Adopted Plot Bunny #36: OC was Smaug’s dragon rider. He was kind before the attack. And he only attacked because Thrain threw her out of the kingdom when she asked for shelter and medicine. She almost died as a result, if it wasn’t for Smaug’s magic, she would have. So Smaug attacked and put a sleeping spell on her. Gandalf breaks it when they find her. She now must cope with everything that has happened, and Thorin (wanting to make up for what his grandfather did) wants to help.
I have decided to make this a reader insert since that is my speciality. Also, this ended up being way longer then I thought and so, this is only part 1 of what I am planning to be a 2 (maybe 3) part story. (In my writing there are no rules concerning the naming of the Dwarrow race AAAAAHHHHH).
@sdavid09 Thank you for the adoption. Sorry for the late entry. Hope this is okay.
The line of Durin survives battle of five armies with injuries. Reader is found about a week/two weeks after the battle by some dwarrow tasked with finding out where the gold ends/damages Smaug had wrought. They find a glowing woman in an alcove and, justifiably, freak out and call Gandalf.
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The wind churned against mighty wingbeats. Like a hurricane stirring to rise. The great fire drake Smaug soared through the air. Red-gold scales shining in the sunlight. A young dragon by all accounts. Subconsciously drawn to gold like his kin, but this did not completely rule his thoughts. He was mostly free of it, for now, for he had a conscious desire to protect that which was dear to him. For hidden between the spikes trawling down his spine, sat a young dragon rider. His dragon rider.
Descendant of those blessed by the Valar; after they tamed one of Morgoth’s famed dragons for their own, mortal creations of the union of all the free peoples of Middle Earth. Thwarting his dark powers through self-sacrifice, freely giving their light to free the great serpents from darkness.
In appearance, she seemed closer to a young human woman than an elf, barely out of childhood. But there was a hidden strength under her skin and a fire in her chest. At least, there should have been. For now, she clung listlessly to Smaug’s back.
They had met, this dragon and rider, in the withered heath. Like all dragon riders, (Y/n) was tasked with travelling to this dangerous valley to prove themselves. Which they did, marvellously. Packing and planning, (they were pretty meticulous after all), and finally arriving. They sought their dragon. A dragon marked for them as they were marked for it. A dragon of similar age and mind. (Y/n) found this dragon in Smaug. Beating him in single combat and winning his heart through song. (A process that would kill anyone else who didn’t carry the blessings of the Valar…well…probably kill). Also, after this great battle, she sang to him regularly; since song is the greatest expression of the Valar’s power after all, it helped keep him in the light.
When they flew together, their minds were as one. Nigh unbeatable in combat. A dragon rider and their mount were among the most feared forces in the world. Especially if they survived against all attacks by the forces of darkness to reach maturity.
(Y/n) and Smaug were unbothered by this though. Smaug’s pride and (Y/n) headstrong nature meaning they failed to see the danger before it was too late. (Y/n) had presented herself before her father. He had had wished her well and she had set out to fulfil her role in protecting the peoples of Middle Earth. She decided they would eventually venture North into the frozen wastes, but not until they were stronger and Smaug could survive the colder regions. So, they travelled South. Deciding to visit Rivendell. Her family still knew of a bloodline living there, closely connected to theirs. But before they crossed the Misty Mountains, she had a stop Smaug was happy to indulge her for. Being curious as to the customs of Dwarves and having heard of their skill. She wished to visit Erebor and see the great forges for herself. She also promised to buy Smaug some golden trinket to help ease his lust for it.
But disaster struck just as they left the shadow of the Grey Mountains. Ambushed by Goblins. The tricky creatures had decided that, no creature as powerful as a dragon would look up, they weren’t wrong, so they positioned archers on the peaks and shot at his rider. (Y/n) was able to stop nearly all of them, twirling their staff at lighting speed, but not all. An arrow to the calf is a big enough problem on its own but add poison to the mix and you’re in trouble.
