night before Mereth Nuin Giliath. Harry agreed to lead the dragon away, and I tried to stop him but he was flying and some of the Men went to Erebor and some were supposed to find you, Sire, but I found you first, and you need to come and help Harry because I don't know what to do."

"He faces a dragon?" Was Thranduil's only response. It was soft and calm, as if the Elf didn't quite believe or understand what it was he was saying, because the normal reaction would have been blind panic and fear of death. But Thranduil didn't seem to mind that his mate could be dead, or dying as they spoke, or running for his life. In fact, Thranduil didn't seem to mind anything, even as Novourion awkwardly tried to haul the King back onto his Mereas, the guard sitting behind him to keep him on the saddle.

Novourion ordered the party to keep marching when Thranduil kept silent, his clenched jaw and pale cheeks the only sign that the King had been a part of that conversation at all. If Thranduil wouldn't take charge, then Novourion would have to. But at least now he wasn't alone.

XXX

Harry wasn't quite sure what to do when Smaug attacked.

One moment he had been lazily lying across the dragon's rather large head and the next he was rolling across the ground, thrown by one tremendous shake of his neck, and crashing into the trunk of a tree. His instincts said that he should pull out his wand and fight, but his aching head said that he should probably stay lying down until the world stopped spinning. When his vision cleared, Harry pulled out his wand, and crawled behind the tree trunk to keep well out of the way of Smaug's lashing tail. It cracked right through the trunk of the tree beside Harry's, knocking it fortunately in the other direction.

Some of the Orc's weren't so lucky though; they got crushed beneath the equally unfortunate plant.

Smaug's fire was hot and stank of brimstone and the trees around them began to crumble to ashes, the heat in the air alone enough to set them on fire. The dragon seemed bored, as it breathed fire in one direction and lashed out with its claws in another, or with its tail or its wings, swatting the Orc's down like wayward flies. Harry decided it would be best to stay clear; after all, he didn't want to get swatted by the dragon, nor did he want to deprive Smaug of his food... since it was him or the Orcs and he didn't fancy being eaten.

When the fighting was over, Harry inched his way around the trunk. His head poked out first, his hair frizzy from the heat making him look like he wore a porcupine as a hat. His wand came next, the tip glowing green in case he needed to defend himself, clutched in a white knuckled hand. "Smaug?" Harry called curiously, "how does Isildur's story end?"

"Well," came Smaug's sibilant reply, "drag those bodies over here and I'll tell you."

Gold eyes were fixed on the Orcs trapped under the fallen tree, and Harry followed the gaze until he could see their mangled corpses too. He didn't look for long: they hadn't been pretty in life and they certainly weren't pretty in death. With a wave of his wand the trunk floated away, dropping to the other side of the bodies and rolling a little way into the forest until it got stuck against two other trees, forming a barrier between Harry and the way he had come. The bodies were floated over next, piled on top of one another right beside Smaug, who didn't hesitate at all before descending upon them, swallowing three whole at once.

"Mmm," the dragon rumbled in satisfaction. "Not as nice as human, but makes a change from Dwarf."

Harry cringed, keeping his face turned away so he wouldn't have to see Smaug eat the others. It felt like forever, watching Smaug eat without chewing, only stopping to tell Harry a sentence more of his tale between 'bites'. They had only reached the part about Isildur fleeing on horse back along the river when Smaug ran out of Orcs to eat. He turned, yellow eyes narrowed and tongue flicking out teasingly between sharp rows of teeth.

"Still hungry?" Harry asked curiously, while mentally berating himself for having asked at all.

"Hmm, to eat you I wonder, Maiar. What would you taste of? I have not yet had an Istari, you know, I have never known the taste of them." The dragon was teasing, Harry realised with a deep sigh of relief. His eyes were wide and his jaw had gone slack and his wings had folded down at his sides again. His head lowered, inviting Harry to climb back on top, but at that movement something rustled in the bushes and Smaug tensed again, poised to attack.

"And you never will Wyrm!" Thranduil had moved so fast that Harry felt like he had blinked and the Elf had apparated in front of him in that millisecond. His sword was held ahead of him, tip pointed at Smaug's flaring nostrils; though he was pale and his hands were shaking, there was such a look upon the King's face that Harry knew the Elf hadn't been able to tell Smaug's threats from his humour.

