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Title: Not All Dragons Are Evil And Not All Hobbits Live In The Shire
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Hobbit (barely)
Characters/Pairings: Original Characters = Jomish Goodbody - Hobbit, Shaumsarras - Dragon
Word Count: 2,150
Disclaimer: I am not J. R. R. Tolkien, nor anyone who owns anything to do with his works, and I'm certainly not making any money at this.
Spoilers: If you somehow don't know how The Hobbit turns out, there's sideways spoilers.
Warnings: Not for anything violent, but you should still be aware - Utter lack of believable plot, Vague implications of inter-species relations, Fluff by the boatload, Shmoop, Silliness.
Summary: After the adventure, two of the uncredited minor characters go back home to their unconventional lives.
Author's Notes: Be prepared, the fluff and shmoop are overwhelming, so if that puts you off, just give this one a miss. The primary purpose of this fic was to get my wordcount over that 50k hump on the last night of NaNoWriMo, because everything else I had going needed other work before I could carry on, and there wasn't time! The secondary purpose of this fic was to indulge my unsated need for hobbit/dragon stories (all the bilbo/smaug stuff on Tumblr and the crossovers with Beeblock have been tempting me, even after sort of writing one). I probably need extensive therapy, but I hardly think that's a surprise to any of my usual Flisters. I'm the broad with the Proof-Loofah ™ and Beta-Stick ©, so lemme know if I missed anything.
“It’s good to finally be home again,” murmured the recumbent Hobbit, re-crossing his hairy feet at the ankle as he leaned back against the smooth, deep golden-red scales of the Dragon curled around him in a cozy semi-circle. “Imagine the wild tales they’ll tell, hm? The unexpectedly bold Hobbits, wise elves, steadfast dwarves, brave humans, all banding together to slay the great wicked Dragon; leaving everyone safe once again, all hail the victorious heroes… blah… blah… and so forth.”
“I never knew Hobbits to be cynical, Jom,” rumbled the Dragon, lifting his head and curving his long sinuous neck around to nuzzle the Hobbit’s curly golden-brown hair, then down to the tender curve where his neck became his shoulder. “It was my mad cousin killed, surely I should be the one grumbling?”
Jom reached up, arm encircling the Dragon’s neck just behind the points of his jaw, digging his fingers into the mane of jet-black tendrils, nearly as thin and plentiful as hair, which sprang from the crown of the Dragon’s triangular head to run along the upper third of his neck. A deep sound like an enormous cat’s purr came from the Dragon’s throat. “Sorry, Sha, I suppose I’m being thoughtless.”
Sha’s snort ruffled Jom’s hair like a stiff breeze, his deep scarlet tongue flicking out in a dragonish kiss at the edge of the Hobbit’s jaw. “No, no, nothing like that. You know I had no love for him. If it were not that he was as powerful as four lesser Dragons like me—as well as four times larger—perhaps one or more of us might have done something about him. There are so few of us now, though; even fewer Great Dragons. As it was, all whom I know of have shunned him. Smaug… and some of the other Great Dragons… rather ruined the reputation of Dragons, as a whole. Those most famed have been indiscriminate, insane killers, allies of wicked sorcerers and sorceresses, as well as power- and treasure-hungry. The majority of the rest of us, we who have not had ballads or tragic poetry dedicated to us, have done little more wicked in several millennia than random livestock pinching and the occasional kidnapping of princes and princesses.”
“Shaumsarras, say it isn’t so! Surely you never kidnapped royalty?” Gasped the Hobbit in feigned shock.
“You nearly got it right that time,” the Dragon drawled teasingly. “Still a bit weak on the end bits.”
“Shaumsarrrassss, then. Hmf!” grumbled Jom, lightly tugging on the tendrils he’d wrapped around his fingers. Since he didn’t have the same sort of mouth as his Dragon friend, Jom had some difficulty at first learning how to say Shaumsrras’ whole name—Sha oum, almost like ‘loom’ and the ‘ow’ in ‘owl’ blurred together, and the ‘sarras’ was fairly straightforward—though Jom never seemed to put enough growl in the ‘r’s or sibilance on the ‘s’ at the end to please. “You have it much easier with my name.”
“Yours is much simpler, true. Jomish Goodbody, spawn—that is, son—of Lily and Togo, related to the Bagginses, and Boffins by blood; the Bolgers, Bunces, Grubbs, Hornblowers, and Tooks by marriage. There were two more… who else? The one with ‘sack’ in the name… grf… they’ll come to me.” Sha recounted the information as if it were some legend of old or a king’s lineage, sounding grumblingly put out that he couldn’t recall the last ones.
