Shatter Me

By: iamCAMBRIA

Chapter One: Prologue I

In the year of 2765, Third Age, a loud whooping roar resounded across the forest in loud repercussions. The two Dwarves that were hunting in the woods paused. The raven-haired one, who was dressed in robes of blue with a faint hints of light mithril armor looked to his much older companion.

"Did you hear that, Balin?" Thorin, age nineteen, asked nervously.

The light brown haired Dwarf looked nervously at the Prince of Durin's Folk.

"Aye, I did. And I have no idea what foul creature could've made such a cry." Balin answered, looking around the green foliage with suspicion.

Thorin gripped his sword tighter. "Then whatever it is, we shall fight it off."

"Don't be such a fool." Balin snapped, drawing his star-tipped mace. "We shall do no such thing; we will retreat further into the woods. We should be safer there."

"And if it is an Orc?" Thorin pressed, not at all finding his friend's suggestion appealing.

"No Orc would make a sound like that."

"Are you sure of this?"

"I've lived a bit longer than you, my Prince. I've seen a few Orcs in my time."

"You are only seventeen years older than me, Balin." Thorin griped.

The older Dwarf frowned, beginning to retreat further into the trees. "It makes all the difference melhekith. Wisdom comes with age."

"You're not even fifty yet!" Thorin roared indignantly.

"Thorin, do you really wish to argue about this?" Balin demanded.

The long bearded Dwarf gave Thorin a look that made him hush. Balin's eyes were as keen as ever, but there seemed to be a frantic attitude about them. His hands clutched his sword-mace tightly, his knuckles white. He kept backing into the foliage.

"Fine, we will retreat into the woods." The Durin Prince snapped bitterly, before adding. "Would it not be better, though, the see what it is? What if it poses as a threat to Erebor?"

Balin gave a deflated sigh. "Thorin, I was given one job today, protect you while we are hunting. Let us go."

With that the older turned around and ran deeper in to the woods. The raven haired Dwarf exhaled, frustrated, before following his friend. As he ran, he cast a hesitant look over his shoulder. The temptation to go and see what caused the noise was very, very high. Would it hurt to scout around? It would be very useful if they were to report…

"Don't think about it, Thorin." Balin said, coming up next to him. "We're too far from the mountain to warn anyone. At least a three hours' worth of travels."

"Mahal Balin!" Thorin shouted looking at his friend. "How can we sit and do nothing? We are Dwarves, we fight to the end."

"Yes, but, part of fighting is strategy. And if you do not know your enemy you cannot fight it well."

"Which is why we scout to know it better."

"Thorin."

"Balin, it would help Erebor."

The brown haired Dwarf stopped and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Both your grandfather and father would kill me if I were to allow you to go close to whatever it was."

"What they do not know, won't kill them." Thorin grinned.

"I—"

"You have more to fear than the weakling's father, Dwarf-scum!"

Both Balin and Thorin looked up in alarm at the sight of the Orc. The longer bearded Dwarf pushed the Prince behind him, holding one arm out to keep him back and the other to keep his sword raised at the Orc.

"There is only one!" Thorin growled lowly from behind him. "You and I can easily take him."

The Orc gave a hideously twisted grin. "There are more than one, weakling. Orcs hunt in numbers."

Balin raised his mace to strike, only for a twisted arrow to strike it, knocking it from his hands. Now, as the two startled Dwarves looked up, Orcs circled around them. A couple of them were on Wargs, the others were obviously foot scouts. Thorin stepped up sword in hand.

"Fight us if you can, beasts." He dared, his deep voice reverberating in his chest.

For an Orc pack, it was a rather large one. They numbered in maybe less than thirty, five of them on Wargs, the others heavily armed. Even two Dwarves against this thirty—one not even completed in his training—would definitely be harmed in a fight such as this. And when Thorin voiced his challenge, the Orcs all grinned with blood thirsty glee.

"Kill the Dwarf-scum and bring me their blood!" Shrieked what seemed to be leader.

Thorin wasted no time when the first wave of Orcs charged. He used his sword just as he had been taught, slicing at the monster's arms and legs. But, these were creatures not so totally mindless. After about the fifth Orc had been felled they began to see Thorin's pattern, and changed tactics. Instead of a frontal approach, they began pressing in on his sides, giving him more than one to focus on.