"No! No!" The Wizard called, waving his arms wildly to keep the other Elves back. They began towards their King from the bushes, their plan to sneak up on the dragon made futile by Thranduil's loss of composure. "It's ok, Smaug. Thranduil is my mate, he's just worried about me. He doesn't mean anything by it, honest!" Aside, he muttered through clenched teeth, "put down your sword, Thranduil."

The Elf shot him such an incredulous look that Harry snorted, amused despite himself by the sight of it upon the usually so emotionless face. "Novourion," Harry continued, turning towards the guard who was in front of the rest of the Elves, "can you bring them back to Mirkwood please? Or Lake-Town, or somewhere but here please?"

"Your mate?" Smaug asked, head tilted to one side as he curiously studied the taller of the two males in front of him. "Little thing, isn't he?" The dragon continued, his voice pitched low and intentionally malicious as he continued to hiss insults. "Weak looking and fragile. How can he protect you? What of your hatchlings; how can he protect those with so little muscle?" He flexed his wings, as if to prove his point. The muscles along his sides and down his back rippled as his wings moved, and Thranduil and Harry both were knocked back a foot by the sudden press of air that beat against them.

Harry recovered first, shakily getting off of his backside and brushing himself down. "Well he's bigger than me!" Harry snapped, crossing his arms childishly. "And if you're going to be rude, I'll leave and hear the rest of your story from him!"

"Now don't be like that, little thief," Smaug jeered. With a snap of his jaws, Harry's cloak was caught between huge jagged teeth and Harry hung limply, stunned more so than afraid, as Smaug hefted him off of the ground and threw him into the air with one sharp flick of his long neck. Harry squeaked in surprise, which is to be expected when one finds themselves suddenly airborne; but Smaug caught him deftly, neck tensed to brace them both and wings raised to keep Harry from sliding off of his back.

His expeirences with Buckbeak and the thestral helped Harry recognize what Smaug planned to do, and it was instinct alone that made his arms wrapped tightly around as much of his neck as Harry could instead of jumping off as Smaug launched himself into the air.

"Put me down! Right this instant!" He scolded, pointing his finger the way he remembered Hermione pointing at Gwamp. Hermione had had more luck with the Giant. Smaug didn't fly away; rather he hovered out of reach of the Elves, smirking down at them with his shark-like grin, tongue flicking out teasingly as the Elves flustered amongst themselves. Thranduil looked ready to throw his sword into the air, but Novourion practically wrenched it out of his hands. Harry assumed it was so he wouldn't get hurt by accident, but it probably had more to do with a fear of pissing off the dragon with no chance of killing it. "This isn't funny!"

"It is for me, little thief."

"I'm not a thief!"

Smaug hummed softly, though not quite in agreement. He flapped his wings hard sending some of the Elves to their knees and making the others brace themselves, arms shielding their faces from the sudden hurricane of debris from the forest floor. "That was funny too," Smaug casually said.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his neck so long it could bend completely back on itself like the bend in the sink's drainage system (that Harry was sick of unblocking at home). His head rested on his shoulder, eyes staring straight at Harry. "Which of them is your hatchling? I might spare that one. I've not had Elf in eons."

"Don't be greedy! You just ate thirty of those creatures!" Harry had gone pale and his fingers curled in like hooks, digging beneath the joints of Smaug's scales anxiously.

"The filth wouldn't fill a hole in my tooth," Smaug scoffed, shaking his head imperiously. He chuckled in amusement then, large golden eyes rolling at the look of dismay Harry graced him with. "You were more fun when we were alone. Perhaps I should kidnap you and keep you all to myself? Regale you with my stories and let you bask in my presence?"

"Until you get hungry again?" Harry clenched his jaw. He fought not to gaze away from Smaug, not wanting the dragon to think he was afraid (even though he was terrified and probably reeked of fear), but he could hear Thranduil's voice rising above all of the others' below him and Harry very much wanted to smile down at his mate reassuringly (and make sure the Elf wasn't going to do anything stupid). But he didn't look away from Smaug; the same as he would never have turned his back on Buckbeak or met the eyes of a Basilisk.

"I do not think I would eat you, little thief. You amuse me, I admit. Perhaps not now, or tomorrow, or next year. But the future is something we neither can predict."

"So you are planning to eat me?" Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, mentally comparing Smaug to Dumbledore and cursing them both for not talking simply.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. But I will not eat your hatchlings for now either, nor your mate." Smaug's tail flicked out, catching a nest perched near the top of the closest tree and sending it flying, eggs and all, across the sky.