Their stop at Erebor suddenly gained an urgency it didn’t have before. (Y/n)’s pride, an equal match for her dragon’s, would not suffer to go home in disgrace, so they sought treatment elsewhere.
“I am a dragon rider, I will not be felled by a goblins arrow.” (Y/n)’s promise to Smaug was as much a comfort for her as it was for him. They journeyed over green valleys and scattered groves. Stopping in promising spots so (Y/n) could gather the necessary herbs to craft a poultice for her wound. Singing and crushing herbs she was able to almost create her own cure. It didn’t get rid of the poison, but it cleaned the wound and slowed the infection down.
Two days later, they landed in a valley. Almost in the shadow of the lonely mountain but guarded from sight by a wall of trees. A vast forest stretched all around on one side of the mountain.
“Smaug, I need you to wait here please.” When I had told him that he had protested. ‘Not wanting his rider to go too far from him with her injury, I completely understand’.
But even so, I argued with him. Citing the rivalry between dragons and dwarves. Noting that Dwarves only barely tolerated dragon riders due to the old alliance they had. I warned him of some recent news my father had received from the elves, of a dwarven king succumbing to gold sickness. Smaug winced at that. I sighed, telling him that if I showed up with him in tow it might send the Dwarves into a panic. After convincing him to stay put, I rebandaged my leg and set off for the gates of Erebor. Giving Smaug a quick hug before I go.
Leaving just as the sun was setting, I ended up walking all night. Skirting the edge of the trees, eventually coming to a road just as the sun was rising. I collapsed by the side of the road, I need to take a little rest. ‘Where are you now.’ ‘I’m almost there, be calm.’
The sound of clopping hooves echoed in the distance. I pulled a sandwich out of my bag and started Sullenly eating. The hoof beats got louder. Looking up, I saw a group of Dwarrow on ponies come trotting up the road. They stopped and looked at me.
“Who are you miss? Where are you bound?” I greeted them and responded that I was bound for Erebor. They just squinted at me. ‘No I’m not an elven envoy. Let’s just opt for a smile.’ I repeated the age-old greetings. They looked hesitant but agreed to lead me to the gates at least.
Two of the dwarves breaks off from the group, one to trot beside me and the other gallops back to Erebor; the rest continue their patrol down the road. I lean on my staff but otherwise walk tall and proud. My leg keeps throbbing. ‘I can’t afford to show weaknesses’.
After an age, we finally exit the treeline. I pause a moment to catch my breath, covering it by pretending to regard the lines of people and Dwarrow eagerly awaiting entry to Erebor. Returning Dwarrow are welcomed quickly, visitors for family next and the merchants last. Sighing I follow the guard’s pony, fully expecting to join the final queue. This resignation turns to pleasant surprise when this is not the case. Instead, I am led straight to the gate.
In the shadows, a burly looking dwarf was waiting. Intricately braided beard, (as was customary), spilling over his crossed arms. “What do you want in Erebor.” Judging by his armour, this was probably the captain of the guard. Once again, I repeated the greetings and asked for shelter and medicine. Reaching down, ignoring the jumpy dwarf beside me, I showed him my bandaged leg. He looked thoughtful, but not as harsh as before. Suddenly, he turns and asks me to follow him, leading me through one of the side doors in the gate.
Once inside, I have to take another breather, eyes darting about. Looking around in wonder at just the entry hall to Erebor. Emeralds were embedded high in the walls, banners of woven gold swaying inside small alcoves. Dwarves and selected humans bustled around, bartering for goods at the various stalls.
He looked at me and the crowd before holding out his hand, I allowed him to lead me through the throng. Even when we left the hall behind and had travelled past three subsequent markets, the sounds did not diminish. Voices echoing on stone in a low hum that refused to fade. I shifted my weight between my feet. Following the dwarf, I started to wonder just how far we would still have to go. ‘Just how big is Erebor.’
Finally, we arrived at a gilded door. My guide knocked and stepped back. Another dwarf eventually opened the door. His clothes had more jewels than my guides, black beard bearing a bead with the royal crest. My guide gestured between us.
