The Dragons' Daughter (Thorin Oakenshield/OFC)

Dragon or Girl?

Now, all is not lost for our nameless dragon, for she was rescued the very day she was abandoned. It so happened that the wizard Gandalf was passing that very river, which would eventually come to be known as Dragon's Cove. He rode his grey horse down the beaten track when he spotted something gleaming in the bright sunlight by the riverbank. A lost purse of gold, perhaps? He slowed his mount, dismounting in a swirl of ashen robes and long grey hair. He climbed over the rocks that jutted out of the barren ground, and reached the river. He blinked his eyes in astonishment when he saw the little bundle of glittering scales. The tiny dragon raised its head and snorted at Gandalf, before looking around at its surroundings. The poor thing started to make pitiful noises, crying like a child who had lost its mother. There were few dragons left in existence, Gandalf knew that. And judging from the shape of the snout, the gleaming gold-red scales... a Firedrake. Well, Smaug was a tyrant, so now why not a terrible father too? The little dragon blinked up at him, it's scales glinting in the early morning sunlight.
"Must be just a newborn." Gandalf muttered to himself. Kneeling on one knee and leaning on his staff, he tentatively reached out with his hand and gently touched the dragons' nose. To his amazement, a green flash sprung up from where his skin had met scales, and expanded like a pool, sweeping over every inch of the little dragons' form. It made a startled squeaking noise, before beginning to shrink. The wings shrunk into its' back, its claws retracted and became fingers. The scales smoothed out, turning a light pink, becoming skin. The tail was the last thing to go, and soon a little newborn baby girl lay at Gandalf's feet, blinking up at him with wide blue eyes. Startled, Gandalf stared at the child a moment longer before scooping her up into his arms, wrapping her gently in a loose swathe of his robes. To her credit, the child didn't cry, she just stared at him in silence. Probably wondering what he was, Gandalf thought to himself with a smile.

"Well, I shall have to give you a name." Gandalf wondered aloud as he watched the little girl eat the soup he was feeding her. He thought for a while, deciding she needed a nice name, at least something she should have been born with.
"How about...Clarrei. Yes, Clarrei. How do you like that?" He asked her, chuckling when she seemed to nod at his suggestion.
"Very well, Clarrei it is."
He climbed back on his horse the next day, Clarrei now sitting happily on his knee. As Gandalf travelled that day, he talked to the child, telling her of his travels. It was odd, but it seemed as though she was listening to every word he said.
"I certainly won't be able to take you with me, Clarrei. I travel too much for a newborn to join me. But I think I may know someone who can take good care of you."

They were travelling through a beautiful green forest. Animals of all sizes flitted past them, even large wildcats. A little bird of blue and pink plumage hovered by Gandalf's hat, making Clarrei giggle and stretch out her chubby little fingers. As time went on, they eventually came to a house that looked as though it was made out of birds nests. A little man in hairy brown clothes was sitting in the grass outside, chattering away to a little hedgehog that sat by his feet. As they approached, Gandalf could discern the conversation:
"So I then told the squirrels that the mushrooms were particularly good by the crystal river, but they didn't believe me. Can you believe that, Sebastien?"
The grey wizard rolled his eyes in exasperation, and then announced his arrival by clearing his throat. The brown wizard looked up, before smiling at him.
"Gandalf!"
"Radagast, my friend."
Gandalf climbed down from his horse and approached his cousin. This would take a lot of explaining and convincing on his part.

"Gandalf, you must have finally lost your mind! I've raised animals, but never a dragon!"
Gandalf pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.
"Radagast, you know I travel too often to take care of a child, and you would know best how to raise her! Teach her to be the opposite of her father. Teach her to be gentle, kind, but teach her how to control the fire."
Radagast raised his hands in annoyance.
"Gandalf, fire is your expertise, not mine."
"It's not that different from magic, just...a little more dangerous."
The little brown wizard took his hat off his bedraggled head and scratched his hair in thought.
"I suppose I could teach her to heal. But what if Smaug comes looking for her?"
"I don't think he will be." replied Gandalf darkly. The two men turned to look at the child, who sat on the hearth rug, mesmerised by the flames that flickered in Radagast's fireplace. Radagast's face softened as Sebastien went and sat next to her, nuzzling her little arm with his small nose. After a moments' silence, he said:
"Very well, Gandalf. But you do know I can't teach her how to shift?"
"I know."
"What do I do when she asks about her parents?"
Gandalf rose from the table, stopping so as not to knock his head on the low ceiling.
"I think you'll find dragons have long memories. Just remember she will have to know his name at some point."
"Of course, of course." replied Radagast, following the taller wizard out. Gandalf remounted his horse, and Radagast bid him farewell. As he rode away, Gandalf smiled, knowing he had left Clarrei in more than capable hands. A sudden burst of smoke shot out of Radagast's chimney, and Gandalf sighed. Correction. He hoped he had left Clarrei in capable hands.