"My hatchlings aren't here," Harry admitted softly, "and Thranduil's hatchling is fully grown but also not here. These are my nest mates, not my children."

If Smaug had eyebrows, they would have been raised up off of his face. "So many of them?" The dragon snorted; smoke like a mushroom cloud from a bomb puffing from the end of each nostril and into Harry's face. "Such busy parents you must have had."

"It's a very big nest," Harry told him agreeably, instead of correcting him. He finally looked away from the dragon, turning to glance over the ridge of Smaug's large head at Thranduil and the others who waited fearfully below them.

Smaug dropped out of the sky as soon as Harry's attention was off of him. The Elves barely had the time to throw themselves out of the way, lest they be crushed, as Smaug's belly hit the ground with enough force to uproot trees and send an avalanche of dirt shooting out from under him. Harry was pale faced and wide eyed, clinging fearfully to the scales of Smaug's neck; fingers buried beneath them, hooked in tight as he trembled.

"Warn me next time!" The Wizard practically screamed. He was fond of flying and the adrenaline rushed was something he lived for, but falling to his death on the back of a dragon while crushing his mate to death? Not so much.

"Introduce me," Smaug ordered gleefully. He ignored Harry's shaking, and the way his legs kept kicking along his back as the man fought to calm himself down. He ignored the shrieks and threats of the Elves, and the way most of them had to scramble back (again), on their hands and knees to get out of his way as he made himself comfortable. Smaug wiggled in the dirt until his tail was curled around himself, tucked under his head like a pillow, and his legs were curled beneath his belly. Harry slid carefully off of the creature, making his way warily to Thranduil: Smaug made no move to snatch him back, just watched him calmly and silently and Harry allowed himself to walk that little bit faster.

"King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm." Harry reached out to take hold of Thranduil's hand. The Elf had dropped his sword when he had thrown himself out of the path of the hurtling dragon, and he was stopped from reaching it (crouched down and inching his fingers across the ground) by Harry's hands taking both of his. "My mate. Thranduil, this is Smaug the terrible." He paused then, a soft smile on his mouth as he thought of something he had heard a long, long time ago. Still smiling, Harry added: "great, but terrible."

"These are some of Thranduil's kin, his nest mates," Harry continued, emboldened by the Elves' lack of screaming. "When I came across you, I was actually on my way to Erebor and Thranduil and the others were coming to make sure I was safe. But I'm sure they're pleased to run into you along the way?"

Thranduil's breath came too fast to be normal and his face was too pale, his hands too clammy. Harry remembered the scar across the King's face, the burn that had peeled off the skin along the left side and the milky whiteness of the blinded eye. They weren't real scars, for those had healed a lifetime ago: no, these were scars upon the soul, for Elves were easily marred by such things as grief and terror and suffering. Thranduil's fea had suffered more terribly than his flesh had, struck by his own injuries and the sight of his mother burning to death before him, of his people dying and his brother falling soon after, and it was more than he could ever recover from; as deep and as permanent as the loss of a mate. If it had not been for his duties as Prince, or his father's injuries that meant Thranduil had to finish the war for him, or for the fact that his sight had been saved, the battle eventually won, and the dragons driven back to the pit they had spawned from, Harry thought the Elf would have already faded. When asked once, Thranduil had not denied it, and Harry hadn't wanted to ask again to hear him confirm it.

"Thranduil," Harry whispered, mouth against the fear-flushed cheek that had once been burnt by dragonfire, "I am here. You are safe." Smaug snorted at that, easily overhearing, but he didn't contradict the Wizard either.

The Elf seemed to inflate at that. His shoulders straightened and his spine stiffened and his lip took on that familiar disdainful curl. His fingers squeezed around Harry's own, grounding himself with the touch of his fea-meldor, safe and warm beside him. Beside him, Thranduil repeated the thought to himself, and not beside Novourion!

Thranduil tilted his head to one side, eyes roaming across Smaug's form lazily from his snout to his wings and down to his belly and back up to his tail that beat the ground beside his grinning teeth. "So, dragon, what business have you in my woods?" He drawled, lip curling in distaste as he awaited an answer.

"Your woods," Smaug repeated what Thranduil had once asked Legolas teasingly, though the dragon sounded far more irritated by the wording.

"My woods," Thranduil confirmed, accompanied by an angry narrowing of his eyes.