Balin dove out of the way and scrambled for his sword. The rider Orcs set themselves after him. As soon as Balin's fingers closed around the hilt of the sword, a Warg's jaws closed around his ankle. The Dwarf cried out but did not lose his grip on the weapon. When the wolfish creature tossed him into the air, Balin raised his sword and slashed at the Warg's nose. The beast bucked back as the Dwarf continued his flight through the air. The other Warg Riders, turned towards him, as their helpless companion tried to hold onto its mount with all the strength that he could.

Balin stood and took a defensive position, eyeing each of the riders carefully. Calculations and strategies ran through his mind as he began to plot away to dislodge all the Orcs and kill the Wargs. But his mind was stopped from his planning as he heard a blood curdling scream. Balin spun around to see Thorin kneeling on the ground in pain. An Orc stood over him, a jeer on its gnarled face. Its sword skewered the raven haired Dwarf's shoulder, cutting close to his sternum.

"Thorin!" Balin yelled, only to feel pain explode across his chest.

The Warg that held the older Dwarf in its jaws bit down harder, bones crunching in its teeth. Balin screeched something unearthly as the monster tossed him into Thorin. The Dwarves fell into a pained heap of broken bones and bleeding flesh. The sword was still lodged in Thorin's shoulder and Balin's chest looked as if it had swelled.

"Bring me their bones; bring me their skins; bring me their blood." The head Orc snarled, his teeth showing as he grinned with the thought of fresh meat.

"Balin," Thorin gasped, "we have to get up!"

"I know…my Prince." The older hissed, but finding no energy to move his limbs.

"We…can…cannot die…here." Thorin urged, trying to get himself up.

Suddenly the Orcs were upon their pile. The ones that had clubs went first, whacking their bodies like rugs for a beating. Both Dwarves howled in pain; Thorin reached desperately for his sword Deathless, as Balin just tried to cover them both with his arms.

"Die, filth, die!" The Orcs yowled, pushing to ones with more brutal weapons to the front.

Thorin's blue eyes widened. Suddenly it dawned upon him. They were going…

…to die.

"ENOUGH!" A voice roared.

Balin and Thorin shivered, it was the same roar as earlier before. Whoever it was though, was also their savior, because the Orcs stopped immediately. They seemed hesitant, afraid even. And then suddenly, a giant bronze tail came out of nowhere and slammed into the bodies of the Orcs. A body followed that tail, protectively standing over Thorin and Balin.

It was a dragon.

The beautiful bronze dragon, with black horns and black smooth scales on its chest stood over the two Dwarves. Its large copper wings were folded back, forming curved canopies, while its tail swirled in front of Thorin and Balin.

"Now, cousin, now!" The dragon roared.

And there was a reply call. It shook the entire forest, the Orcs, and the Dwarves. Even the bronze dragon flinched at the sound. One of the Orcs howled and pointed to the sky.

"Look to the skies!"

Every creature that had been in the scrum looked up. There, diving down upon them was another dragon. But this one was so much more than the bronze one. It was about half a size larger, and its wings were in perfect ratio with its body size. The scales had a sheen like polished silver but glowed the colors of emeralds. It had gold scales that looked like plate armor that ran from its throat to the tip of its tail. The tail had large spikes that could be easily used for a club. The head of the dragon was adorned with long sharp spikes that jutted out from both sides, as well as large ears that blustered about in the wind.

The emerald dragon landed, a tremor was sent through the earth. Balin and Thorin stared at the creature in awe. The Orcs fell back a tad, before looking at the creature with snarls and leers. The dragon pulled his head up, its long neck arching and its wings folding. The creature hefted its hind haunches, drawing himself up into a defensive stance as well. The oddest thing though, were that its hind feet were out of proportion with the rest of its body, were covered with fur. Ridiculously large hind claws, matted with fur. The two Dwarves could not help but stare at the glittering creature.

It raised its head proudly, its gold horns gleaming.

"You leave now, monsters—and I will not kill you." The dragon snarled, its masculine voice rumbling angrily. "These Dwarves are under my protection."