“This is prince Thorin. Your highness, this one claims to be a dragon rider.”
“Thank you Dwalin. I can take it from here.” Dwalin bowed his head and marched a little ways away. Standing in a arch nearby. ‘Huh, do I look that dangerous.’
I turned to Thorin and bowed my head. “It is an honour Prince Thorin. I greet you gladly under the old ways.” He bowed his back and gestured that I follow him. Dwalin trailing behind us.
I followed, a limp attempting to show. ‘No! No limping.’
“You will be presented to the king. He will hear you. I smiled and gestured lightly with my staff.
“Lead the way your highness.”
He pushed through a set of even larger ornate doors and I almost stopped at the vastness of the hall before me. A narrow bridge being the only access point for visitors to approach the grand throne.
I followed Thorin as swiftly as possible. He strode up to the old dwarf sat on the throne and whispered in his ear. Before stepping back to stand another dwarf stood beside the throne.
“His majesty, King Thror of Erebor.” A herald nearby announced.
I bowed my head and stood to my full height. “I am (Y/n) (L/n) of the line of Drakón.” My eyes were drawn to the glowing light hovering just above his head. The Arkenstone. I had heard of it. I could almost hear a soft song coming from within its jewelled depths. I didn’t even notice or feel the fain heat rising in my eyes as they flashed in response to it.
“What is it you need.” Thror glared at me, suspicion all over his face.
I refocused on the dwarven king, doing my best to put on a friendly face. My heartbeat loud in my ears. “I need food and medicine, shelter too if it can be spared. We were attacked by goblins on the way down from the Grey mountains and...”
“We?” Thror interrupted, looking at me sternly.
I sighed and shifted, face morphing into a grimace as a flash of pain ran up my leg. I tried to smile. “Yes. We, being me and my dragon.”
Thror sniffed. “So, where is this dragon.”
“He is waiting for me just beyond the forest, in…”
“Stop!” Thror had leaped to his feet. “You dare bring a dragon within our borders. Do you know of their lust for gold.”
I froze. ‘What is he talking about. Dragon’s with a rider are fine around…’
I cleared my throat. “Yes. As dictated in the old treaty, I haven’t brought him any closer than…”
“Enough! I don’t want to hear any more. Leave.”
I looked at him in disbelief. My gaze finding Thorin’s who looked at me sadly. He turned to look at his Grandfather with a sorrowful gaze.
I looked at Thror. “I’m injured. You can’t just turn me away.”
Thror drew himself up. “I will hear no more of this. Take them.” The guards stepped forward.
“Please follow us.” The guard nearest to me gestured and I gritted my teeth. Turning to walk back the way we had come. It was at that moment, the worst possible moment, that the anaesthetics completely wore off. I collapsed, Dwalin moving to catch me, only just catching myself on my good leg and staff. “Ahh.” I hissed. “I can walk.” I pulled myself up and walked away, leaning heavily on my staff. Just before we left the room, I looked back. Thorin seemed to be whispering something to Thror, who raised a hand and bushed him off. I didn’t bother watching any longer.
I was led outside Erebor and sent on my way. Under the shadow of the gat, the dwarf known as Dwalin apologised to me.
‘I don’t know what he’s apologising for. His King’s a jerk, it’s not his fault.’ I don’t tell him that though. I heard Dwarrow can get particularly techy if you insult their royalty. I limped away.
Just get to Smaug as quick as possible. No need to waste time with them. If we hurry, we might be able to get to make Rivendell. I would go to Greenwood, but their king supposedly has a really big grudge against us at the moment. No need for a repeat of this disaster.
I walked away, only allowing myself the luxury of a limp once I was sure I was out of eyeshot of the gate. The woodland paths seem so much longer the second time round. The world keeps pulsing in strange colours.
I can’t feel my leg anymore. Which would be a bonus due to the absence of pain, but I can’t put any significant weight on it either. Also, there is pain, it’s just higher on my leg now.
Why can I hear my heartbeat. That doesn’t feel normal.