Smaug said nothing in reply. Instead, he gave a slow roll of his large eyes, mockingly poking the tip of his tongue out so that it rested at the seam of his lipless mouth. Thranduil narrowed his eyes further, insulted by Smaug's smugness but also irritated by his inability to react to it. He couldn't fight a dragon, and he wouldn't risk the lives of his kin or his mate by trying. So, Thranduil kept silent, keeping eye contact with the creature, whose lip pulled back a little further with every second of silence that passed.

Eventually Harry spoke, sighing loudly first before he said: "Yes, his woods." Smaug's eyes shot towards the Wizard, turning from yellow to gold with anger, but Harry spoke on, ignoring the dangerous look Smaug had fixed him with. "You haven't told me the rest of Isildur's story yet, and I brought you over the Orcs from under the tree!" And because Harry remembered how badly Smaug had reacted to the notion of him being a liar during one of his stories that Harry had criticised, and how very much the dragon seemed to dislike the idea of Harry being a liar, the Wizard said: "Fulfil your promise. Oathbreaker."

"I am no oathbreaker!" The dragon roared.

Fire shot from the dragon's nostrils, burning out almost immediately and leaving nothing but heat and smoke behind. Thranduil couldn't stop himself from flinching, and though Harry's nails dug into the palms of his hands he managed not to throw himself out of the way. Smaug could probably smell the blood though, because he snorted, mouth curving up and anger vanishing; other peoples' fear always put him in a better mood.

"Prove it then," Harry said, sounding more brave than he felt. He moved away from Thranduil, not wanting the Elf to get hurt if Harry manged to piss Smaug off enough to hurt him.

The dragon stared at him unblinking, for what felt like forever but was only the time it took for his heart to pound furiously in his chest twice. Legs curled under his body, tail tucked up by his head again, Smaug made himself comfortable on the forest floor before he continued his tale from where it had last been interrupted. It was the strangest story-telling Harry had ever experienced, and that included watching Ron awkwardly try to read a Muggle fairytale to James when the child was too young to care and Ron to magical to understand it. The Elves were too afraid to leave, but too wary to get comfortable. Thranduil was as stiff as a board, between them and Harry, who had once more curled up upon the creature's broad head. Green eyes kept Thranduil's gaze, hoping that would be enough to keep the King calm and his knees pressed into Smaug's throat, every time the dragon gazed towards the Elves with interest, warningly.

When the story was over, and Isildur had been shot in the river, the One Ring lost to the water, Smaug stood up fluidly. Harry stayed seated, though his arms flailed momentarily as his brain fought to distinguish between now and a moment ago when he was comfy and lying flat. "Come then," Smaug beckoned, already walking away from the Elves, "help me oust the Dwarves from my Kingdom."

Harry wasn't quite sure that that was what Thranduil had in mind, but he wasn't stupid enough to say it. Instead he channelled his inner Hermione, and tried to think of something diplomatic to say, or do, because if Smaug and the Dwarves could play nice (and not kill each other), Harry didn't see why they couldn't just share the mountain?

XXX

The Dwarves of Erebor would not be pleased to see the dragon come back.

Nor, mind you, were the people of Lake-Town.

When the dragon had not returned, and no Elves had come running from the forest chased by fire, the humans had felt it safe enough to row their boats back towards their houses. Only half of them had reached the wooden jettys that passed for 'land' in their town when the first cry went up. It started with a child, pointing and screaming "MOTHER!" and was swiftly followed by his mother's cry of "DRAGON!" It spread like wild fire, each person glancing warily up at the sky and then shouting the warning to those who had yet to see for themselves; meaningless as everyone had surely heard the first, just as they could hear Smaug's wings beat the air above them, but it made them feel better to scream.

Smaug soared towards them, tail cracking like a whip behind him, red against the sky, parting the clouds and setting them on fire as sunlight spilled in through the gaps. His wings were large and leathery, scaled and shining, like his underbelly which was covered everywhere with solid gold coins worn like chainmail. His teeth were bared, roaring perhaps, threatening the humans he so swiftly came towards (but in actual fact he was telling another story, about the town when he had first come to Erebor).

The only difference between now and the Smaug they had run from hours earlier was the Istari who stood upon his back. Harry had one leg at the base of Smaug's neck, right where it curved to meet his back, foot sideways for better purchase. His other leg was a little further back, shoe-covered toes curling into his wing joint, using the gap between wing and shoulder to hold himself in place. His arms were spread wide, like a surfer riding the tide, and he was grinning widely one moment and scowling the next as Smaug reminisced about how many houses he had burned on his way passed centuries ago.

