Disclaimer: I think it goes without saying that I do not own the Hobbit or Harry Potter. But just in case I'll put this here anyway.

So this is the prologue of a two part story. I originally put this up for adoption but thanks to njchrispatrick's enthusiasm I decided to write it up. I have part one already written so it should be up in a day or so.

Prologue: Of Fire and Rage

Smaug closely watched over his young drakeling as the small firedrake scampered about in the respectable pile of gold that made up Smaug's hoard. Smaug hoped to one day gather a greater hoard but for now Smaug was still a relatively young dragon, and the hoard he possessed was a decent size for his age. There were many more powerful than himself out there, no matter how much the thought rankled Smaug, and so for now the small cave and hoard that he possessed was all he would be capable of protecting and sustaining.

Smaug's unending desire for more had also been tempered with the hatching of Smaug's first and so far only offspring. It was rare that a male fire-drake would take up the position of raising their offspring but Smaug had very little choice in accepting the care of his hatchling.

His drakeling's dam had been one of the last living daughters of Ancalagon the Black. All winged fire-drakes were said to be descendants of Ancalagon in some way but Ancia held a direct link to the mightiest of dragons as one of his few surviving children, if not the last all together. The much older female dragon had taken an interest in Smaug's glorious red and gold scales, which closely resembled living flames especially once in the sun. Smaug knew his scales were stunning and unparalleled in beauty yet he had still but utterly shocked and flattered when the much older and more powerful female had shown an interest in him, a fire-drake who had just newly come of age.

Smaug was fairly certain that Ancia had never intended her dalliances with Smaug to lead to offspring. Her leaving their egg at the entrance to Smaug's den gave Smaug the distinct impression she wanted nothing further to do with him or their offspring. No doubt she had not smashed it simply for the fact that dragons so rarely produced offspring. She would have at least wanted to give the egg some sort of chance at actually surviving. By giving it to Smaug she had dissolved herself of the responsibility of making the decision of whether their offspring lived or died. No, she had firmly passed that burden over to Smaug.

The decision was difficult for Smaug. He didn't feel particularly paternal. However, the egg had been his, and Smaug was nothing if not utterly possessive of his things. The egg would hatch to become Smaug's offspring, and Smaug was vain enough to want to ensure the continuation of his line especially when tied so closely to that of Ancalagon.

In the end, despite the hassle it would be, Smaug had decided to keep his offspring. He had guarded his egg, and kept it properly heated by blowing a constant stream of flames over the egg. Smaug was proud when he managed to take proper care of his egg, which allowed it to finally hatch. Smaug had been pleasantly surprised when his small, perfectly formed hatchling had emerged from its shell. The little drakeling was male with pure black scales like his dam and grandsire. But his fiery gold eyes were identical to Smaug's own. The general shape of his head and body was also similar to Smaug despite his glittering ebony scales.

Smaug had named him Ancal in a moment of nostalgia for Ancia, and to honor his grandsire. It soon turned out that his decision to keep Ancal had been one of the best decisions he'd ever made. Smaug enjoyed having his drakeling running about his den, and sharing all of his knowledge with him. Smaug could mold his drakeling into becoming whatever he wished him to be. He enjoyed seeing a reflection of himself in the small firedrake, and hoped that one day his hatchling would grow up to be one of the most powerful dragons in all of Arda.

Smaug affectionately nuzzled his drakeling. The little black hatchling chirped in surprise at being startled from his play, and then turned to playfully pounce on Smaug's nose. Smaug reared back and feigned hurt to boost his little drakeling's confidence in his attacking skills. Ancal, at a little under a decade old, was still too young to learn how to speak properly but he understood Smaug's words, and was becoming more advanced by the day. Ancal could communicate simple things through growls and chirps, and had recently become capable of calling Smaug sire, which thrilled Smaug to no end. The little drakeling spent most of his time playing, sleeping, and eating, which in truth wasn't all that different from an adult dragon. Smaug loved to whisper the tales of old to his son while he drifted off to sleep.

Smaug played with his son for a bit. He twitched his long tail, and Ancal chased it around doing his best to pounce on it. Before long his hatchling grew tired and he curled up at Smaug's side to sleep. Smaug took the chance to tell his son a tale of his own deeds while he drifted off to dream. Once Ancal was asleep, Smaug settled down to sleep for a bit as well.

The horrid scent of orc woke Smaug from his light doze. The mere thought of orcs this close to his hoard and hatchling had Smaug seething. He hid his drakeling safely within his pile of gold before storming out to investigate why a troop of orcs had ventured so close to his home, hoard, and offspring. To his shock and rage there was a small army of orcs laid out before his den, they had even brought rock catapults. It was obvious they had come with the intention of defeating Smaug. He would show them how very wrong they were. Smaug quickly took to the sky to gain a better advantage over the orcs, and set them alight. His fire stirred in his breast, and he let it loose upon the stinking orcs. Smaug hated the loathsome creatures, and he would burn their stench out of existence.

It was an arduous process but eventually Smaug prevailed against his intruders. It took him awhile because every time he thought he had finally bested them more seemed to swarm out of the cracks in the rocks. By the end he was exhausted and sore. His scaled hide was strong, nigh impenetrable, but the rocks the orcs had tossed at him had hit with enough force to bruise. Smaug would heal quickly but for now he would need to rest for a bit to ease the aches and pains.

Smaug quickly made his way back into his den. Panic overtook him when he caught wind of the strong scent of orc is his caves. It was too strong to have drifted in from outside. Orcs had managed to sneak past him into his den. Enraged Smaug sprinted through the tunnels to the center of his hoard. What he found there whipped him into a fury he had never felt before. His gold and gems were scattered everywhere from a great struggle but for once Smaug did not care. His drakeling was gone, and the stench of orc and his drakeling's fear permeating the air left a dark pain inside his heart.

Smaug roared and roared. Flames engulfed his cavern, melting stone and gold alike as Smaug breathed flame for as long as he was capable to burn away the stench of orc. With some of his fury spent Smaug went after the orcs who had stolen his hatchling in hopes of catching up to them. But he could not find them. Their path was nearly untraceable and zigzagged every which way. Their party broke off into smaller groups, and Smaug wasted days by following the wrong ones, deceived by false scents. Smaug would have never believed orcs intelligent enough to saturate cloth with his son's scent to lead Smaug astray. In the end Smaug had to stop his search. He had reached the point of near exhaustion, and if he pushed himself any further he would have surely died.

He took up the search after some rest but the trail had gone cold. There was no other choice but to concede defeat, something Smaug loathed with all his being especially with the loss of his drakeling. Smaug returned to his den, and remained there for years, wallowing in his own self-pity and loneliness. He never before realized just how lonely he truly was until he lost his hatchling. Ancal had brought light and happiness into his life but now he had nothing. Smaug clung to the comfort of his gold more fervently, and soon he grew obsessed. Any kindness he had once possessed fled, and Smaug became a dangerous, and deadly beast. Time passed and Smaug grew larger and stronger, and became more powerful. His strength and aggression allowed him to live long past the others of his kind, and soon he was one of the last great firedrakes.

When news came to Smaug of the dwarves in Erebor, and the great wealth they had amassed Smaug wasted no time in taking wing towards the dwarves and their mountain. It was a simple matter for Smaug to displace the dwarves, and send them from their home. The vast amount of wealth within the Lonely Mountain was enough to dull the aching loneliness inside Smaug, and so he remained, surrounded by the piles and piles of gold sleeping his life away.

Hoped you liked the prologue! Part one will be up in a few days.

Thanks for reading!