My voice sounds so far-away. Am I shouting? I can’t tell.
Why does Smaug look so concerned, we can just leave.
When did I kneel? No wait, I’m on the floor.
It’s getting so dark. Cold.
No…wait. There’s warmth and light. It’s coming from that rumbling. It’s tuneful. Is Smaug singing?
Something’s puling on me. I can feel my legs again. It hurts, but that fades too. Soon I feel nothing.
I can’t see anything beyond this blank void. I can’t feel anything beyond my own flesh.
Have I been sent beyond the world for my pride? Please let me not have followed that accursed path.
I can hear distant screams. The wind, it’s so far away.
Everything has gone calm. The rumbling is back.
I’ve been here so long. Drifting. It has been silent for such a long time. Even that distant beat has faded.
After it all went silent. I could feel a prickling on my back. Am I lying on something. I can’t be. Not floating in this endless dark.
I waited. Where is Smaug?
I remember…walking, through endless trees. And Dwarrow. The one who hides his kindness, the one who turned me away and the one who did not speak for me. I remember.
But I have been here so long. How long has it been? They could be dead for all I know…
What’s that? A light. A sound.
I can hear…screaming? There’s a red light. I can hear the wind, it’s been so long since we’ve flown.
I’m so cold. The warmth is gone. Where? What happened?
There’s no response. No heat.
There’s a light. The world around me shifts. The light rushes over me.
I can feel the unforgiving stone beneath my skin. My vision has gone red. Wait, it’s flickering…is there light?
Ahh. That hurts. My hands fly up to shield my face.
I bring them down slowly. There is a face hovering just above mine. I recognise them.
Oh no what is he doing here?
Actually, where am I? Where is Smaug?
My throat hurts. Did I just speak?
“Mithrandir? Where am I?”
That doesn’t sound like my voice. It’s so dusty and creaky; like an old oak tree on the point of death, held up only by the resilience of its stubborn roots.
I look up at Mithrandir in confusion. The distant sounds of voices reach us. Something thick and heavy is placed around my shoulders. Hands pull on my arms and I sit up. The world is dark and misty. Wait…no, I’m inside. All around the walls are stone and dust swirls in the air. Dark, except for the golden glow spilling from an archway and all around us. A dwarf stands besides Mithrandir. He had an honest and open face. Innocent. I like the look of him. He is nervously looking anywhere but me; whilst, holding a bundle of blankets and a water skin.
“Gandalf! Thorin’s awake. Wait…who is that?”
Another small hairless dwarf? No, a halfling, runs into the room. They know Mithrandir as Gandalf; is that his name in common tongue? The halfling looks at me before immediately covering his eyes. Is there something wrong?
I look down. My clothes are in terrible condition. Barely hanging on. I would be completely indecent if not for this cloak/blanket/carpet thing the honest dwarf had placed on me.
I struggle of the stone bench I was on. Drawing the blanket, I’m going to call it a blanket, around me. Looking down, there was a thick layer of dust on the bench. Clearly marking my own outline. I appeared clean enough, so how come there was that much dust. My staff was stood in a crevice beside me. I pulled it out and leant on it.
Mithrandir, or Gandalf as he seems to be known here, asked me to follow him.
“I promise, all will be explained.”
Deciding to trust him, I followed. I had to walk slowly. My body felt loose. Like when you sit in a strange position and you lose all feeling in your legs. Like that but all over. Then came the tingling. And then came the prickly pain, racing up and down my skin with abandon. The innocent looking dwarf had left.
We walked, for what felt like ages. Dark stone and blinding gold. I pad carefully, scales raising on my feet to protect against the sharp edges of gemstones and coins digging into my soles. From time to time we would see a single dwarf roaming the halls. Then two. Then three. It got busier and busier the more gold we passed. A cacophony of sounds began to swell; many voices running together, the clacking of stone on stone, the creak of worn timber.