Jomish chuckled, ruffling the Dragon’s mane as he would’ve done another Hobbit’s hair and turned to plant a smacking kiss on the warm, smooth scales of the Dragon’s cheek, just below one large, jewel-bright, green-gold eye. “By Gandalf’s beard, you actually remembered all that? I think we only spoke of it once or twice, and that over a year ago!”
“A year is nothing, Dragons have excellent memories,” purred Sha, his tongue flicking out again and dancing warm, soft heat across Jom’s cheek and neck, half-teasing, half-fond. “Mine is actually better than most.”
“You are the cleverest of all the Dragons I know,” the Hobbit assured Sha, fingers rubbing along the underside of his neck and jaw.
Another snort blew spicy, hot Dragon breath past his face and one of Sha’s clawed fingers poked him in the belly lightly, knuckle-first so as not to actually hurt him. “I’m the only Dragon you know, silly, fuzz-toed grub!”
“Oi!” The elbow Jom jabbed into Sha’s neck was scarcely felt. “Just you wait, you overgrown garden snake; I’ll show you a grub.”
Dragonish laughter, like the rumble of distant thunder, echoed around them, filling the halls of their enlarged version of a Hobbit-hole and startling a few sparrows nesting in the thatch around the chimney. “You forget, I have seen your… grub… my dear Hobbit,” murmured Sha with obvious humour, lowering his head to lightly nuzzle down along Jom’s chest and belly. “So, that’s hardly a threat, now, is it?”
Jom wriggled without actually evading, his laugh nearly a giggle, grabbing onto the Dragon’s head, which was nearly the size of his torso, and pulling on Sha’s large, pointed ears as he kicked a little. “No, nooooo!” He howled as the Dragon blew warm gusts of spicy breath against his body, which seemed to go right through his shirt and trousers; the nibbling motions with dragonish lips acting almost like small prods and pinches from more Hobbit-like fingers. “You know I’m…ahh! No! Ticklish!”
“Tookish?” rumbled Sha, managing between his clever forked dragonish tongue and lips to untuck Jom’s shirt and ripple his tongue like two large fingers against the Hobbit’s belly and ribs. “Yes, yes, we’ve already spoken of that.”
“No, ti-tiiickliiissshhhaaahahaahaheeee!” Once the Dragon got to skin, Jom almost couldn’t speak for the giggling. All his thrashing and kicking hardly affected the Dragon, who could have squashed the smaller being easily, if he’d wished to do so. He folded his ears back, since a hard wrench on the more delicate webbing between the upper spines and bases could be painful, if not actually tear the thin membranes.
For several minutes there were mingled the sounds of high-breathy Hobbit giggles and low, rumbling Dragon chuckles; until, after a few minutes, red-faced and gasping, Jom pushed and patted, instead of pulling and tugging, stuttering out, “T-t-turniiip!”
At once the Dragon’s tongue withdrew and he lifted his head just a bit, moving closer and smoothing the Hobbit’s garments with a ‘paw’ that was more hand-like than not, careful to avoid snagging the cloth with his claws. After that gesture, he left just his fingers resting over Jom’s thigh, each digit the circumference of a slightly more slender version of one of the Hobbit’s own wrists. Sha’s whole hand would be uncomfortably heavy after a bit.
The Hobbit flopped back against Sha’s side with a final few breathy titters, panting as he reached up to rub the smooth curve of the Dragon’s muzzle, just between his nostrils, from halfway up his nose down to the point of his flexible upper lip. The Dragon’s eyes half-closed and the purring sound started up in his throat again.
“All right?” Sha murmured in warm-toned concern, the purr vibrating under his voice.
“Yeah, fine… just fine,” Jom replied, nodding, still a bit breathless. His smile was fond and wide. “That was fun.”
Sha hummed in agreement, patting Jom’s thigh. Tilting his head, he blinked slowly, thoughtful, his large, slitted pupils widening and narrowing at the change in light. “You’re quite certain you don’t mind being left out of the heroic tales?”
“Pft!” Jom flicked his hand dismissively, letting it fall back above his head against Sha’s warm, firm side. “I’ve hardly done anything heroic; you gave me the information for my cousin Bilbo, it obviously worked, and he’ll explain it some way or another in his account of the events. I’m certainly not about to try and tell him how I knew, let alone where I’ve been these past years.”