The Orcs shuffled, unsure of what to do.

The leader snarled a challenge to the emerald dragon.

"Bring me the lizard's wings and its horns."

"Then so be it!" the dragon responded in Black Speech. "Die, you fools!"

Thorin and Balin's view of the dragon suddenly disappeared as their vision was filled with bronze. The dragon that had been standing above them had lowered itself to the ground and covered them with its wing. It poked its head under the skin of the wing.

"Don't worry," He whispered. "My cousin will take care of the Orcs."

And through the membrane, they could hear the Orcs yowling and screaming. The emerald dragon's furious cries varied from bellows to screeches. The bronze dragon squeezed its eyes shut at a particularly raw cry from his 'cousin'. Thorin's eyes widened and Balin nearly died of hyperventilation when the forest went quiet.

"It's quite alright." The other dragon shouted, "You can come out now."

The bronze canopy of the wing disappeared and the forest returned to the Dwarves' view. Dead Orcs and Wargs—a quite a few of them headless—littered the ground. The emerald dragon limped up to them, its furry hind claw lifted. The toes seemed to be smashed into the front of the foot, the brown fur was coat with blood.

"You Dwarves, are ridiculous." The emerald dragon chuckled with a hiss. "There were thirty of those Orcs! Thirty!"

The bronze one uncurled itself from its protective position.

"And I though Men were crazy."

"You defended us." Thorin stated bluntly.

The emerald dragon looked at him, its beautiful hazel reptilian eyes clashing with Thorin's icy blue.

"I should think so." The dragon huffed irately. "Otherwise, those blasted monsters would've very well had you."

"But why did you help us?" The Prince pressed. "You are a dragon."

"Thorin!" Balin wheezed in pain.

The emerald dragon ignored Thorin and looked at Balin with alarm. "Were you severely hurt?"

Balin nodded with a shudder.

"Draupneir, could attend to him? I will attend to the younger one." The emerald said.

The bronze dragon, Draupneir, nodded and lumbered towards Balin. The emerald limped closer to Thorin. He gestured his head to the sword in the Dwarf's shoulder.

"I can pull that out." He offered.

Thorin grimaced, before pulling at the pommel. "I can do it."

The emerald dragon nodded and watched as the young Prince pulled it out with a groan. He dropped the weapon immediately, as if it had burned him. His stocky body shuddered. The dragon was impressed with the young Dwarf's courage.

"What…are you…going to do…to Balin?" He demanded.

"The same I am going to do to you." The emerald dragon huffed. "Heal you."

Thorin's eyes widened. "Can…can you truly do that?"

"Umhm, so hold still, this might tickle." The dragon snorted.

It brought its head down close to the Dwarf's shoulder, eyeing the wound. Thorin watched the dragon stiffly as the creature flicked his tongue out, and carefully licked the wound. Thorin winced as the tongue touched the skin that had been revealed by his ripped shirt and armor.

"Sorry," the dragon mumbled, pulling his head back. "It's going to sting. But…it might be a tad grotesque, but dragon saliva is highly useful in medical uses."

"Really?" Thorin voiced shakily, not really understanding what was going on.

"Oh yes." The dragon purred.

Thorin looked down at his shoulder, surprised. Already the wound had begun to slowly seal. The skin itched and tingled as it barely crawled together. The dragon gave him a skeptical look.

"The smaller the wound, the longer it takes to heal." He informed. "I've no idea why it works like that but it does. It's actually quite frustrating."

Their attention was drawn to the other dragon and Dwarf when there was a squeal of delight. They looked over at Draupneir, who was nuzzling a happy Balin. The older Dwarf was patting the bronze dragon's snout with a grin. The other dragon looked to his 'cousin'.

"Can we keep them?" He begged.

The emerald dragon rolled his eyes. "We cannot keep people, Draupneir. Don't be daft."

Thorin looked to the dragon. "Why did you help us?"

"Why not?" The emerald grinned, before looking at the bronze. "Later tonight, I'll need you to lick my foot, Draupneir…I can't feel my toes."

The bronze dragon stuck his tongue out. "But you have hair on your feet!"

