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PROMPT POST FROZEN FOR 72 HOURS
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And that was the end of Esgaroth, but not of Bard nor, stranger, of Smaug.
Not until he crawled ashore did Bard discover that he had a dragon caught in his hair.
The arcing flight of the black arrow he remembered with such perfect clarity that when he shut his eyes, he was again at the windlance-his blistered hands gripped the weather-worn wood painfully tight-Smaug banking in the dark sky above while below Esgaroth burned in a sea of smoke and flame. He had not mistrusted his aim, but even then Bard knew it was only by Smaug's own arrogance that the fatal ( ... )
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"At your service," said the dragon-Smaug!-with a ghastly smile full of razor teeth. Bard couldn't help it. A sharp bark of laughter burst from his lips. Surely, some falling piece of debris had knocked him clear out of his mind. Or maybe I'm dreaming. He rubbed at his face with his hands, his skin raw from the blazing heat of the fires and his mad, scraping clamber across the rooftops to the windlance. Maybe I'm dead. The smell of ash clung to him, his hair, his clothes. Too heavy to be washed clean, clogging nose and mouth until he could've choked on it.
Death would be less of a surprise than this, this queer apparition. He had been prepared to die, ready as any man could be who did not seek it. With a remnant of bygone days his only weapon, there was naught but a fool's hope that he could distract Smaug long enough for more of his people to escape, for his children to. Bard did not doubt he lived, however. A thousand minor aches twinged as he wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill.
He stared, blinking, at the ( ... )
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Good(?) news is that I hope to continue writing in this AU, an epilogue and a timestamp fic, though I can't say when I'll be able to find the chance away from my other, long neglected WIPs. Way better, ThePioden has illustrated the story with an absolutely fantastic portrayal of cute baby!Smaug. For the art and some very, very belated gushing commentary, my Tumblr reblog.
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