“No?” The Dragon’s eyelids closed nearly completely, and he gave an odd little tilt-shake of his head before looking away toward the fire on the large hearth nearby. Sha’s tail, bearing another line of dark tendrils near the end like the tuft of a lion’s tail, twitched and tapped a few times before stilling.
“Here, now,” Jom said softly, sitting up and putting his hand atop Sha’s fingers, petting them. “They’d never understand and might think ill of you… all right, and me… but we’re happy, aren’t we? Just the two of us in our mountain-side overgrown Hobbit-hole?”
Turning his green-gold eyes upon Jom, the firelight making them glow like magic gems, Sha studied his small friend for a long moment before dipping his head in a nod. “Happier than I could ever have anticipated.”
“Would you rather I tell them to include you in the tales they take back with them? I’m sorry if it was wrong of me to make that choice for both of us, but I can still send word to Bilbo, who’ll tell the Elves and the Dwarves; they’ll be the ones to set the tales down for future generations to share. The Humans will take up the tale from them, I’m sure.”
“No… no, that’s not what I wish,” Sha replied quietly. “I only thought you should be lauded as a proper hero, Jomish; as Bilbo will be when he returns to your Shire. Your people should know the truth.” His eyes seemed to grow larger as he gazed at Jom. “We have been on adventures enough, you and I, for me to know you are as brave as Bilbo, certainly as good, and as kind… kinder, perhaps, I think. I have not been well acquainted with any Hobbits before meeting you, as you know; however I have known some few of the other races. I wouldn’t hesitate to match you against any Elf or Dwarf, certainly any Human.”
Scrambling to his feet, Jom pulled Sha’s head to his chest, hugging him and smoothing down his mane. “Can you possibly be thinking I am feeling slighted, or something of that nature? Silly wyrm,” he murmured against the smooth, fine scales between Sha’s nearest ear and his mane. “You got it into your scaly head that I’m brave because I didn’t run from you that first time we met, I know it.” Jom pressed small, scattered kisses behind Sha’s ear. “I’ve told you and told you I was frozen in terror, not brave.” A smile curved his lips as the Dragon’s purr vibrated through the both of them.
“I knew you were afraid,” whispered Sha. “I know the smell of fear. Furthermore, I can hear the rustle of a mouse’s tail in the dust at the furthest ends of our little home here; and thus I could hear your heartbeat in my cave, my little Hobbit. It was the fast trot of fear, not the wild gallop of terror. You forget, I’ve met the sons and daughters of kings; I know a hero when I see one.”
“Hush,” Jom breathed, closing his eyes and laying his head against Sha’s, fingers buried in his mane. “I’ve no wish to be a hero and I’ve only met one prince… big and bold enough, sure, but he was unbearably rude and stank of old sweat and too much ale.” The Dragon wuffled out a humorous sort of breath at this, but said nothing, so Jom continued. “I’ve told you why I left the Shire, that my parents no longer admit to having a son, and you know Bilbo only spoke to me because Gandalf brought me to him and insisted he needed my help. It no longer troubles me, I promise you. I have made peace with it. So, no, my dear Dragon, just leave me to be your plain old Jomish.”
“As you wish,” Sha murmured as if humouring his friend.
Chuckling, Jom gave Sha one last, loud smacking kiss on his nose and let him go. “Besides, heroes are proud and haughty.” He grinned at Sha’s quizzical expression. “A hero would never deign to fetch us cider and spice-cake.”
Sha’s ears stood upright and just the tips of his tongue flicked quickly along the rim of his lips. “You made spice-cake? When?”
“I didn’t make it this time,” Jom explained. Sha gave a pleased rumbling sound as the Hobbit’s grin returned and he turned toward the tunnel to the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder as he went, “I bought some on the way home, when I stopped at the village to fetch supplies.”
“And no doubt wrapped it well so I wouldn’t smell it when we loaded up to fly over the hill,” Sha concluded knowingly, then called after him in pleased amusement, “clever, Hobbit.”
Not long afterward, the Dragon and his clever Hobbit had spice-cake and hot cider before the fire, chatting and enjoying one another’s company as good friends will.
~~~
.
Rating: PG-13
Fandom: The Hobbit (barely)
Characters/Pairings: Original Characters = Jomish Goodbody - Hobbit, Shaumsarras - Dragon
Word Count: 2,150
Disclaimer: I am not J. R. R. Tolkien, nor anyone who owns anything to do with his works, and I'm certainly not making any money at this.
