Warnings: the reader is a dragon… Smaug wants to burn the poor Dwarves…
You were dozing on your bed of gold, far from the
entrance of the treasure room and with your children, little baby dragons born
a few weeks before, sleeping securely between your warm belly and the
protection of your long tail, curled against them.
When Smaug the Golden had provided you with the most
protected shelter and the greatest hoard of gold of all Middle-Earth, you had
agreed to be his mate, for you knew he would have protected you and especially
the children you would have had together, your real treasure. And finally you
had had them: all those gold and ruby-red eggs you and
Smaug had guarded day and night, keeping them warm with your breath, shielding
them with your bodies… When those shells had finally started to break up and
you had seen your children, your little, clumsy, winged lizards and heard their
dragon roars, which actually sounded more like a squeak or a mewling, ah, your
hard dragon heart had filled with the joy that only a mother could feel.
Thorin looked down at the little bundle in his arms curiously. This was - apparently - a Hobbit. Balin had told him that Hobbits were considered to be off-shoots of the race of Men, but this one had pointy ears like the Elvenking and his son did.
The Hobbit’s parents weren’t taking there arrival very well. While his amad, the Princess Rís, was trying to be diplomatic with them, his adad wasn’t helping by glowering from across the room. Frerin wasn’t really helping either, running around the…hole? while asking improper questions and he’d scraped his boots on a box when he’d arrived, which had cause the adult hobbits to flutter complaints…something about glory boxes, whatever those were.
The little hobbit didn’t seem to notice any of this though, honey brown eyes fixed on Thorin and, with a pudgy fist, reached out and tugged one of Thorin’s braids, the one that showed he was one of Durin’s heirs.
The princeling chuckled slightly, before becoming serious.
“I’ll always protect you little one,“ he promised lowly in Khuzdul, ”From now until my dying day.“ He pressed his lips on the tawny curls, by way of sealing the vow.