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Bilbo felt a vague sense of unease as Thorin stared the dragon down. Thorin was as handsome as ever, but there was a stubborn gleam in his eyes that Bilbo had long learned could be a source of trouble.
“The dwarves deserve to have the Arkenstone displayed in a place of pride, not hidden away,” Thorin growled.
“Greed is pervasive and powerful, dwarf. It compels and seduces. Trust a dragon to know greed, Thorin Oakenshield,” Smaug said with grave finality. “The Arkenstone shall be kept safe with me, and you shall never fall to the darkness that curses it.”
Bilbo could see how tightly Thorin’s fists clenched upon hearing the fell dragon’s words, and he hastened to try to smooth things over. “Thorin, perhaps it’s for the best. You cannot ask for a better guard for the treasure of the dwarves than the great and terrible Smaug.”
Thorin ground his teeth and stormed out of the golden chamber without a second glance backward, feet sinking into the coins and jewelry and assorted treasures with gravity, only for each shift in the pile of treasure to immediately settle back, leaving little trace of his footsteps.
“Do you truly think the gold madness would take ahold of him?” Bilbo asked the dragon quietly.
“I am not in the habit of lies, little hobbit. It already has anchored itself in him; he would not be so desperate to wrest that one gem from me otherwise, risking both your ire and mine.” Smaug laid his large head next to Bilbo, eyeing him lazily. “I will keep our bargain; an investment now on future splendor returned. That bargain is for naught if the erstwhile King Under The Mountain devolves into an obsessive creature hoarding the one gem and slashing at all who dare pass his gaze.” That massive eye staring at him slid shut. “I will not have one treasure harm another, not when you both delight me so. Now, do sit your plump self on my muzzle and scratch my nose.”
Bilbo smiled wryly and made the awkward climb onto Smaug’s head, fully aware of the sharp teeth in the maw below him. The dragon was a surly one, and it was only Bilbo’s silver tongued desperation that had yielded the current state of affairs. Smaug was now the only dragon in existence to possess living treasure; death came easy to such great and terrible creatures, but keeping things alive was a far greater challenge, one Bilbo had convinced him was suited to a being so powerful and wise.
Likening Thorin and himself to Mr. Tiddlebee’s prized breeding dachshunds, with all the great skill, care, and expense the keeping of such creatures entailed, had been just a part of his nervous, desperate babble as he tried to edge his way out of the cavern of treasure where the dwarves had sent him. For better or worse, Smaug’s condescending ego had latched onto the idea of raising the very dwarves he’d once driven from the Lonely Mountain, plus one unique hobbit, especially since the return of the dwarves meant new treasures would be made and traded for.
The dragon proved to be an astute learner of the care and feeding of dwarves and one Mr. Bilbo Baggins, for the most part. Thanks to Bilbo’s babbling, Smaug was eager to see them successfully breed, which was a confounding state of affairs. Bilbo hadn’t meant for his errant crush on the dwarven king to slip into his rambling attempts to distract the dragon and stay alive, and it was only with further sweet-talking that he’d managed to convince Smaug that Very Specific Circumstances were needed, and even then, an intended breeding pair may not ever fall pregnant.
Thus far Smaug seemed to enjoy the idea that he, the wise and great old dragon, might deign to help the poor bumbling dwarves regain their former glory, and that he may play meddling matron for his favored hobbit and favorite grumpy King Under The Mountain. And he certainly enjoyed Bilbo’s flattery and attention as much as he enjoyed treating Thorin as an ignorant youth needing guidance and protection.
Smaug’s tendency toward lethargy meant in truth Bilbo and Thorin were required to spend very little time playing their roles. Smaug was content with Thorin dropping by at least once every few days, all stubborn resentment holding his spine rigid as he reported the restoration of the mountain and requested funds, and Bilbo occasionally found himself something akin to a child’s sleep-soother, coddling the dragon into a dozing state. Smaug was fond of having various places on his enormous head scratched by his pet hobbit, and while initially it had been nervewracking to be so close to a jaw that would render him little more than a morsel of a snack, Bilbo found it rather thrilling.
Who knew that a Baggins would ever scratch the snout of a great dragon? Half the Shire would accuse him of getting into a particularly bad batch of pipeweed if he told the tale.
The scales on his snout were as large as Bilbo’s fist, and he wasn’t certain his scratches could even be felt, but it was something of an acquired habit by now for both hobbit and dragon. He scratched those large scales and mulled how best to quell Thorin’s temper this time. It wasn’t like old Mr and Mrs Giddyshack down the lane, who argued and made up nearly everyday; with them a simple kiss was all it took.
With Thorin, a simple kiss would likely only escalate matters. A part of him rather wistfully wished it would escalate into more pleasurable things, but convincing Thorin to play along as a pretend courtship partner had been difficult enough. He was certain the dragon had already figured out that they weren’t a true couple, but that Bilbo’s desire was true regardless. That the dragon continued to allow the pretense, and even periodically prodded Thorin with reminders to treat his mate properly with all due nose nuzzles and trinkets, left Bilbo feeling a little confused.
He reached for a small patch off to the side and casually glanced back over his shoulder at those closed eyelids. Smaug looked at him with thorough consideration each time they met, those large eyes coming close and examining the little hobbit from head to toe. If Bilbo didn’t know better, he’d start thinking that perhaps the dragon’s gaze was a bit softer now, two months into the cohabitation bargain that made his life a twisted balancing act. Smaug was terrible and greedy, and it would be utter foolishness to think anything but pride drove his behavior, but Bilbo couldn’t help the growing fondness he felt for the great lazy beast.
It helped, a little, to distract him from the reality of being in a farce of a courtship with Thorin. Thorin, who sometimes, late in the evening, spoke to him quietly under candlelight that gave his eyes the illusion of affection. Thorin, who bristled when Smaug had sternly reminded him that courtship beads were a must, and snapped at Smaug that he was already working on them. Thorin, who handed him two handcarved beads and explained what they meant as he braided them into his hair gently with rough, calloused hands.
Thorin, who Bilbo knew saw him as no more than a trusted friend and companion, and did not seem to know how intimate some of his behavior appeared, surely as a result of wandering the world, displaced and wary of others, for so very long. It did little to help ease the longing he felt for the dwarf who seemed ever out of reach, who rightly should be with another dwarf, not some little hobbit.
He sighed wistfully as he dug into that one spot where the scales had healed at poor angles. Greed was a powerful thing indeed.