As we walked, more feeling returned to me. Eventually, all feeling in my body had been restored. Except for the smallest tugging in my chest. Faint and unsteady. Barely there. Like the fluttering heart of a new-born chick, or a man’s last dying breath. ‘Smaug?’ There was no answer. For now, I can do nothing about it, but see where Gandalf leads me.
We soon passed out of the halls of gold. A soft breeze caressing my cheek. The smell of blood and rotting flesh conflicting with the sweet scent of pine leaves carried on the breeze. We must be nearing the outside. But what is that smell. Has there been a battle?
More and more Dwarrow were here now, many humans and a few elves too. Was that one veering the mark of Greenwood? It was lighter too, sunbeams reflecting of gemstones embedded high in the walls. Gandalf darted into an alcove, a side corridor flanked by two dwarvish guards presenting itself to us. I recognised one of them.
“Gandalf. Bilbo. He’s doing better.”
The dwarves’ voice was just as I remembered. I attempted a smile as we passed. Dwalin’s eyes widened upon recognition, hand tightening on his weapon, but he said nothing. Following the wizard, we followed the snaking corridor downwards again. It opened into various rooms, makeshift cots lining the walls and healers walking between them. Some of these healers were armed, daggers hanging openly from their belts.
We passed through, ever journeying. Until finally we reached a set of doors. An elf was arguing with dwarf outside it about’ the proper treatments’. However, upon noticing us they hurriedly stepped out the way, allowing Gandalf and the halfling to push open the doors.
Inside was a tented dome. Curtains separated three cots from each other, only three of the twelve around the room were filled, upon which lay three dwarves. Two of them were unknown to me, but the last one. I remembered him. The dark-haired princeling who couldn’t stand up to his own family. Am I bitter…maybe. I wasn’t back then, but spending an age suspended in darkness does that to you.
Gandalf turned to an elven healer. “Could we prepare a cot for her…” I didn’t hear the rest as I wandered over to the prince’s bedside. He looked terrible, one foot and his ribs were covered in bandages. Bruises and cuts littered his skin. The ugly edge of a line of stitches poked out from the bandages around his chest. And he looked older. Streaks of grey in his hair and stress lines creeping over his face.
Okay, I’ll admit, he looks worse than me. For now, he didn’t seem conscious. I debated whether he would wake up if I pulled his hair into a different arrangement. That stray lock was bothering me. And just who are the other two. This appears to be a royal wing, so they must be important. Looking over the bed, Gandalf was laying a hand on the blond-haired dwarf in one of the other beds and muttering under his breath.
A healer walked up to me. “Follow me please, your bed is here.” I looked at her with a frown.
“Yes, my dear.” He turned to look at me in that patronising way old people do. Smiling as I was marched to a bed and sat down. My staff propped up besides the pillow.
“Why do I need to see a healer?” Admittedly, asking the question was a fruitless endeavour since the healer had already begun to check my bones for breaks. He chuckled.
“You have been asleep for 60 years my dear. They’re just checking to make sure you’re alright.”
My mouth fell open at that. How long?! “What!? How?”
“It appears your dragon placed a sleeping spell on you.”
“I daresay. You will be able to acquire those answers from Thorin Oakenshield when he wakes.”
But he was already gone. The halfling received a diagnosis from one of the healers and then left as well. The Dwarrowdam had finished checking me over and asked me to rest, absentmindedly redoing a stray braid in her beard as the Elleth came over with some Athalas.
Placing it in a bowl and lighting it, soon the sweet, calming fragrance began to fill the infirmary. The two unknown dwarves softly stirred in their sleep before sighing and growing still. I looked to the prince’s bed. He grumbled and opened his eyes. The Dwarrow healer assured him as to his injuries healing and then left to fetch some food. He glanced around, huffing fondly at the sight of the other two heavily bandaged dwarves before looking my way.
He stiffened. Eyes blown wide in shock. I sat on my cot and watched him. Neither breaking eye contact until he whispered. “Are you real or some imaginary shade?” His voice was course but strong. I leaned forward.
“I wake up in Erebor, to find it in ruins and the prince crowned King, confused beyond belief, injuries gone, my dragon nowhere to be found, and you can’t come up with something a little more imaginative then to ask me if I’m real. Of course I’m real. I’m not dead.”
