Her scales as silver. They were glinting and shining like the sun itself. They fared, but why? For their intepeyvsle scales? Maybe. For not even a black arrow could pierce their hide. Is there more of them? No. They were told to be legends, myths to...
"Thror, the elven king was promised his jewels. Now give them before the war wages," Silveria protested as the king of the mountain walked back into the chambers full of gold. He didn't answer the young woman, only ingor her for his greed was great. Silveria sighed and left the king to his thoughts. She knew that this deed would never get good consequences.
"Silveria?" A familiar voice called out to the young woman who turned to it. "Ah, hello, prince," she greets and bows her head. "Why are you following my grandfather?" Thorin pointed out, earning an eye roll from the taller woman. "Young ones don't question my motives, but your king is greedy. The elf king would have his jewels while your grandfather was too selfish even to let him feel them," Silveria snarled, her voice dangerously low.
Thorin knew he shouldn't ask the young shapeshifters, meaning she does, but he wanted to know. But with a sigh, he nods and leaves her. Silveria sighs and walks further on her path.
➳ -months later-
-Silveira's pov-
I was walking in the halls again when I heard it. The first I heard was a noise like a hurricane coming down from the North. The pines on the mountain creaked and cracked in the hot, dry wind. I immediately knew what it was. I saw Balin and Thorin not far and immediately rushed over to them. When I reached them, I called Balin. "Balin, sound the alarm. Call out the guard. Do it now!"
He looked at me confused and looked at Thorin to get an explanation. "What is it?" He said, and Thorin got a grim expression as soon as his blue eyes met mine. "Dragon." He then turned to the palace and yelled in "Dragon!" He then grabbed both Balin and me and hid us behind a Pilar. The fire was hot, hotter than I've ever felt for.
But it didn't burn me.
-Silveria narrating~
He was a firedrake from the North. Smaug had come. Such wanton death was dealt that day. For this city of Men was nothing to Smaug. His eye was set on another prize, for dragons covet gold with a dark and fierce desire, for a dragon will guard his take as long as he lives.
I will never forget this day, I never will forgive, but maybe the dragon will be a Freind end later in life.
" Run for your lives! Ah! Help us!" Thorin called out to elves, but Thranduil would not risk the lives of his kin against the wrath of the dragon. No help came from the Elves that day nor any day since. Robbed of their homeland, the Dwarves of Erebor wandered the wilderness a once mighty people brought low. The young Dwarf prince took work where he could find it laboring in the villages of Men. But always he remembered the mountain smoke beneath the moon, the trees like torches blazing bright. For he had seen dragon fire in the sky and a city turned to ash. And he never forgave, and he never forgot.
-Bilbo taking over narrating-
That, my dear Frodo, is where I come in. For, quite by chance, the will of a Wizard fate decided I would become part of this tale. It began... Well, it started as you might expect. In a hole in the ground, there lived a Hobbit. Not a nasty, dirty, wet hole full of worms and oozy smells. This was a Hobbit hole. And that means good food, a warm hearth, and all the comforts of home.
"Thank you," Bilbo says as Frodo lays the letters onto the top of his study board. "What's this?" The young hobbit aks. " That is private. Keep your sticky paws off!" Bilbo says and grabs it back. " It's not ready yet." He added. Frodo looks at him with a puzzled expression.
➳ -Bilbo narrating again-
He disapproves of being late. Not that I ever was. In those days, I was always on time. I was entirely respectable, and nothing unexpected...ever happened.
-60 years earlier...-
Bilbo's smoke ring collapses and becomes a smoke moth as a tall figure walks into the shot. The moth flies into Bilbo's face, waking him from his reverie. A younger Bilbo, from 60 years earlier, is sitting on the same bench, smoking his pipe. He looks up in surprise and sees a hooded figure. "Good morning." He says. "What do you mean? Do you mean to wish me a good morning, or do you mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not? Or, perhaps you mean to say that you feel good on this particular morning. Or are you simply stating that this is a morning to be good on?" The hooded man aks.
Then a sudden little purr canes from the man. No, it's not from the man. The cloaked gray man lifts his hat, and on his head sits a baby dragon. "Ah, Silveria, not how," the wizard says as he lays the cap back onto his head. He then turns to Bilbo again, and they continue their conversation.
"All of them at once, I suppose," Bilbo says. Gandalf looks slightly disapprovingly at Bilbo; Bilbo is confused and bewildered. "Can I help you?" He then says. "That remains to be seen. I'm looking for someone to share in an adventure." Gandalf answers. " "An adventure? Now, I don't imagine anyone west of Bree would have much interest in adventures. Nasty, disturbing, uncomfortable things. Make you late for dinner, hm, mm," Bilbo protests.
Bilbo gets up and checks his mailbox, grabbing some mail and sorting through it, clucking to himself. He looks pretty uncomfortable because Gandalf is still standing there. Puffing his pipe in vexation, he begins heading back inside. "Good morning." He says. And hurried inside.
"To think that I should have lived to be good-morning by Belladonna Took's son as if I were selling buttons at the door." Gandalf suddenly says, making Bilbo stop and the baby Silveria pet under the hat bend. "Beg your pardon?" Bilbo says and turns entirely to face Gandalf. "You've changed, and not entirely for the better, Bilbo Baggins." Gandalf ads, and baby Silveria creeps under the hat and onto its bend. She gives a small gurgling chuckle and rolls up to a bit of ball while she waits.
"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Bilbo asks, even more puzzled than before. "Well, you know my name, although you don't remember I belong to it. I'm Gandalf! And Gandalf means ... me." Gandalf explains. "Gandalf...not Gandalf, the wandering Wizard, who made such excellent fireworks! Old Took used to have them on Midsummer's Eve. Ha, ha! Well. Hmm, I had no idea you were still in business." His words were a slight glare from both Silveria and the wizard.
"And where else should I be?" Gandalf aks with a brow raised. "Ha, ha! Hm, hmm..." Bilbo puffs confusedly on his pipe. "Well, I'm pleased to find you remember something about me, even if it's only my fireworks. Well, that's decided. It will be perfect for you and most amusing for me. I shall inform the others." Gandalf says and starts to walk away, but Bilbo stops him by backing in and saying.
"Inform the who? What? No. No. No! Wait. We do not want any adventures here, thank you. Not today, not-mm. I suggest you try over the Hill or across The Water. Good morning." He says and, in frustration, retreats into Bag End, gesturing at Gandalf with his pipe. Once inside, he bolts the door and leans against it. Hearing a curious noise, he puts his ear close to the door. The noise is from Gandalf drawing a glowing symbol on Bilbo's door with his staff. Alarmed, Bilbo looks out his side window, only to find Gandalf's eye appear in front of him. He jumps back in fright and hides behind a wall; he looks out another window and sees Gandalf hurrying away.
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