"Yes I do." The emerald snorted. "But I won't be able to walk through the mountain pass on our way home with this broken foot, now will I?"

Draupneir groaned.

"What is your name?" Thorin asked lowly.

The emerald raised lowered his head. "I, um…rather not say…it's a bit embarrassing actually."

"No! Come on, it's a great name cousin!" Draupneir chirped turning away from Balin.

"I'd rather not." The emerald murmured.

"I am Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror." Thorin introduced with a bow.

Balin stood up shakily, but giving a bow as well. "I am Balin, son of Fundin."

"I'm Draupneir!" The bronze dragon replied. "I'm not old enough to have earned a title yet, but my cousin has!"

He shot the emerald dragon an adoring look.

"Tell them cousin! Tell them!"

The emerald dragon sighed. "Bryngeir…of the Gilded Wings, at your service."

"That is not too bad." Thorin grinned, warming up to the dragon a bit more.

Bryngeir smirked a bit. "Thank you."

"So, tell us, how did you come to these parts? Are not all dragons hostile? Why did you not attack us as well?" Thorin asked genuinely curious.

Draupneir grinned. "Oh! Cousin, it does look like you will be telling a story! Bryngeir tells the best!"

The emerald dragon seemed to have a dragon equivalent of flushing. He flicked his tongue out and the pupils of his eyes dilated in their pools of hazel color. He lowered his head a bit more.

"I'm not that great of a storyteller."

"Well, it seems an appropriate time for explaining. If there were more Dwarves behind us, they wouldn't have hesitated to hurt you both." Balin exhaled.

"Understandable, given the nature of our rotten kin of the North." Bryngeir snorted with amusement.

"You are not drakes of the North?" Thorin queried.

Draupneir gave a bellowing laugh. "Not at all!"

"We, good Thorin, are of the small race of the Great Dragons." Bryngeir stated quietly.

"I've never heard of such a race of dragons in my studies." Balin pointed out.

"And just as well." Bryngeir said with a shake of his head. "If our kind were discovered, like you said—we would be killed."

"Why?" Thorin wondered.

"Because of the reputation that's been set up before us." The emerald gave an exasperated puff. "By those thrice blasted dragons who flounder about in the North."

"So, I sense a story?" The raven haired Dwarf smirked.

Bryngeir gave a dramatic sigh. "Oh I suppose, but get comfortable—it's a bit of a lengthy one."

The two dragons settled down in front of the Dwarves. Their large size forced any trees within the proximity to bend or break over. Draupneir gave a distressed look at them. Bryngeir rolled his eyes.

"No one will notice…do you think?"

"I think no one would dare want to know what caused such mighty trees to be felled, Master Dragon." Balin chuckled.

Draupneir gave the older Dwarf a queer look. "I am not a master, Balin. I have no craft yet. That is why I do not have a title."

"So what is your occupation, Bryngeir?" Thorin questioned, sitting down next to Balin. "What do you do for your title to be the 'Gilded Wings'?"

"I'm a sky racer." The dragon growled. "A very frowned upon job, and not much money to it either. Very improper for a dragon. Most would prefer to be hunters or gold seekers. But I enjoy it, such freedom in the sky when you're speeding through the clouds."

"Bryngeir's the best!" Draupneir chimed. "He is the fastest dragon out there, not even the 'Great' General of the Northern Dragons, Smaug, could hope to compete with him."

"Hush, do not say such things." Bryngeir rebuked.

"No, I wish to know." Thorin said, leaning forward.

"A long story indeed."

"We have the time."

"It is midday, do you not have somewhere to be?"

"Not until night fall."

Bryngeir sighed. "Very well. What do you wish to know?"

Thorin shot Balin an eager look, and the older Dwarf returned it. This was something outside of his area of expertise, which was metalworking—so it was something exciting. Besides, few can say they survived an encounter with a dragon, let alone two.

Thorin smiled. "Everything."

A/N: See if you can identify who is a dragon and who is not. Balin's age is the only one I'm not using to cannon; according to the books, he's actually younger than Thorin and I wanted him to be the same age as he is in the movie. this story was inspired by Wolf in Sheep's Clothing by Dracielle.

Next Chapter: Prologue II.