Spoilers: If you somehow don't know how The Hobbit turns out, there's sideways spoilers.
Warnings: Not for anything violent, but you should still be aware - Utter lack of believable plot, Vague implications of inter-species relations, Fluff by the boatload, Shmoop, Silliness.
Summary: After the adventure, two of the uncredited minor characters go back home to their unconventional lives.
Author's Notes: Be prepared, the fluff and shmoop are overwhelming, so if that puts you off, just give this one a miss. The primary purpose of this fic was to get my wordcount over that 50k hump on the last night of NaNoWriMo, because everything else I had going needed other work before I could carry on, and there wasn't time! The secondary purpose of this fic was to indulge my unsated need for hobbit/dragon stories (all the bilbo/smaug stuff on Tumblr and the crossovers with Beeblock have been tempting me, even after sort of writing one). I probably need extensive therapy, but I hardly think that's a surprise to any of my usual Flisters. I'm the broad with the Proof-Loofah ™ and Beta-Stick ©, so lemme know if I missed anything.
“It’s good to finally be home again,” murmured the recumbent Hobbit, re-crossing his hairy feet at the ankle as he leaned back against the smooth, deep golden-red scales of the Dragon curled around him in a cozy semi-circle. “Imagine the wild tales they’ll tell, hm? The unexpectedly bold Hobbits, wise elves, steadfast dwarves, brave humans, all banding together to slay the great wicked Dragon; leaving everyone safe once again, all hail the victorious heroes… blah… blah… and so forth.”
“I never knew Hobbits to be cynical, Jom,” rumbled the Dragon, lifting his head and curving his long sinuous neck around to nuzzle the Hobbit’s curly golden-brown hair, then down to the tender curve where his neck became his shoulder. “It was my mad cousin killed, surely I should be the one grumbling?”
Jom reached up, arm encircling the Dragon’s neck just behind the points of his jaw, digging his fingers into the mane of jet-black tendrils, nearly as thin and plentiful as hair, which sprang from the crown of the Dragon’s triangular head to run along the upper third of his neck. A deep sound like an enormous cat’s purr came from the Dragon’s throat. “Sorry, Sha, I suppose I’m being thoughtless.”
Sha’s snort ruffled Jom’s hair like a stiff breeze, his deep scarlet tongue flicking out in a dragonish kiss at the edge of the Hobbit’s jaw. “No, no, nothing like that. You know I had no love for him. If it were not that he was as powerful as four lesser Dragons like me—as well as four times larger—perhaps one or more of us might have done something about him. There are so few of us now, though; even fewer Great Dragons. As it was, all whom I know of have shunned him. Smaug… and some of the other Great Dragons… rather ruined the reputation of Dragons, as a whole. Those most famed have been indiscriminate, insane killers, allies of wicked sorcerers and sorceresses, as well as power- and treasure-hungry. The majority of the rest of us, we who have not had ballads or tragic poetry dedicated to us, have done little more wicked in several millennia than random livestock pinching and the occasional kidnapping of princes and princesses.”
“Shaumsarras, say it isn’t so! Surely you never kidnapped royalty?” Gasped the Hobbit in feigned shock.
“You nearly got it right that time,” the Dragon drawled teasingly. “Still a bit weak on the end bits.”
“Shaumsarrrassss, then. Hmf!” grumbled Jom, lightly tugging on the tendrils he’d wrapped around his fingers. Since he didn’t have the same sort of mouth as his Dragon friend, Jom had some difficulty at first learning how to say Shaumsrras’ whole name—Sha oum, almost like ‘loom’ and the ‘ow’ in ‘owl’ blurred together, and the ‘sarras’ was fairly straightforward—though Jom never seemed to put enough growl in the ‘r’s or sibilance on the ‘s’ at the end to please. “You have it much easier with my name.”
“Yours is much simpler, true. Jomish Goodbody, spawn—that is, son—of Lily and Togo, related to the Bagginses, and Boffins by blood; the Bolgers, Bunces, Grubbs, Hornblowers, and Tooks by marriage. There were two more… who else? The one with ‘sack’ in the name… grf… they’ll come to me.” Sha recounted the information as if it were some legend of old or a king’s lineage, sounding grumblingly put out that he couldn’t recall the last ones.
Jomish chuckled, ruffling the Dragon’s mane as he would’ve done another Hobbit’s hair and turned to plant a smacking kiss on the warm, smooth scales of the Dragon’s cheek, just below one large, jewel-bright, green-gold eye. “By Gandalf’s beard, you actually remembered all that? I think we only spoke of it once or twice, and that over a year ago!”