"Well don't burn any this time," Harry ordered sternly. The wind rushing through his hair made him giddy, made him think about his Firebolt and his old Nimbus 2000 and of Buckbeak; made him too happy to really be angry.

Behind them, on horses, came the royal guard of Mirkwood. Thranduil and his Mearas were at the front, with his standard bearers directly behind him, followed by the rest of the Elves. Novourion kept his distance from the King. He should have been closer, as Harry's personal guard he should have been as close to where Harry would be seated as possible, but, well, Thranduil still thought they had run away together according to Lanolar: but that was something Harry could take care of later. Novourion wouldn't touch that issue with a ten-foot lance.

Two guards were riding together, one side-saddle and the other behind him with his hands on the reigns. The horse they had vacated carried the bodies of the two men that had run into the forest to find an Elf to warn the King about the dragon. They were dead, slit from throat to navel by morgul blades, the flesh having had enough time to rot at the entry point before the shock and blood loss had killed them. It was accepted by the Elves that the Orcs must have found the men before they had found Smaug. But that didn't stop one of the men, hidden in a tree watching for danger, from jumping to conclusions.

The human notched his arrow and loosed it at the Elf who was guiding the horse that carried the corpses. The Elf heard the arrow escaping its bow, and turned his head to the side just in time to avoid getting speared through the neck. The Elves directly behind him pull on their own reigns, drawing their horses to a stop as they used their free hands to pull free their bows from where they were tied to their backs. Ahead of them, Thranduil stopped too. He turned back to face his kin, eyes narrowing and mouth drawn into a tight line, before he jumped from his horse, narrowly avoiding the arrow Bard sent towards him.

The Bowman was crouched behind one of the houses, the next arrow's head peeking out around the edge as Bard drew himself back, but not far enough to avoid an Elf's eyes. Thranduil drew his sword, knocking the next arrow away easily before it could reach him. His kin had managed to drag the human out of the tree by the time Thranduil had managed to reach Bard and wrench the bow out of his hands.

"You dare?" He snarled at the human.

"You betrayed us!" Bard shouted, just as furious as Thranduil was. "What were we supposed to do? Lie on our backs and bellies while your whore and your dragon slay us all?"

Thranduil's hand struck like a cobra, the crack of his palm against Bard's cheek loud enough to startle his kinsmen. "You dare?" He hissed this time, eyes narrowed into slits and lips pulled back in a snarl as the words escaped him through the gaps between his gritted teeth. Thranduil hit him again, hard enough to knock the human to the floor, where he knelt on one knee with the other leg collapsed under him, shaking away the ringing in his ears. The insult to his mate was too much, too far a slight to be forgiven, and the other Men seemed to realise that Bard had done something very, very wrong, for the small handful of them there were came out of hiding and threw their weapons down at King Thranduil's feet.

The people in the boats stayed huddled together, and those on the jettys raised their hands in the air in a silent plea for mercy. Above them all, Smaug circled the town twice, with Harry on his back staring curiously down at his lover.

"No wonder none of them have tried to kill me," Smaug mused, sounding far more amused than he had a right to. "You're all too busy trying to kill each other." When he laughed, it was like thunder rolling down the mountain, loud and heavy, startling the birds from the trees and the Men who were bowing into falling over and making the Elves tense again in fear.

Thranduil gave no reaction this time, too focused on the face of the Man who had called his fea-meldor a whore. When he spoke, his voice was soft again. The same silky tone that irritated Harry as much as it aroused him; his face, no longer flushed in anger nor bleached by terror, was calm and smiling softly, just a flick up at one corner of his mouth like he knew something no one else did and couldn't hide how smug that made him; the brightness of his eyes that meant he was about to enjoy something, at someone else's expense.

"The creature is not my dragon, mortal. Though, he is rather fond of my mate," Thranduil said, emphasising the last word and enjoying the flinch the human gave in response. One finger pressed lightly across both of his pink lips, the tip curling just under his nose, to give the impression that Thranduil was thinking hard about some matter of importance, and when the finger was moved so that his hands could cup each other behind the Elf's back as he turned away from his prisoner, Thranduil added, "more's the pity for you."

XXX

Keep in mind that in the book, it was Bard who wanted to go to war with Thorin over the gold; Thranduil wanted to sit and wait until the Dwarves came begging for food. He was patient (though he did admit to not minding having to kill them all), and Bard was blood thirsty and rash. Harry is… Harry, what can I say, he was good at Care of Magical Creatures?