Thorin gaped at my sarcastic hiss. He searched for his words, biting his lips nervously before his face hardens. “If you are alive...then why did your dragon attack us?”
“Uh…” I didn’t have an answer for that. “That’s actually news to me.”
Thorin looked sceptical. “News…to you. I am not a fool Drake-ascen (taken from fire-drake (dragon) and the Latin ascensor for rider/charioteer), so do not take me for one.”
I bristled, skin prickling. “I speak the truth. I do not know what has happened to your home or Smaug.”
A hot burning grew in my eyes and I could feel the tears welling. Upon noticing this he seemed to soften slightly. “Smaug attacked the mountain and drew my people out. We wandered for years in poverty. Then when we reclaimed the mountain an army of orcs arrived, but we killed them. And that brings us up to now.”
I could almost feel the pain in those memories. Remembering the ruins we had come through, it made sense that something as powerful as Smaug had attacked. But there was a heavy feeling in my heart.
“But you have reclaimed the mountain now. After I left Erebor, I remember succumbing to my wounds and then darkness. Which is why I’m asking you, now, what has happened. What happened to my dragon? Where is Smaug? Maybe we can settle things peacefully. You drove him out somehow, so where did he go.”
Thorin looked grim. “He fled to Laketown…where he was shot down with a black arrow by the new king of Dale.”
I felt like I’d been punched in the gut. Winded. I couldn’t breathe. ‘Smaug? Smaug! Answer me dammit.’ I glared at Thorin with as much anger as I could muster. Before bursting into tears. I stood up, grabbed my staff and marched over to his bedside. He looked at me blankly.
“How can you just…he can’t be dead. Why would you kill him!” I raised my staff, fire collecting on the end of it. He glanced at the flames fearfully. The healer left in the room with us screamed and ran to get the guard.
“He attacked us after you left.” My mind was so jumbled. I was trying to make sense of it all before really looking at the fire on my staff. Wait, I reached out to the flames, they were cold. These shouldn’t be cold, they are connected too... No…it can’t be. I collapsed to my knees. Tears falling so fast I couldn’t see anything but the blurred outline of the one who told me MY dragon was DEAD.
I felt a hand gently grip my shoulder. I wiped my tears and looked up into the dwarf’s eyes. A streak of blue sadness fell from his gaze. “I am truly sorry we didn’t help you back then. But I can promise you this.” I moved his hand from my shoulder, but he gripped my hand in his and rolled over on creaking ribs to confront me, “I will do everything in my power to make sure you are cared for this time. Anything you need, just ask.”
I drew myself up, tapping my staff on the ground to send a shower of sparks racing across the floor and walls; a thunder of scarlet flew around us. Thorin pushed himself to sit up, with equal parts fear and awe in his eyes. The doors flew open and Dwalin, both healers, some other Dwarrow, and an Elf I have only ever seen an old portrait of, run inside, freezing upon seeing the flowing light surrounding the room.
“Thorin Oakenshield, if you truly mean to repay me for my loss, I will do more than ask…I command you, do what you have promised, and…permit me to aid in repairing the damages Smaug has wrought.”
I offered my hand. An odd respect flowed behind his eyes as he took it. The light swirled faster before retreating into my staff. I sat down on my own cot and looked to our stricken audience. The elf King Thranduil regarded me curiously, while the Dwarrow looked to their King for instruction. His hands flickered and they all relaxed leaving the room.
“That was quite a performance Drake-ascen.” He looked about to say something but the elleth seemed to have recovered her wits and so both healers turned on him. Bustling the elven king out of the room and rushing to check on the two who had remained oblivious to the whole event.
“My nephews.” I looked to Thorin curiously and smiled. “I can’t wait to meet them properly.” Feeling tired, I lay down. Why am I tired if I’ve been asleep for so long? Closing my eyes, I focused on the tiny tug in my chest.
‘Come on Smaug…where are you?’