“A year is nothing, Dragons have excellent memories,” purred Sha, his tongue flicking out again and dancing warm, soft heat across Jom’s cheek and neck, half-teasing, half-fond. “Mine is actually better than most.”
“You are the cleverest of all the Dragons I know,” the Hobbit assured Sha, fingers rubbing along the underside of his neck and jaw.
Another snort blew spicy, hot Dragon breath past his face and one of Sha’s clawed fingers poked him in the belly lightly, knuckle-first so as not to actually hurt him. “I’m the only Dragon you know, silly, fuzz-toed grub!”
“Oi!” The elbow Jom jabbed into Sha’s neck was scarcely felt. “Just you wait, you overgrown garden snake; I’ll show you a grub.”
Dragonish laughter, like the rumble of distant thunder, echoed around them, filling the halls of their enlarged version of a Hobbit-hole and startling a few sparrows nesting in the thatch around the chimney. “You forget, I have seen your… grub… my dear Hobbit,” murmured Sha with obvious humour, lowering his head to lightly nuzzle down along Jom’s chest and belly. “So, that’s hardly a threat, now, is it?”
Jom wriggled without actually evading, his laugh nearly a giggle, grabbing onto the Dragon’s head, which was nearly the size of his torso, and pulling on Sha’s large, pointed ears as he kicked a little. “No, nooooo!” He howled as the Dragon blew warm gusts of spicy breath against his body, which seemed to go right through his shirt and trousers; the nibbling motions with dragonish lips acting almost like small prods and pinches from more Hobbit-like fingers. “You know I’m…ahh! No! Ticklish!”
“Tookish?” rumbled Sha, managing between his clever forked dragonish tongue and lips to untuck Jom’s shirt and ripple his tongue like two large fingers against the Hobbit’s belly and ribs. “Yes, yes, we’ve already spoken of that.”
“No, ti-tiiickliiissshhhaaahahaahaheeee!” Once the Dragon got to skin, Jom almost couldn’t speak for the giggling. All his thrashing and kicking hardly affected the Dragon, who could have squashed the smaller being easily, if he’d wished to do so. He folded his ears back, since a hard wrench on the more delicate webbing between the upper spines and bases could be painful, if not actually tear the thin membranes.
For several minutes there were mingled the sounds of high-breathy Hobbit giggles and low, rumbling Dragon chuckles; until, after a few minutes, red-faced and gasping, Jom pushed and patted, instead of pulling and tugging, stuttering out, “T-t-turniiip!”
At once the Dragon’s tongue withdrew and he lifted his head just a bit, moving closer and smoothing the Hobbit’s garments with a ‘paw’ that was more hand-like than not, careful to avoid snagging the cloth with his claws. After that gesture, he left just his fingers resting over Jom’s thigh, each digit the circumference of a slightly more slender version of one of the Hobbit’s own wrists. Sha’s whole hand would be uncomfortably heavy after a bit.
The Hobbit flopped back against Sha’s side with a final few breathy titters, panting as he reached up to rub the smooth curve of the Dragon’s muzzle, just between his nostrils, from halfway up his nose down to the point of his flexible upper lip. The Dragon’s eyes half-closed and the purring sound started up in his throat again.
“All right?” Sha murmured in warm-toned concern, the purr vibrating under his voice.
“Yeah, fine… just fine,” Jom replied, nodding, still a bit breathless. His smile was fond and wide. “That was fun.”
Sha hummed in agreement, patting Jom’s thigh. Tilting his head, he blinked slowly, thoughtful, his large, slitted pupils widening and narrowing at the change in light. “You’re quite certain you don’t mind being left out of the heroic tales?”
“Pft!” Jom flicked his hand dismissively, letting it fall back above his head against Sha’s warm, firm side. “I’ve hardly done anything heroic; you gave me the information for my cousin Bilbo, it obviously worked, and he’ll explain it some way or another in his account of the events. I’m certainly not about to try and tell him how I knew, let alone where I’ve been these past years.”
“No?” The Dragon’s eyelids closed nearly completely, and he gave an odd little tilt-shake of his head before looking away toward the fire on the large hearth nearby. Sha’s tail, bearing another line of dark tendrils near the end like the tuft of a lion’s tail, twitched and tapped a few times before stilling.
“Here, now,” Jom said softly, sitting up and putting his hand atop Sha’s fingers, petting them. “They’d never understand and might think ill of you… all right, and me… but we’re happy, aren’t we? Just the two of us in our mountain-side overgrown Hobbit-hole?”
Turning his green-gold eyes upon Jom, the firelight making them glow like magic gems, Sha studied his small friend for a long moment before dipping his head in a nod. “Happier than I could ever have anticipated.”
“Would you rather I tell them to include you in the tales they take back with them? I’m sorry if it was wrong of me to make that choice for both of us, but I can still send word to Bilbo, who’ll tell the Elves and the Dwarves; they’ll be the ones to set the tales down for future generations to share. The Humans will take up the tale from them, I’m sure.”
“No… no, that’s not what I wish,” Sha replied quietly. “I only thought you should be lauded as a proper hero, Jomish; as Bilbo will be when he returns to your Shire. Your people should know the truth.” His eyes seemed to grow larger as he gazed at Jom. “We have been on adventures enough, you and I, for me to know you are as brave as Bilbo, certainly as good, and as kind… kinder, perhaps, I think. I have not been well acquainted with any Hobbits before meeting you, as you know; however I have known some few of the other races. I wouldn’t hesitate to match you against any Elf or Dwarf, certainly any Human.”
Scrambling to his feet, Jom pulled Sha’s head to his chest, hugging him and smoothing down his mane. “Can you possibly be thinking I am feeling slighted, or something of that nature? Silly wyrm,” he murmured against the smooth, fine scales between Sha’s nearest ear and his mane. “You got it into your scaly head that I’m brave because I didn’t run from you that first time we met, I know it.” Jom pressed small, scattered kisses behind Sha’s ear. “I’ve told you and told you I was frozen in terror, not brave.” A smile curved his lips as the Dragon’s purr vibrated through the both of them.
“I knew you were afraid,” whispered Sha. “I know the smell of fear. Furthermore, I can hear the rustle of a mouse’s tail in the dust at the furthest ends of our little home here; and thus I could hear your heartbeat in my cave, my little Hobbit. It was the fast trot of fear, not the wild gallop of terror. You forget, I’ve met the sons and daughters of kings; I know a hero when I see one.”
“Hush,” Jom breathed, closing his eyes and laying his head against Sha’s, fingers buried in his mane. “I’ve no wish to be a hero and I’ve only met one prince… big and bold enough, sure, but he was unbearably rude and stank of old sweat and too much ale.” The Dragon wuffled out a humorous sort of breath at this, but said nothing, so Jom continued. “I’ve told you why I left the Shire, that my parents no longer admit to having a son, and you know Bilbo only spoke to me because Gandalf brought me to him and insisted he needed my help. It no longer troubles me, I promise you. I have made peace with it. So, no, my dear Dragon, just leave me to be your plain old Jomish.”
“As you wish,” Sha murmured as if humouring his friend.
Chuckling, Jom gave Sha one last, loud smacking kiss on his nose and let him go. “Besides, heroes are proud and haughty.” He grinned at Sha’s quizzical expression. “A hero would never deign to fetch us cider and spice-cake.”
Sha’s ears stood upright and just the tips of his tongue flicked quickly along the rim of his lips. “You made spice-cake? When?”
“I didn’t make it this time,” Jom explained. Sha gave a pleased rumbling sound as the Hobbit’s grin returned and he turned toward the tunnel to the kitchen, calling back over his shoulder as he went, “I bought some on the way home, when I stopped at the village to fetch supplies.”
“And no doubt wrapped it well so I wouldn’t smell it when we loaded up to fly over the hill,” Sha concluded knowingly, then called after him in pleased amusement, “clever, Hobbit.”
Not long afterward, the Dragon and his clever Hobbit had spice-cake and hot cider before the fire, chatting and enjoying one another’s company as good friends will.
~~~
.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2012-12-03 01:49 am (UTC)From:Just the thing for a quiet Sunday in December!
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Date: 2012-12-03 02:17 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2012-12-28 08:01 am (UTC)From:You may yet hear more, there's a little bit of something brewing in the Muse's fic-pot with these two. Not sure what/when, but I'll post if so.
Thanks so very much!
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Date: 2012-12-28 08:00 am (UTC)From:Thanks oodles and bunches!
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Date: 2012-12-04 10:53 am (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2012-12-28 08:02 am (UTC)From:Thanks muchly!
Never too much fluff
Date: 2012-12-05 11:18 pm (UTC)From:Re: Never too much fluff
Date: 2012-12-28 08:03 am (UTC)From:Thank YOU for reading and sharing your thoughts!